Page 54 of Dating Goals
“Absolutely.” I nod vigorously. “She’s the soul of discretion.”
Showalter interjects, his tone stern, “As far as she’s concerned, this is simply a high-end party you’ve been invited to as a team investor.”
“You got it,” I agree quickly, trying not to look too eager. “She won’t suspect a thing. She’ll just think it’s a fancy date.”
A date with Anika. An actual, proper date! Even if she doesn’t know that’s what it is. Even if she’s still hung up on Thomas. Even if I’m technically working as an undercover agent for the Swiss intelligence service.
Yeesh, my life has taken a strange turn.
“So we have an agreement?” Bruderlin asks, extending his hand across the table.
I look at his outstretched palm, considering one last time what I’m getting myself into.
“I guess I’m in,” I say, extending my hand. “Agent McGregor, reporting for duty.”
Bruderlin slides a small card across the table. “This has the details of the event. We’ll be in touch with more specific instructions.”
I pick up the card, feeling the weight of it and what it represents in my fingers.
“So I guess I’m officially a spy now, huh?” I can’t resist saying it out loud.
“You are a concerned civilian assisting with an investigation,” Bruderlin corrects me firmly. “Not a spy.”
“Right, got it. Concerned civilian. Not a spy.” I give them a wink that I immediately regret when their expressions remain deadly serious.
“We’ll be in contact soon,” Showalter says, gathering his documents. “Remember, absolute discretion is essential.”
I give them two thumbs-up as they file out of the room. They’re probably already regretting coming to recruit me in the first place.
Welp. Too late now. Move over Sean Connery.
13
ANIKA
If the universe wanted me to go somewhere fancy, it would give me better dresses that don’t make me look like I’ve time-traveled from 1990.
“This is what desperation feels like,” I mutter, holding up my mother’s gauzy floor-length number she probably wore to a Stevie Nicks concert.
“What was that?” Ivy says through the phone while I balance it precariously between my shoulder and ear.
“Nothing,” I sigh, rummaging deeper into my mother’s closet.
“Well, as I was saying,” Ivy continues, her voice tinged with that special brand of pregnant-woman determination, “Thomas is finally settled in Bern, and we need to set a date before this baby evicts me from my own body.”
My fingers brush against something silky and white. My mother’s wedding dress, complete with ginormous puffy shoulders. On the bright side, they could double as flotation devices in case of emergency.
I push it aside and come upon a silver sequined monstrosity that probably hasn’t seen daylight since ABBA was topping the charts. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Anika, are you even listening?” James chimes in, his British accent making everything sound both polite and accusatory at once. “Ivy’s about to pop any day now. If you don’t meet Thomas before the baby comes…”
“Yes! Dinner. Thomas. Date. I’m listening.” I toss the sequined dress onto the growing pile of rejects.
Griffin invited me to some swanky black-tie investor thing, and I have approximately nothing to wear. Where does one even find a black-tie worthy dress in Grächen? It’s not exactly Milan.
“You’re backing out, aren’t you?” Ivy’s voice turns suspicious. “I can hear it in your voice.”
I feel around and find something furry in the corner of the closet. “I’m not backing out,” I lie, pulling the garment forward and frowning at an orange coat that might have been made out of a shag carpet. “I’m just…reassessing my availability.”
