Page 86 of Dating Goals
“It’s fine,” I assure them.
The three men exchange doubtful glances but don’t budge.
“You know this man?” Evan asks, looking skeptical.
“Well, not exactly.” I give them a reassuring nod. “You can stand down. But don’t go too far.”
Lars narrows his eyes at Wilde. “We’ll be right here. Watching.”
“How reassuring,” Wilde murmurs, straightening his already perfect tie.
The Jass players reluctantly retreat to their table, making a show of rearranging their chairs to face the bar. Evan places the cricket bat across his lap.
“I’d prefer to speak privately,” Wilde says, his gaze sliding meaningfully toward the trio.
“No,” I reply, crossing my arms. “They stay. Consider them my emotional support senior citizens.”
Colin makes an offended noise from his table. “I’m only fifty-eight!”
Wilde’s expression remains carefully neutral. “Very well.”
“Also, there’s a two-drink minimum,” I add, slapping a cocktail napkin on the bar.
Wilde’s mouth twitches. “I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Lucky for you, I serve more than just alcohol.” I grab a bottle of Elmer Citro, cracking it open and setting it in front of him with a deliberatethunk.
Wilde glances at the green bottle, then at the Jass players (who are making no pretense of not listening), before finally sliding onto a barstool with the careful precision of someone who calculates every move.
“They’re harmless,” I say, following his gaze. “Unless you try anything weird. Then they’ll beat you with playing cards. It’s surprisingly painful.”
“I’m sure,” Wilde murmurs, taking a cautious sip of the citrus soda. His eyebrows lift slightly. “This is…unexpectedly refreshing.”
“I know,” I say. “Now, what are you doing in my bar? You have five minutes.”
Wilde leans forward and looks me directly in the eyes. “His Majesty’s Secret Service requires your cooperation.”
19
GRIFFIN
The Mountaineer rail through the Canadian Rockies is nice but it can’t compare to gliding through the Alps to St. Moritz on this luxurious express train. I’ve done some pretty wild things in my life, but this takes the cake. Let alone how I’m currently sitting across from a real-life Bond Girl, getting briefed on the logistics of an espionage mission at a high-stakes poker game that I absolutely cannot afford to lose. Just your average Thursday.
Through panoramic windows that stretch from floor to curved ceiling, the snowcapped mountains parade past, and I wish Anika was here to share this view with me.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Elodie coos, swirling her champagne. Her red fingernails match her lipstick, which matches the ruby pendant nestled at her throat.
“Yeah,” I manage, tearing my gaze away from the window. “Hard to believe I’m about to commit fraud with this backdrop.”
“It’s not fraud when you’re stopping a criminal, Griffin.”
Easy for her to say. She’s not the one about to go up against a guy who apparently runs a criminal empire disguised as a hockey franchise.
“I’m just wondering if there’s a refund policy on this whole spy adventure,” I mutter, watching a pristine alpine lake flash by. “Like, can I exchange it for something with less potential for…dying? Maybe something in the light reconnaissance department?”
Elodie laughs, but I’m getting more anxious the closer to St Moritz we get.
Our personal concierge approaches with a tray of appetizers that look too artistic to eat.
