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Arden

T he security scanner buzzes as Agent Royal swipes my badge. Somehow, the sound feels louder today, cutting straight to my nerves. My stomach twists.

Well… that can’t be good.

“You’ve been requested to meet with the First Lady,” Royal says, casual but with that raised brow of his that always makes me uneasy. “East Wing. ASAP.”

I blink, the words not quite registering. “I’m sorry, what? Meet with who?”

“It says that you’re to report directly,” he says, gesturing to the screen. “Kind of strange. I’ve never seen a notification like this before.”

I wish I could lean over and look at the screen myself, but that probably wouldn’t end well. No matter how nice Agent Royal is when I enter his security gate.

My chest tightens, my pulse picking up as yesterday’s near-disaster floods back into my mind.

Why would she want to see me?

And then it hits me. Agent Grant. He must’ve written the real report for yesterday, detailing exactly how I disobeyed his direct order. Fucking fantastic. Here I thought we were starting to come to an understanding.

I can’t even be mad. It’s my fault. I did disobey his order, and while I appreciate Park for not saying anything, I should be reprimanded.

Though, I will say I wish it were Agent Harris doing the scolding and not the wife of the man who runs everything. Literally.

But I guess it can’t be helped.

Royal leans back in his chair, his face one of pity. “Guess that’s not something you can say no to.”

“No,” I mutter, already feeling the dread settle in. “I guess not.”

The walk to the East Wing feels longer than usual, my thoughts racing with possible explanations.

Sorry I didn’t listen. I just felt like saving your life. Yeah, no.

To be fair, I was right, so… bygones?

I shake my head, giving up. There’s no spinning this. If I’m about to lose my job, I’ll just have to take it standing.

When I reach the First Lady’s suite, I pause, forcing myself to breathe. The room is oddly perfect. Like a pastel postcard come to life. The furniture looks untouched, everything arranged just so, and the scent of lavender perfumes the air. Even the sunlight streaming through the windows feels deliberate, as if someone orchestrated it.

And then there’s the pictures. Dozens of them on the walls, all of her, all pristine. Polished. Flawless.

I feel like I walked onto a set of a Disney movie, a psychological thriller, or a serial killer documentary.

I can’t quite say which one I prefer.

When the First Lady enters, it’s as though she’s stepped straight out of one of those sets. A main lady in her own right.

Her blond waves are soft and shining, her pearl necklace gleams, and her pale-blue dress looks specifically made for this moment. She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

It’s off-putting. I’ve had my fair share of encounters with people in high positions working undercover. One takeaway that will stick with me forever is that the ones with the smooth exteriors are best at hiding devious edges.

“Special Agent Arden Williams,” she says, her voice light and melodic. “Thank you for coming.”

I straighten automatically, resisting the urge to wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. “Of course, ma’am.”

She glides into the room with a grace that makes my boots feel like lead. Every step, every gesture, every flicker of her gaze feels calculated. I brace myself for it.

You’re fired.

“I know you’re probably wondering why I requested to meet with you.”

More like summoned , but I refrain from saying that. I refrain from doing anything but breathing at this point.

“I wanted to personally thank you for yesterday,” she says, her smile unwavering. “Your quick response didn’t go unnoticed.”

Wait—what?

My mind stutters, but I keep a cool mask of indifference on. This is not where I thought this was going.

“Just doing my job, ma’am,” I manage, the words stiff, automatic. The adrenaline still hasn’t left my system, and it’s like my body can’t decide whether to relax or gear up for another fight.

Her smile widens just slightly, but it seems none of those rehearsed smiles reach her eyes. “Well, I wanted you to hear it directly from me. You made the right call. The president and I are both grateful. He wanted to be here as well, but there were a few scheduling conflicts.”

I blink again, struggling to process. The right call? The president and I? Grateful?

Yesterday plays out in my head. The man in the suit, me chasing him and finding the bomb, Grant’s fury, and I can’t exactly correlate the words with the ones she provided.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say finally, the words feeling foreign. “Not a problem at all. I assume he is a very busy man. I thank you both for the gratitude.”

