Chapter 32
CHARLIE
I plop my phone into my purse, push in my chair, and quietly tiptoe away from my desk. Oliver, Declan, and Finn are all meeting in Oliver’s office to review budget numbers.
I don’t want to make a big announcement about leaving on time. Thursday and Friday were markedly better in terms of my muscle pain and fatigue. Maybe it really was just jet lag and the new level of physical exertion. Still, I made meticulous notes for my next appointment.
Oliver asked me on Thursday if I needed another work-from-home day and I declined. Ian dropped a box of vitamin C mix on my desk. Misguided, but it’s nice to know the team is looking out for me.
I tried to thank Declan again for stopping by, but he cut me off, instead focusing on potential targets within Rome that could be hit before, during, or immediately following the World Games.
I tried not to show it, but the idea of an attack there has me terrified.
My dad is coaching Team USA again. He’ll be there.
It’s selfish. I don’t want anyone to be a victim.
But I really, really don’t want my dad to be one.
Declan has kept a professional distance. Which tells me what I need to know. The kiss in Copenhagen truly was a mistake, or at least he sees it that way. His coming over the other day was him checking on my safety. Nothing more.
It’s not a date, I tell myself again, as I make it to my car and crank up the A/C so I don’t sweat on my drive over.
Mercifully, the green lights are timed in my favor and I arrive a little early. The gravel and seashells that cover the parking lot crunch beneath the tires of my car. I cut the engine and flip the visor down to check my face.
In the tiny mirror, I pinch at my eyebrows and assess their shape. “It’s not a date,” I remind myself aloud as I reach into my purse for my lipgloss.
I’ve dreamed of Declan each night since his visit.
That he burst back into my apartment, throwing caution to the wind.
That he would surrender his control and rules and lose himself in me.
His ability to read a situation, to master a mission, to be steadfast and reliable is absolutely why I’m longing for him. And those hands: strong and protective.
Bury it, I tell myself. Put it up in the closet where the running shoes used to be.
I add a fresh layer of lipgloss and smooth my hair as best as I can.
“It’s not a date,” I say again to my reflection. I snap the visor shut and get out of the car.
I’m wearing my white jeans and a dark green silk button-down.
Casual but dressy for a Friday. Not completely boring for going to the bar either.
I’m hedging my bets. I still look nice, but I’m not going out of my way to change.
Just in case Blaed doesn’t show. Because it’s not a date. We’re just hanging out.
Ana left this morning to work one of our ultra-marathons in Europe. I’m bummed she won’t be here as my buffer.
I enter the bar, remembering the last time I was there.
My first week at FIRE. I was blissfully unaware of the other side of the business, of how serious things would become.
I also knew my neighbor at work was a grump.
Now I know that he’s guarded and that he let that guard down ever so slightly for me.
Even if he won’t ever want anything more from me, I know I’ll hold on to those few moments between us.
I make my way up to the bar and order a club soda with lime. The bartender, a different one, not Ana’s girlfriend, gives me a wink and a nod. I’m always grateful for bartenders who don’t think twice when I order a non-alcoholic drink.
I take a refreshing sip and there is a light tap on my shoulder. I turn and there is Blaed. Handsome as ever.
“I’m glad you didn’t stand me up,” Blaed says by way of greeting. That familiar sagebrush and lupine scent cuts through the smells of the bar. I feel my eyebrows relax; I hadn’t realized I’d been stress-scowling while I waited.
“I would never,” I respond, and turn on my flirting. It’s a little forced, a little rusty. I’ve been too tongue-tied around Declan to flirt back much. If he was even flirting with me at all.
“How was your week? Put out any fires lately?” Blaed leans against the bar, his biceps popping out with the motion.
His green eyes are fixed on me. The other women around me shoot daggers; they’re envious that I have his attention.
I should be flattered, but my mind is playing tricks on me, picturing Declan making the same move, saying the same thing.
I shake my head. “You could say that,” I mutter, not picking up on the emphasis at first.
He orders his drink and we toast to the weekend. I ask about his plans and he tells me about a kayaking route he wants to try. I let the worries of work fade away. Even if I only get a few hours’ reprieve from worrying about weapons and evil billionaires, I’ll take it.
I finish my drink and Blaed offers to get me a refill. “Sure,” I give a hesitant answer.
“And maybe something to snack on?” he adds.
Okay, this is quickly veering into date territory.
But, is that so bad? I give a nod and he hands me the bar menu.
Not much looks like it would fit with my gluten-free diet.
I point to the flight of tacos and hope they use corn tortillas.
Blaed raises an arm to flag down the bartender.
While we wait for him to make his way over to us, Blaed turns the questions on me.
“No big triathlons for you this weekend?”
I shrug. “Nah, I’ll catch the next one,” I say with a smile.
I’m about to make a comment about the race Ana and I worked last month when I remember that I told Blaed that I was traveling for work, but not where I had been. Or what my job was.
Blaed leans over the counter and places our order with the bartender.
I run through every interaction we’ve had.
I was never wearing anything with the FIRE logo.
Neither was Ana. I never mentioned where I worked.
What I do. So how does Blaed know? I start to sweat through my shirt, and I don’t think it is the temperature causing it.
The bar is too crowded, too loud. The latest pop hits are blaring through the speakers. I should feel safe in such a packed room, with all these people to potentially help. Instead, I’m anonymous, easily lost in the throng. If I scream for help, will anyone even notice?
I pull out my phone quickly.
Blaed glances over. “Uh-oh, am I boring you already?” he says into my ear, his hand grazing my shoulder.
Two minutes ago, I would have been thrilled by the idea of this incredibly handsome man who apparently has no dating or romantic bans touching me, flirting with me.
Now I can’t help but feel boxed in. I give him what I have now named my Castillo smile, as in “I’m playing nice and flirting back with you but I’m totally not into it” grin.
This is not a date. This is a trap. I can feel it.
I make up a lie. “Just texting Ana; she wanted to make sure you didn’t blow me off.” Ana is probably asleep by now given the time difference.
“Tell her I say hi,” Blaed responds. “But that I’m happy she isn’t here,” he adds with a wink.
Damn, he is cute and sexy. And apparently, I was totally blinded by it. Honestly, I’m a little happy Ana isn’t here too. Because if my suspicions are correct, then I’m glad she is out of the line of danger.
I can’t ruminate on all the ways I’ve been thoughtless lately. I text the one person who I know will come and help me. Even if it means I look foolish to him for not being suspicious sooner.
Charlie Ross
S.O.S.
Danger.
We didn’t work out a codeword for this
situation, but I’m using the codeword.
Help!
I send along with a pin for my location.
And then I wait for Declan.