Page 28 of The Beast's Betrayed Mate
Of course.
It wasn’t like she had expected anything else. Right? No, of course not. He had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want anything more to do with her. A blush crept up her neck when she realized she’d done it again. She’d somehow assigned him attributes that could just as easily be explained by him trying to keep his distance. His focus on the work, his professional manner, it might not have been a big sign of change to his personality but rather him remembering exactly what even the slightest eye contact might do to encourage her silly fantasies.
Jesus, when was she going to grow out of this? When was she going to stop assigning personality traits to people as though her impression of them was the same as their core truth?
He exited the bedroom, wearing a jacket and carrying a pair of trainers. They were heading to an all-night diner where they could actually hold a conversation. If they were followed, then so be it. Then at least they would know.
“Should we take my car?” she asked as they exited his apartment building.
“That torture device? No, thank you,” he replied. “It’s just around the corner.”
She gave him a bright smile, wanting to hook her arm with his, but refraining.
It was indeed his local diner. He held the door open for her as they entered, and she did a mock-curtsey that made those dimples of his appear. Her stomach swooped and she almost turned around to grab the lapels of his jacket, pull him in for a kiss.
Enjoy it while it lasted, wasn’t that what she had thought?
It wasn’t over yet, was it?
Unless she let it be.
However, she stopped herself short, feeling her heart already tugged on and the thought of not producing those dimples the following morning forming a pain somewhere to the left of her heart.
Fucking feelings.
The diner was streamlined, with a modern take on an old fifties dive. It was still charming, offering a dose of wholesome Americana. A jukebox stood playing in one corner, something smarmy, and Olive decided it was her kind of place. Perhaps she’d prefer one of the originals along Route 66 where there was a piece of history in every last corner, but this provided a much needed reminder that most things were still moving to the same rhythm they always had.
“Hey, Julie,” Peter greeted the waitress. “Can we have a couple of the twenty-twos and a pot, please? Make it extra black.”
“Sure thing, sweets,” Julie—who couldn’t be over thirty—winked, giving Olive an appraising glance before leaving to place the order with the kitchen.
“’Sweets’,” Olive remarked, eyebrow raised as if to ask whether the waitress was one of his conquests.
“Yeah, I’ve been coming here for the better part of a year, and I order the pancakes every time,” he shrugged. “She’s just taken to calling me sweets because I never order anything savory.”
Olive smirked at that but kept her comment about savory things to herself.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked. “I mean, if they’ve been listening in, they’ll know we’re coming.”
“Fuck,” Olive said. “You’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t go. …But wehaveto.” She sat up straighter. “Here’s what we do. They’re thinking we’re sneaking in the back, but there’s also a separate entrance through the garage. It’s a gamble because it’s more likely we’ll bump into someone and there’s CCTV that we’ll have to avoid somehow… Make we can break it… Anyway, we should go in at two instead of after four. Sneak attack. The lab will be busier then so, again, won’t be as easy to remain undetected but I guess we should—”
“There ya are,” Julie said, placing two plates of pancakes on the table. “Extra syrup, extra whipped cream, extra jam. I’ll bring your pot right over.” She disappeared again.
Judging by the way Peter’s gaze was resting on hers, Olive had a feeling they’d had the same thought just as Julie interrupted them.
“Disguises,” they said simultaneously.
“Right?” Olive asked. “Because there’s security, but they can see our faces to let us in, right? It’s the CCTV that we want to avoid. So, if we have something to obscure our faces like me wearing a wig and you wearing… something else.”
“A baseball cap,” he suggested.
“Sure! I mean, maybe not because you’d be too conspicuous as the only man wearing a baseball cap, but we’ll think of something.”
“Please, don’t suggest a wig.”
“I mean, we could just color your hair,” she remarked. “Make you a blonde, perhaps.”
He frowned so deeply at that she had to laugh. “I think you’d look good as a blonde,” she remarked.
