Page 6 of Sly Like a Fox
An inheritance from my grandmother funds this lifestyle along with cautious wealth management.I excel at that, and it’s a lot easier to pursue vengeance…uh, justice…with vast resources available.
The reflection in my bathroom mirror shows a man who’s been living a lie for so long he sometimes forgets what the truth looks like.Tomorrow I’ll be Fenton Nielsen, successful consultant, charming dinner companion, and potential romantic interest for a fox shifter named Jenna Johnson.Tonight, I’m just a man whose real name died with his parents and whose only purpose is bringing down the monster who destroyed his family.
ThenextmorningI’vegot an encrypted message from my contact at the municipal planning office.Anklor’s construction bid for the new civic center has been approved, despite being thirty percent higher than the nearest competitor.It’s more evidence for the file but also a reminder that every day this takes is another day he gets richer off other people’s misery.
I shower, dress in a casual-but-expensive outfit that broadcasts success without trying too hard, and head to my cover job.Nielsen Consulting actually exists.I handle legitimate technology contracts for three small businesses, but it’s more window dressing than actual career.The real work happens in my hidden office after hours.
“Morning, Mr.Nielsen.”Vera, the receptionist at the building where I rent office space, waves as I pass her desk.“You have a call holding on line one.”
I thank her and check my messages.I have two client requests, a follow-up from a networking event, and a reminder about my dental appointment next week.These mundane details of Fenton Nielsen’s life keep the identity convincing.
The day passes in a blur of legitimate work and prudently maintained routine.I return client calls, review a proposal for upgrading someone’s database system, and have lunch with a business contact who’s been useful for establishing my reputation in the local business community.
I don’t let myself think about tonight’s date until five o’clock.
I mentally review what I know.Jenna Johnson.Fox shifter.Strategic thinking.Challenging dating experiences.I’ve memorized the limited information Red provided, but going in partially blind is probably for the best.Too much preparation might make me seem scripted, and fox shifters are notoriously good at detecting deception.
The irony of worrying about seeming fake while living an entirely false identity would be funny if it weren’t my reality.
I drive home through evening traffic, using the time to shift mental gears from work mode to date mode.Fenton Nielsen is confident but not arrogant, successful but not flashy, and intelligent but not condescending.He’s interested in finding a genuine connection with someone who can match his intellectual energy.
None of that is technically untrue.It’s just incomplete.
My apartment reflects constructed taste with modern furniture, expensive but understated art, and a kitchen for someone who enjoys cooking, though I don’t have much time for it.Everything is clean, organized, and utterly impersonal.I’ve been living here for eighteen months, and it still feels like a hotel room.
I change into a charcoal suit with a dark blue shirt and no tie.I’m sophisticated but approachable.The outfit works equally well for a business dinner or a romantic evening.My reflection looks like a man any reasonable woman would want to date.
Unless she knew who I really am.
The drive to Meridian takes twenty minutes through downtown traffic.I arrive ten minutes early and request a table with good sight lines since exits matter more than ambiance.The restaurant is exactly what I expected with its elegant lighting, soft jazz, and atmosphere that encourages intimate conversation.
I order a whiskey and water while I wait, using the time to observe the other diners.The restaurant attracts a mix of business professionals, wealthy retirees, and couples celebrating special occasions.It is the type of place where Fenton Nielsen seamlessly belongs, though my true self would feel out of place, like an imposter.I grew up upper-middle-class, so my family didn’t eat at places like this often.Only when my rich grandmother was visiting, for the most part, so I never got acclimated to such luxuries until assuming the Fenton mantle.
She walks in at exactly seven o’clock.
Red’s description didn’t do her justice.Her copper hair catches my attention right away, and her amber eyes reveal the quick intelligence of someone who automatically catalogs potential threats and opportunities.She’s wearing a simple black dress that somehow manages to be both elegant and approachable, and she moves with the unconscious grace that comes naturally to most shifters.
Our gazes meet across the restaurant, and I stand to wave her over.Her smile seems genuine, but there’s something calculating behind it that I recognize from my own mirror.She’s working just as hard as I am to make a good impression.
“Jenna?”
“That’s me.You must be Fenton.”Her handshake is firm and confident.“Thank you for choosing such a beautiful restaurant.”
“My pleasure, but Red actually chose it.”I smile to put her at ease.“She spoke very highly of you.”
She dips her head slightly as I help her get seated.“She said wonderful things about you, too.Something about appreciating intelligence and strategic thinking?”
A slight emphasis on “strategic” suggests multiple layers of meaning.“I find intelligence attractive.Nothing’s more boring than someone who can’t hold up their end of a conversation.”
She looks a bit startled as she nods.“I couldn’t agree more.”
The server appears to take our drink orders.She requests a glass of the house red wine—nothing too expensive but not the cheapest option, either.The practical choice shows financial awareness without seeming cheap.
“So, technology consulting,” she says once we’re alone again.“That sounds fascinating.What kind of projects do you work on?”
I launch into Fenton’s prepared background, spewing out information about database optimization, security upgrades, and helping small businesses modernize their systems.It’s all technically true, just incomplete.
She listens with focused attention.“That must require a lot of problem-solving skills.”
