Chapter 50
CHARLIE
“Welcome back, Charlie!” Shauna greets me as she breezes into Oliver’s office. In my absence, he hasn’t had anyone to enforce his daily schedule. I let the head of HR go in and know I’ll have to return to my usual gatekeeping after this impromptu meeting.
Oliver told those who asked that I was recovering from a training injury.
I’m a runner and my foot was in a walking cast. Believable enough.
It’s a version of the truth, if you consider kidnapping on-the-job training for being a spy.
No one outside of strategic operations knew that I was working from home while my bruises healed.
Remote work was nice, but I missed the team.
“There you are.” Ana walks up to my desk, her arms full with an oversized cardboard box. Neon-colored T-shirts are on the brim of spilling out.
“You need help with that?” I ask, as I stand and walk round my desk to grab the box from her.
“Yes, let’s get these to the break room,” she tells me, and I lead the way. “We’re switching our T-shirt sponsor for next year, so all these blank ones from the old sponsor aren’t needed.”
The reminder of our previous batch of leftover shirts sends shivers up my spine.
I set the box on the table in the break room and Ana tapes a note on the table. FREE.
“Whatever’s left at the end of the day, I’ll drop at my church; they do a lot of outreach to the homeless,” Ana assures me.
I fix my face, snapping out of my impending spiral. “That’s a great idea!”
While I did share a lot of updates with Ana after she returned from Europe, I didn’t tell her everything.
That I was injured and working from home, yes. How I was injured and the circumstances leading to my kidnapping, no.
I also requested that she bring over burritos one night so we could talk about Declan.
Because what’s the point in falling for the hot guy at work, and he’s also into you, if you can’t tell your best friend about it? Ana has sworn her secrecy, but I’m not sure how much longer it will keep anyways.
As if summoned by my thoughts, the one person I desperately want to keep this secret from waltzes into the break room.
“Hello, Celine,” I say as she passes us to make herself a cup of coffee.
“Good day, Charlie,” Celine says with a cheerful voice. “Ana.” She gives our coworker a friendly nod before coming over to examine the box of shirts.
Celine hands me a folded newspaper and pulls out a highlighter-yellow tank top. The newspaper is today’s Miami Herald. The headline above the fold reads: KILbrIDE IN CUSTODY. The subheading is a quote from the police chief of Miami-Dade County: THE CHARGES WILL STICK THIS TIME!
It’s been all over the news, so I was already aware. Ex-senator and current inmate awaiting arraignment Titus Kilbride has been taken into custody based on new evidence.
“Ana, what do you think? Is this my color?” Celine asks, holding up a shirt to her chin. Ana gives her decisive opinion while I scan the article.
It’s a clever way for Celine to give me an update with Ana in the room.
While Oliver, Declan, and I were fighting X.C.
and Blaed, Celine was in Miami for our triathlon event.
She met with local newspapers, ensured our pro athletes had good coverage, and she executed the mission that I suggested in my first week here: to get Kilbride to confess to his crimes.
Learning that Celine was operating on the secret missions was surprising.
But nothing shocked me quite as much as the news that ex-senator and now confirmed sexual predator Titus Kilbride admitted his crimes to Celine over drinks at a hotel bar.
She recorded the whole thing and even got him to admit which police officer he bribed to destroy the critical evidence that resulted in his case being thrown out. It was a good day for justice.
I look up at Celine and Ana chatting about the various colors. “I bet you could pull any of these off, Celine,” I tell her.
I’m not only speaking about the bright fabrics.
I’ve learned that Celine is not only one of the good guys but that she is ridiculously good at her job.
She was skeptical of a new team member for the same reasons Declan was.
I’ll trust her for now, but I’m not completely willing to let her off the hook for being a grade-A bitch to me.
Celine makes a small motion with her shoulders. “Thank you, Charlie,” she coos. “I love your hair today.” I’m equal parts stunned and validated.
“Thanks,” Ana and I respond at the same time. I finally decided to give into the humidity and stop fighting it. Ana showed me how she does her beachy waves, so she deserves some credit for it. It’s a good look and it’s earned me the approval of more than just our office’s resident fashionista.
Celine decides on bright orange and exits the break room.
Ana and I exchange a look that reads “hey, that’s an improvement.” We’re giving Celine another chance, but we won’t be surprised if she proves us wrong again.
I guess it goes to show you can never really judge someone by a terrible first impression. They reveal their character one action at a time. Turns out Celine is one of the good ones, even if she is slightly territorial. But, then again, I’m in love with someone who’s very territorial too.
