Page 13 of Sly Like a Fox
“Yet…”
“I had a better angle.”
I look at him for a long moment.“You’re not just some tech consultant.Are you?”
He lifts his wine, but his tone doesn’t change.“Does it matter?”
I want to say yes.I want to be the kind of woman who demands total transparency before letting a man like this anywhere near my life, but I’m not.I’m the kind of woman who’s already wondering what it would be like to wake up next to that calm, dangerous certainty and hear him say my name like he means it.
I pick up my fork again and stab a piece of calamari like it insulted me.“I haven’t decided.”
“I’ll try not to influence the outcome too aggressively.”
“Appreciated.”
We eat in silence for a minute, the air between us stretched tight with all the things we’re not saying.This was supposed to be a second date and safer than the first.Standard.Predictable.Instead, it’s proof Fenton Nielsen might be even more complicated, and more interesting, than I thought.
I can’t stop thinking about the interaction with Doran.The protective instinct behind his actions should probably scare me.Instead, it makes something warm unfurl in my chest.When was the last time someone stepped in to defend me or considered my reputation worth protecting?“Thank you,” I say quietly, breaking the silence.
“You don’t need to thank me.You could have handled him yourself.”
“I could have, but you didn’t give me the chance to.”
“Would you have preferred to handle it yourself?”
I consider the question seriously.“Honestly?No.I’m tired of fighting my own battles.It was nice to have someone else take care of it for once.”
We finish dinner without further interruption, but the atmosphere of the evening has changed.It’s not ruined but improved because now I’ve seen a glimpse of who Fenton really is beneath the cautious veneer.
He’s capable of making problems disappear with a few quiet words and the right leverage.Everything about his handling of Doran suggests resources and influence that go far beyond technology consulting.I should be concerned.Instead, I’m intrigued.
As we walk to the parking garage after our meal, I study him surreptitiously.The deliberate way he moves, the subtle awareness of our surroundings, and the way he positions himself between me and potential threats all seem off for a tech guy.“Can I ask you something?”I say as we reach my car.
He touches my face, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone.“I had a wonderful time, and I meant what I said earlier.You’re someone I care about.I’d like the chance to care even more about you.”
I would answer, but his lips touch mine before I can.When he kisses me, it’s nothing like the polite goodnight kiss I expected.It’s hungry and claiming, full of promise and barely contained desire.When we break apart, I’m winded and more than a little unsteady.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says against my lips.
“You better.”
I drive home with the taste of him still on my mouth and my mind spinning with questions I’m not sure I want answered.Fenton Nielsen might not be what he seems, but I’ve never been more attracted to anyone in my life.
Chapter 4
Fenton
IgenuinelyenjoyJenna’scompany in a way I hadn’t anticipated.Three hours passed like thirty minutes, and for the first time in years, I found myself forgetting to monitor my responses for consistency with my cover story.Her quick wit and calculating intelligence remind me of looking in a mirror and seeing someone else who approaches every interaction with methodical strategy.
The drive home gives me time to process what happened.Jenna Johnson is dangerous, but not in a way I expected.She’s not trying to manipulate me for money or status.She’s simply perceptive enough to see through my persona, which makes her a threat to everything I’ve built.
When she asked if I’m always so cautious, she might as well have asked if I’m living a lie… because I am.Every day, every conversation, and every relationship for the past three years has been performance art designed to support my mission against Garret Anklor.
Back in my apartment, I pour a whiskey and review the evening’s conversation.Did I slip up anywhere?Reveal anything that could compromise Fenton Nielsen’s identity?I don’t think so, but Jenna’s observation about my preparedness suggests she’s paying closer attention than most people.
I return to my office to distract myself, opening the section that reveals my true workspace.The monitors flicker to life, displaying the financial data I’ve been tracking for months.Garret Anklor’s latest data shows the same pattern of behavior that destroyed my father’s construction company four years ago.
My father, James Nelson, built his business from a single truck and a toolbox into a success that established us as upper middle class by the time I was in school.I still remember him coming home covered in sawdust and concrete dust, exhausted but proud of the work he’d accomplished that day.He taught me honest labor was its own reward, and building something lasting was worth more than quick profits or shortcuts.