She studies me for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I imagine it wasn’t an easy situation. But it’s at moments like those when true character shows.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am,” I repeat, unsure what to say and unsure where she’s going with this.

The First Lady tilts her head, her smile tightening just enough to shift from faux warm to calculating. "I see more than just someone doing their job. I’ve read your file. Youngest detective on the Maryland PD. Three major crime syndicate busts before your departure. Impressive, Agent Williams."

My pulse quickens, the words settling over me like a dark cloud. How deep did she dig?

My file contains nothing damning. No disciplinary actions, no skeletons hiding in a closet. Well, unless you count a few snippy remarks about my “unapproachable demeanor” or a note about my RBF. Otherwise, my record is spotless. Practically angelic.

But the way she says it, like she’s already pulled me apart and pieced me back together in her mind, makes my skin crawl. It’s as if she’s looking for something. Like that smile of hers would make me reveal my deepest and darkest secrets.

"I’m looking for someone to lead my personal security team," she continues smoothly, her voice as polished as her pearls. "And I think you’d be a perfect fit."

I stop breathing. The words replay in my head, hitting me like a sucker punch with every new start. I didn't blink this time, sure I must’ve misheard. I allow a silent moment to pass before realizing the seriousness of the situation. "I-I’ve only been here a few weeks, ma’am." My voice falters before I pull it together. "With all due respect, I don’t think I’m qualified for that."

Hell, I’m still trying to figure out where the break room coffee is kept, and she wants me to lead her security detail?

Countless agents are more qualified for the job, more willing.

She waves off my protest like it’s an afterthought, which discombobulates the hell out of me even more. "Time served isn’t the point. It’s about potential, Agent Williams. You’ve already proven yourself under pressure. And, quite frankly, I’d prefer someone like you. Sharp, efficient, and, most importantly, a woman. This place is drowning in a boys’ club mentality. It’s time for a change, don’t you agree?"

I don’t know what to say.

While the words should feel empowering, something about them makes me feel like I’m walking into a trap. Like there’s more to this offer than she’s letting on.

My thoughts stumble, unbidden, to Agent Grant. What would he think? Probably that I don’t deserve it. That I’m overreaching.

If I wasn’t on edge, I’d laugh or cry. Here I am, standing on the brink of a career-altering opportunity, and all I can think about is the judgment of a man who has made it his life’s mission to make mine miserable.

Still, the idea of his reaction makes me hesitate. The look on his stupidly sharp, annoyingly handsome face when I tell him I’ve leapfrogged past his expectations? Almost worth the risk. Almost.

But my gut churns, warning me that this is too much, too soon. Opportunities like this aren’t handed out without strings attached.

"I’m honored," I say carefully, "but I think I need more time to grow into my current role before taking on something so significant. I want to be sure I’m truly ready."

Her smile doesn’t falter, but the gaze in her eyes shifts. A flash of something sharper, colder. "Of course," she says lightly. "Take your time. But let’s keep this conversation just between us for now, shall we?"

The knot in my stomach twists tighter. Not that I’d broadcast it to the entire agency, but this whole ordeal feels... wrong. It only amplifies the unease clawing at my chest.

"Understood, ma’am," I reply, keeping my expression neutral.

As I leave, the air in the suite feels stifling, too thick and perfumed. Everything about this place is too perfect. Too curated. It leaves an itch beneath my skin, one I can’t quite scratch.

On my way out, I nearly collide with Agent Harris. His sharp gaze snaps to mine, narrowing slightly.

"Agent Williams," he says, his tone clipped but not unkind. "What are you doing over here?"

The question is casual enough, but something about the way he looks at me makes my mouth go dry. For a moment, I consider telling him the truth and laying out the entire bizarre conversation with the First Lady. Despite everything, Harris has always seemed... decent. Straightforward. A hard-ass but fair.