I make Oliver his morning cup of mushroom coffee and bring it over. He waves me in. “Catch the door and sit down,” he says, pointing in the direction of a chair while wrapping up an email. I close the office door and take a seat.
The past two weeks have been a whirlwind. I thought being kidnapped and held for ransom would be the biggest news, but life has continued to throw more my way. Mostly good things, though. Still, I haven’t had much time to think. Being forced to sit quietly, even for a minute, is a gift.
For starters, my new doctor was happy to hear that I was testing my limits with more physical activity and dietary changes.
I wasn’t forthcoming about the kidnapping; I just said I’d been getting in some sprints as well as longer runs.
The bloodwork he ordered showed my eosinophil levels were normal and that I continued to be in remission.
He reminded me that it may not last forever, though, and his realism was sobering.
I thought living carefully had kept my flares at bay.
Maybe I can control them, but maybe I can’t.
And since this new doctor is working with the University of South Florida to launch a long-term study on my condition, I gladly signed up.
Because I can’t control a lot of things about my body, but I can do this.
I can help. And, in a way, I’m winning back some control.
“Alright,” Oliver says as he locks his computer screen, “Charlie, we need to discuss your position with FIRE.”
His words send a shock of fear through me. Oh goodness, am I being fired? I’ve only been here for two months.
His next words soothe me. “You’ve done an amazing job in your current role.” I can sense a “but” coming. “You’ve shown an interest in our extra operations.”
“Interest” is an amusing word choice. Did I show an interest or was it thrust upon me?
“We both know this job was supposed to be a launching point. Ideally, you would work over the next six months to a year to seamlessly transition into any other role within the organization. So how about strategic operations liaison?”
I won’t make a snap decision. There are factors to consider. There are complications to officially working on the strategic operations team. Namely who my boss will be.
I look through the all-glass office door, at my desk waiting for me.
Surely if I transitioned roles, I’d have a new seating arrangement.
Then my eyes catch the quote above my desk: Quitters never earn a line in the history books.
I grin. The whole time I’ve been here, I’ve regarded this quote with shame, as if it were browbeating me into self-loathing. Today it’s just words on a wall.
I can stay. But this time my name won’t be in history books for a good reason. A secretive one.
I turn my attention back to my uncle, who’s waiting for my response. I give a nod. “Sounds like a plan.”
We shake hands, making our plan official. There’s only one person I can think to share the news with.
I close Oliver’s door behind me and saunter to the office across from my desk.
“Hey,” I say to catch his attention.
Declan peers up at me and his smile says it all.
Bright, brilliant, the kind of smile that cannot be contained.
The dimples that distract me, the eyes that communicate safety.
Of all the things I thought I would reclaim with this job, this adventure on the other side of the country, it was my confidence, my independence, my trust in my body and my instincts.
I wanted to own an identity outside of running and my need to walk away from it.
I never expected this. These emotions. This man.
Once, he infuriated and exasperated me; now he has me connecting with my inner goddess.
“Hey,” Declan responds.
I saw him last this morning when he left my bed early for a training ride. It’s only been a few hours, but it feels too long. I lock my thoughts of last night away so I can focus. “I have some news,” I share, unsure if he already knows.
“You said yes?” Declan asks, and I’m guessing he and Oliver already discussed the potential new role.
I nod. I want to walk over and sit on his lap and hug him. I want to kiss him, I’m so happy. But I do neither of these things, because I am a professional, dammit.
Declan’s computer chimes. He glances over at the notification and grimaces. “Oliver already sent an email to Shauna with us on copy saying we need to meet with her first thing.”
“About the job? Oliver said I’d be transitioning for half a year or more.”
Declan raises his eyebrows as if to say, Not about that.
I let out a soft laugh. Clearly, Oliver wants us to disclose our relationship to HR, the relationship we thought we were keeping under wraps.
No secrets among spies, I suppose. Turns out we don’t actually have a non-fraternization policy here; Celine was just trying to keep me away from her crush.
“Is this his way of asking your intentions?” I joke with Declan.
He stands and grabs his travel mug. “Yeah, I guess,” he says as he passes closer to me.
I’m still in the doorway, blocking his way. “And what are your intentions? Are they honorable?” I bite my lips because I know I’m playfully skirting the line we’ve drawn.
“Mostly,” Declan says with a wink as he pinches my hip.