Page 13 of Command and Control: GHOST Operative

And it’s got to be good enough to make him overlook my little display last night since I’m pretty positive he witnessed it. Why else would he take my vibrator?

Whatever I do, it has to show that not only am I unbothered by his antics, but that I've got the skill it takes to work for his company. Obviously, he doubted I had it, which is why I didn't hear from him for six months. I need to prove him wrong.

I'm not sure what prompted him to come after me now, but I'm not going to waste this opportunity. My life has been stuck for so long in one way or another, and I'm ready to break free. To stretch my wings and try to fly. Of course, I might fall, but there's no reward without risk.

I glance at the clock, checking to see how much time I have before my next Zoom. Not nearly enough to come up with any sort of idea, and definitely not enough to prepare. I'm just gonna have to sit here, ready to peel my skin off, and wait. Hopefully this next chat won't be as long, or frustrating, as the one before it.

Taking one final look at my Vincent dot, I stand and go to my work desk, managing to get a few bites of my sandwich down before starting the next meeting. I'm struggling to concentrate, but luckily the woman I’m helping seems to know a thing or two, and we’re able to trouble-shoot her problem in under fifteen minutes.

The second I end the meeting, I jump up and hurry to my room, digging through my closet for the other date dress I own. It's a little fancier than the one I wore last night, but there's a good chance Vincent saw me in that dress, and I don't want him to think I can't afford to buy clothes. Especially since he’s been in my condo and already probably assumes I can't afford to buy furniture.

After whipping the dress off the hanger, I go to grab a bra and panties, but hesitate over the decision. I'm not planning to actually run into him—and even if I do, Idoubt he'll want to see what's under my dress—but there's something to be said for the power of panties, so I go with my initial choice, collecting the black lace set before jumping into the shower. I set a world record for scrubbing down and primping, stepping out of the bathroom in under twenty minutes, cleaned and lotioned, makeup on and hair fluffed.

Back in my closet, I hesitate again. Pumps or boots? One looks sexy but will be hazardous in the still slightly snowy parking lot, and the other will be decidedly not cute. However, I’m more likely to be able to run in the boots, and since there's a chance Vincent's only here because I ticked him off, being able to run seems like a smarter decision.

Once the boots are on, I grab my coat and rush to my office. I start to go back to the window I stared out earlier, but what if he goes out the back door? I’ll never see him go and waste my chance. Plus my legs will fall asleep crouching down like that, and I need to be ready to move fast.

I skip the window and go to my desk, dropping into my chair to find that little damn dot staring back at me from across the lot. He has to leave sometime. But what if he doesn't? What if I sit here all night and that damn little dot stays put?

Then I'm fucked. I'm not sure I can come up with a plan-B. Plan-A is taking all the balls I have to follow through on.

Half an hour later, I'm starting to think Iwillhave to come up with a plan-B, when there's a blip on the screen. My Vincent dot has moved. It's about two miles away, and without knowing where he's gone or how long he's beenthere outside of my fifteen-minute update window, I need to make every second count.

I run down the stairs, flinging on my coat before racing out. The sidewalk is slick, proving I made the right choice in footwear, but I’m too nervous to pat myself on the back. Picking my way along, I keep to the least icy spots as I hurry across the parking lot. If I can’t even make it across some blacktop without wiping out then I should just go back to my condo and give all this up.

And I’m not giving this up.

Most of my neighbors are on the older, quieter end of life, and I've never been more grateful for that than I am now. Because there's no one outside to see me as I make a beeline for the front door of the apartment I suspect Vincent was in. It's the only vacant unit I know of in the complex, and its location is literally right under my Vincent dot. I’m so scared, I’m struggling to swallow when I reach the door…

And realize I won’t be able to get in.

Why the fuck didn't I figure out how I’d get inside? If I want to prove I can be a part of GHOST, I should think about the breaking part of breaking and entering.

Grabbing the knob, I grip it around the lockbox hooked in place by the management company hired to handle the sublet, praying Vincent left it unlocked, but it barely turns. "Shit." I twist back and forth, mostly out of frustration, rattling it around hard enough that part of the thing drops onto the toe of my boot.

I gasp, spinning to look behind me, like I expect someone to know I've accidentally taken the breaking part of this whole thing literally, but everything is still quiet. There’s not a judgmental expression to be seen.

I crouch to quickly pick the piece up, hoping I can put it back into place without anyone—Vincent—being able to tell I’ve assaulted the doorknob. But it's not part of the knob that dropped. It's the little door of the lockbox. I lift my eyes to find the key still tucked inside.

"Holy shit." I breathe the words out, a little shocked at my luck. I quickly snag the key before putting the box back together. The door’s back in place before I remember I should have left it open so I could put everything back as it was, but that's a problem for future me.

I unlock the knob and deadbolt, hands shaking, body vibrating with the giddy fear that’s been coursing through my veins since I discovered Vincent was here in Nashville. I duck in, closing the door behind me before relocking it. Hopefully, if Vincent gets back before I'm gone, hearing him unlock the door will give me enough time to race out the back.

Again, I pat myself on the back for picking the boots.

I take a few extra seconds to wipe my feet on the mat just inside the door. I don't want Vincent to see wet footprints and know I was here right away. I want my visit to be a surprise. And I want to see his face when it happens.

The condo is small, which, along with the hefty price tag the owner put on it, explains why it took so long to rent. It's still nice enough, I guess. Hardwood floors, neutral paint, and high-end light fixtures.

But the computers and monitors set up across the giant desk in the middle of the living room? Those are spectacular.

And exactly the reason I'm here.

I go to the chair in front of the display, peeling away my coat before lowering into the seat, belly tingling a littleat the knowledge Vincent has sat right here. That he's going to sit here again soon.

I lean over the keyboard, gently scooting the mouse to wake everything up before typing in his pass key. He changes it every week, but it takes me all of five minutes every Monday morning to figure it out. As the monitors flash to life around me, I ignore the fact that I have a problem where this man is concerned.

I'm shocked to find one of the screens mirroring my work computer, complete with the still open Zoom window.

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