But then her words echo in my mind. “The boys’ club is getting too big. It’s hard to know who you can trust.”

"The First Lady wanted to personally thank me for yesterday," I lie smoothly, forcing my lips into something resembling a smile. The guilt gnaws at me instantly, but I shove it down.

Harris studies me for a moment too long before nodding once. "Afternoon debrief is at 1500," he says. "Don’t be late."

"Yes, sir," I manage, and as he strides away, I can still feel his gaze like a weight on my back.

By the time I’m back in the West Wing, the unease is a constant hum beneath my skin. I try to shake it and focus on anything else, but the First Lady’s words and that too perfect smile cling to me, refusing to let go.

Something’s wrong. I don’t know what yet, but I can feel it. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to trust my instincts. They’ve never let me down before.

***

I’m trying to focus on the simulation, trying to reset the damn thing, but my mind keeps drifting. The First Lady, her offer, and that strange, polished smile. None of that shit sits right. I should’ve felt flattered, but all I felt was thrown off.

I keep hearing Agent Grant’s voice in my head, his words echoing with disapproval.

I shake it off and reach for the start button when a smooth voice interrupts.

“Mind if I run it with you?”

I glance up, startled, and find myself staring into a pair of striking green eyes. His broad shoulders fill out his black T-shirt, similar to a certain asshole, and his long brown hair is pulled back into a casual bun. Unlike said asshole, he looks too laid-back for this place. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him during the debriefs or training.

He’s too good looking to miss.

If Luna were here, she’d tell me to ride him like a cowboy. And for once, I don’t think I’d be against the idea.

“Ezra Beckett,” he says with a casual smile, his gaze sliding over the room before landing squarely on me.

“Arden Williams,” I reply.

“Your reputation precedes you, Agent Williams,” Beckett says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall as if he owns the place. “I’ve never seen anyone run that simulation so fast.”

I blink, slightly confused. “You’ve heard about me?” Has everyone looked into me? Jesus, it’s like I’m being watched from every angle.

He chuckles softly. “Oh, yeah. You’re a hard woman to miss. Not to mention, everyone is talking about how the new kid on the block saved the First Lady. Which is very impressive for your second detail, by the way.”

I shrug, trying not to let the compliment sink in too far. “Just doing what needs to be done.”

Just doing my job. Just doing what needs to be done. It seems like those phrases will permanently become etched into my vocabulary.

His smile widens a bit, a flicker of interest in those sharp green eyes. “Intel guy,” he offers. “I usually work behind the scenes, but I like to stay sharp on the field stuff. Makes the brain work better when you know how the body moves.”

“I see,” I say, not entirely sure where this is going. There’s something magnetic about him, a subtle energy that’s both engaging and slightly disarming. “You don’t look like you sit behind a desk much.”

“Not if I can help it,” he says, a bit of flirtation creeping into his tone. “But I figured I’d take a break from the paperwork. I can offer a few pointers. You know, if you’d like.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Pointers? From the intel guy? Maybe I am doing that badly.”

The second it’s out, I regret it, realizing how rude it might’ve sounded, but Beckett just laughs softly, clearly unbothered.

“Ouch,” he says, his tone teasing. “What if I told you I made this simulation?”

That catches my attention. “You made this?”

He nods, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, his movements smooth and unhurried. “Every scenario, every threat. Thought I’d give the agents a challenge. But you seem to be handling it just fine.”

I want to believe him, but Grant’s harsh critique from earlier keeps playing in my head, refusing to let me off the hook. Damn him. “You think?”

“Definitely,” Beckett replies, leaning in slightly, just enough for me to feel the pull of his presence. “But I could show you a few tricks to shave off a few more seconds. Small details make all the difference.”

This guy is flirting with me, no doubt about it. And for whatever reason, despite how easy it would be to play along, for the second time today, I can’t stop thinking about someone who practically despises me.

Before I can respond, a voice cuts through the air, sharp and unmistakable.

“Agent Williams, are you ready for the debrief?”

