Page 1 of S.O.S. Perk

CHAPTER ONE

“What the hell was I thinking?” agent Sloane Vessers mumbled under her breath, wondering for the umpteenth time why she’d come to Billboard and O’Shea’s clearing-in-the-woods wedding. Looking around, all she could see were blue skies, trees, a bunch of close friends, and a whole lot of freaking happiness. None of which were on her dance card.

What exactly were her standards in life? Pragmatism, dedication to herindoorjob, and an ability to operate solo, regardless of all the other agents in the Bureau with whom she had to regularly interact.

But now, somehow, without much trouble at all, the operatives at SOS had managed to wiggle their way past her normal firewalls and make her feel…welcome. Well, one man in particular had stood out, if Sloane were being honest.

Yup.Perk was the real reason she’d come today. Exactly what was his game where she was concerned? Sloane had yet to figure him out. But she would, given time.

“…I now pronounce youze man and wife. Youze may kiss the bride, Mistah Seingold.”

Hah.Mizzay was the other conundrum in the mix. The spunky woman was continually being damned kind to Sloane. Without any reason, as far as Sloane could see. And as for who the woman really was…?

The pistol of a tiny female somehow had deep ties to all Sloane’s higher ups. Not that any of them were giving details of how or why that was a thing. But it continued to be odd. Whatever Mizzay wanted from the Bureau, Mizzay got, which intrigued Sloane, no end.

Shewouldfind out exactly who Mizzay was, but right now the woman of many hats was wrapping up her duties as wedding officiant, and once things were considered finished here, Mizzay would direct the entire party to trek back through the woods to Anna Jakes’ house for food, drink, and comradery.

Right. Comradery.

Normally, Sloane would skip that part of things.Hell. Who was she kidding? She was going to attempt it, today. Would that work out for her? Sloane gave an internal snort. Her go-to MO was to never attendanyweddings, yet here she was. Damn that Henry Perkins for getting under her skin and insisting, no,wheedlingher into being present. Sloane wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but she was ready to start shedding her breached epidermis to make sure the insidious Perk-infection didn’t spread to other parts of her body.

Speaking of Perk…

Every time she glanced his way—two rows ahead and on the opposite side of the grassy aisle—he was peering back at her; a shit-eating grin on his too cute, gorgeously youthful face. She pretended to ignore him, but Sloane could tell he wasn’t buying it.

Double-damn him for being both smart and pretty.

Turning her attention back to the front of the gathering, Sloane barely refrained from rolling her eyes behind her regulation aviator sunglasses as she tuned in to Billboard and O’Shea. If a kiss could go on forever and ever, Billboard was clearly pushing the envelope to make that happen with his new wife.

Sloane glanced at her watch.

She’d already been here for more than an hour, which meant… Screw it. She wasn’t going to sta

It was past time to make a surreptitious exit.

While everyone “awwwed” at the endless lip lock, Sloane slowly inched toward the far end of the make-shift row where she stood. Thinking she had a chance to escape, she nearly jumped out of her dress shoes when the man she’d been fixated on magically appeared at her elbow, dashing those hopes.

“Wasn’t that awesome?” he chortled, with the same enthusiasm she’d attribute to a kid who’d just unearthed a video game easter egg.

“Great,” she agreed with a grunt.

“And the food back at the house is going to be epic, too,” he continued, actually smacking his lips.

Smack…? Who did that?

He took her arm and began steering her in the opposite direction from where she wanted to go.

She shook him off.

“I’m not headed back to the house,” she told Perk definitively. “I have things to take care of. At home. In my office.”

“On a Sunday?” he prodded impishly, sending a gentle nudge to her ribs. “Nah. I think you’re just scared you might enjoy yourself if you join the party.”

Was she afraid of having a good time? Absolutely not. Just the opposite in fact.

Sloane knew how things would go. She’d be forced into making small talk for a few minutes before she reverted to being her normal, brooding self, which would make her even more miserable. Whenever she was forced to attend a social gathering—which luckily wasn’t often—she always ended up clutching some horrid cup of punch while standing with her back against the most convenient wall.

Socializing wasn’t her specialty, small talk made her anxious, and happiness like that which currently flowed between Billboard and O’Shea—Sloane knew from experience—wasfleeting. So why should she expend any energy in that direction by becoming drywall-support? It was a waste of her time, and her internal ticking clock—the one that kept her on track to make the most of every one of her waking hours—was already sounding an alarm.

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