Page 22 of Sly Like a Fox
I grab a clean sweatshirt from my bedroom and hand it to her, trying not to think about what she might or might not be wearing underneath the coat.When she emerges from the bathroom wearing my sweatshirt over what appears to be very little else, I have to remind myself we’re partners now, and mixing business with pleasure is a recipe for disaster.
She settles back into the desk chair, curling her legs under her.“Actually, do you mind if I crash on your couch tonight?It’s late, and I’d rather start fresh in the morning when we can really dig in to planning.”
The request surprises me, but it makes practical sense.We have a lot of work ahead of us, and starting early would be advantageous.“Of course.I’ll get you some pillows and a blanket.”
She smiles gratefully.“Thank you for trusting me with this and letting me stay.”
I gesture toward the monitors still displaying Anklor’s data.“Thank you for not running away screaming.”
Her expression grows serious as she looks back at the office.“Not my style.We’re going to get him.Aren’t we?”
The confidence in her voice strengthens my own certainty.“Yes.We are.”
She follows me out of the office, and I veer toward the linen closet before joining her at the couch.She accepts the blanket with a grateful smile and stands to unfold it across the cushions.
I head back toward my bedroom but stop halfway through the living room.“Can I ask you something?”
She pauses mid-tuck, looking over the back of the couch.“Sure.”
“Why did you come over tonight?”
Her expression doesn’t shift.She just straightens and stands still, the blanket clutched loosely in her hand.“I was planning to seduce you.”
That lands with enough impact to knock something loose in my brain.She delivers it like she’s saying she almost brought cookies instead of wine.
I should be smarter about this.About her.About everything.My mouth opens, and I almost ask if that’s still an option.Instead, I nod once and step back, not wanting to further complicate our new partnership.I settle for a stilted, “Good night, Jenna.”
She doesn’t press or tease.She just holds my gaze for another beat before dropping onto the couch.“Good night, Fenton.”
I turn off the lights and walk down the hall, pretending the image of her wrapped in my sweatshirt and stretched out on my couch isn’t burning itself into my memory with alarming permanence.I’m grateful she chose the couch because if she hadn’t, I’m not sure I would’ve had the strength to say no.My little head is currently urging me to invite her to join me.But my need to bring down Anklor allows me to maintain enough control that my big head dominates, at least for now, and I go to bed regretfully alone.
Chapter 7
Jenna
IwakeuponFenton’s couch to the smell of coffee and the soft sounds of someone moving around in the kitchen.The apartment is quiet except for the coffee brewing and what sounds like Fenton already being frustratingly put-together at whatever ungodly hour this is.I’m wearing one of his sweatshirts over my lingerie from last night.The practical solution somehow manages to feel more intimate than if I’d slept naked.
I pad into the kitchen on bare feet, noting how the hardwood doesn’t creak under my weight.Quality construction, even in the floors.Everything about this place screams money and attention to detail.
Fenton turns from the coffee maker when he hears my footsteps.He’s already dressed in dark jeans and a gray henley that does excellent things for his shoulders.How is he this put-together when we stayed up until 3 a.m.planning an elaborate operation against Garret Anklor?
“Good morning.Coffee?”He holds out a steaming mug.
I accept it gingerly, making sure our fingers don’t brush during the exchange.After last night’s revelations and the intensity of planning our partnership, we’re both being cautious about maintaining boundaries.The coffee is perfect—rich and smooth.
He leans against the counter, maintaining some distance between us.“I was thinking we could grab breakfast somewhere and continue our discussion about logistics.I know a place downtown that has excellent pancakes and reasonable privacy.”
I take another sip of liquid gold and consider the offer.“Actually, I’d like to stay here for a bit longer if that’s okay.”The gesture I make around his kitchen encompasses the whole elegant space.“This feels safe.Private.Like we can talk without worrying about who might be listening.”
He pushes off from the counter and moves toward the refrigerator.“Of course.I can make breakfast here.How do you feel about omelets?”
I sip the coffee before answering.“I feel like I haven’t had a home-cooked breakfast in forever.”
While he cooks, I explore his kitchen more thoroughly than I did last night.Everything is high-end but functional.Expensive cookware shows signs of actual use, a spice rack suggests he knows his way around complex recipes, and his refrigerator is stocked with fresh ingredients rather than takeout containers.No bachelor pad stereotypes here.
I watch him expertly flip an omelet without breaking it, which is basically magic as far as I’m concerned.“You actually cook.”
He slides perfectly golden eggs onto plates alongside fresh fruit and what appears to be homemade bread.“One of the benefits of maintaining a cover identity that involves having a normal domestic life.Plus, ordering takeout every night creates patterns that could be tracked.”