I bite back a sigh. Speak of the devil .

I glance at the clock, confirming I still have an hour before the debrief is set to start, then over to see Agent Grant approaching, his expression hard.

The tension rolls off him in waves as his eyes flick between Beckett and me, clearly not pleased with what he’s walked in on.

Which, for the record, is nothing , but from the look in his eyes, I doubt he would care either way.

“Holden,” Beckett greets, his tone casual but with a hint of challenge. “Was just offering Arden some pointers on the simulation.”

Grant’s jaw tightens, his eyes locked on Beckett. “ Agent Williams doesn’t need pointers. Not from you.”

The air shifts, and once again, it feels like I’m missing something. Maybe it’s because this is the first person I’ve heard use Grant’s first name. Or perhaps it’s because the two clearly have history. Either way, the tension seems way more than Grant’s usual “I hate everyone” sunny deposition.

Beckett’s easy smile doesn’t falter. “Everyone could use a little fine-tuning, don’t you think?”

Grant steps closer, his posture radiating authority. “Not her. We’ve got it covered.”

Wait… was that a compliment or an insult? I can’t tell, but the confusion in my gut twists tighter. Wouldn’t he want me to get better? This is the same guy who’s been riding me about improving.

The tension between them thickens like I’ve become some pawn in an unspoken battle. I clear my throat, trying to cut through the strange atmosphere. “It’s fine. I appreciate the offer, Ezra.”

Grant’s jaw tightens even more, and I swear he looks ready to kill the second I address Beckett by his first name.

Beckett smirks, clearly enjoying the tension. “The offer stands. We could go over the details during lunch. How’s your schedule looking?”

Grant’s eyes narrow, and there’s a flicker of something dangerously close to jealousy in them, but I brush it off. I’m imagining things.

“She’s not free,” Grant says, his voice sharp.

I give him a sideways glance, annoyed at his tone. “Actually, I might take you up on that, Ezra.”

Beckett’s smirk grows as he glances at Grant before turning back to me. “Good to hear. See you then.”

He saunters off, leaving me with Grant, who looks ready to explode. The tension between us thickens, pressing against my skin and making it harder to breathe.

“What the hell was that?” Grant growls, his voice dripping with barely controlled anger. He moves closer, invading my space, his presence swallowing me whole. My body betrays me instantly. Heat flares under my skin, my nipples hardening against the fabric of my bra, and I hate it, hate how I react to him without even thinking.

His eyes flick down, dark and intense, like he knows exactly what’s happening inside me even though he couldn’t possibly see. Still, the way he’s staring at me, it feels like he can.

I tilt my head, feigning innocence even though I know damn well I’m playing with fire. “What?” My voice comes out softer than I intend, like I’m goading him. Maybe I am. I’ve never seen him this animated before.

Well, outside of yelling at me.

He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, his eyes boring into mine. “Beckett. Stay away from him.” His sharp words are biting.

I cross my arms, my irritation flaring, though his gaze follows the movement like it’s something else entirely. “Why? I thought you wanted me to ‘prove myself,’ to be better. Or does this have nothing to do with that?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks, his frustration barely contained. He’s too close, too overwhelming. “I don’t trust him.”

I arch a brow, pushing back. “Seems like you just don’t like him.”

“I don’t like distractions,” he snaps, the intensity of his stare making my heart pound. “And that’s what he is.”

His words settle deep, twisting something inside me that I can’t ignore. I force myself to hold his gaze even though being this close to him scatters my mind. “I can handle myself, Agent Grant.”

His eyes flicker with something dark, something I can’t quite read, before he turns on his heel, muscles tight as he storms off. “Just don’t forget why you’re here, Rookie.”

I watch him go, my heart still racing, skin prickling with the remnants of his touch even though he never laid a hand on me. Beckett’s offer lingers at the edge of my thoughts, but it’s Grant. His anger, his warning stays with me. The way he acted, the way he looked at me…

It felt too much like a jealous boyfriend.

But that’s crazy.

Right?