Page 77 of Only the Wicked
I pause, waiting for the “be careful” warning. “It might be tempting to accept a job he offers, if it goes there, but think twice. You’ll be getting in deep, and no one asked you to sign up for a long-term undercover gig. Deep UC with someone who can track every detail of your life...that’s a lot.”
She’s right. My employee agreement is for remote work with travel.
“If you decide to go for it, there’s a resume on the portal that will likely land you a job.”
I’m getting ahead of myself. He hasn’t suggested I move to San Francisco. Yes, he asked for my resume, but he made it clear it wasn’t for a position at his company.
No, I need to stay focused. This weekend I’ll get a clearer picture of ARGUS capabilities and any black-market client roster, and when he boards a plane on Sunday, I’ll regroup with the team.
One project leg at a time.
I step into the living area of the suite and peruse the clothes he’s purchased, flipping over price tags that scream Rhodes got ripped off.
The black V-neck dress with pin-thin straps and a low, semi-fitted waist that drapes away from the bodice and skims my ankles is pure femininity, and tempting, but instead I select a straight, cream skirt; white, fitted tank; and a plush, cream cardigan, deciding that the cream color sets off my olive skin and dark hair. The gold Prada sandals lend a luxurious, casual touch.
I don’t have a briefcase or tote that will blend with my laptop, so I unwrap the light gray Chloe handbag and gather my laptop, and head down to the hotel bar.
A man in a tan business suit with no tie meets my gaze from across the room. The absence of a tie has me thinking he’s a power player. It’s the men who don’t feel obligated to tie a noose around their neck that are the ones with the real power and influence. The others who conform to uncomfortable apparel are struggling to fit in and make a name for themselves. That’s a piece of education my pricey Penn diploma awarded me.
I order a sparkling water with lime and crack open my laptop. The bar’s polished mahogany gleams under amber lighting, casting everyone in a flattering glow while making it harder to discern subtle details. The gentle clink of ice against glass and the murmured conversations create an acoustic blanket that would make most surveillance difficult. I’ve strategically chosen a spot at the bar that allows me to see anyone entering the establishment. Restrooms are to the back. There’s only one access point.
At this time of day, the tables are mostly empty. Given the suits, I’d expect the table of two women to my left and the table of one man and two women one table over from them are here on business and they have time to kill either before flights home or before a work dinner.
I don’t see anyone who strikes me as security. Rhodes’ security detail is likely in his proximity.
The man with a tan suit approaches.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Actually…” I nudge the laptop, “planning on getting some work done.”
“Oh, what company are you with?”
I narrow my eyes, studying this man and his thin rope necklace. He’s not D.C. That’s not the look of a lobbyist. Why is he approaching me?
“Don’t want to say?” With one dose of his smug smile, I feel unclean. “Or a beautiful woman like you…” He makes a show of looking at my ringless left hand, “You can’t be single.”
Ugh. What a blowhard.
I catalog the details: fake Rolex that doesn’t quite sit right on his wrist, a tan that’s too orange to be natural, suit that’s expensive but poorly tailored, brand logos on his leather loafers. He’s trying too hard to project success while missing the subtle markers that would make it convincing. A wannabe player who likely exaggerates his Pentagon connections—dangerous only in his desperation to seem important.
“I’m not single. If you wouldn’t mind.” I push my laptop screen further back for visibility, but purposefully don’t wake the screen, as I don’t want this sleazy specimen seeing my name or any other identifier.
To my dismay, the tan suit slides a bar stool back and sits one stool over.
“My name’s Daniel. Let me buy you a drink.” He holds up a hand. “I hear you, you’re not on the market, but?—”
On the market?
“Sir, there’s a lot of room at the bar. The lady is here to get work done.” Tan suit and I both direct our attention to a man in a navy suit with a pink and navy striped tie. I estimate he’s in his mid-forties, with trimmed, dark hair combed to the side. It’s conceivable he works for the hotel, although there’s no name tag.
“Fine. Fine. I can take a hint.” He nods his head like he’s soothing us both and moves to the opposite end of the bar.
“Sorry about that, ma’am. Daniel can be…” He cocks his head to the side. He doesn’t need to say more.
“Is he your friend?”
“No. He’s a salesman. Does a lot of work with the Pentagon.”
