Page 21

Arden

A ping comes from my laptop, cutting through the early morning stillness of the office.

With my coffee still too hot to drink, I open my inbox, expecting some briefing notes or the latest updates from Harris.

Instead, the subject line slaps me in the face: Notice of Violation: Employee Fraternization Policy.

I blink at the screen, my brain stumbling over the words. My fingers hover above the touchpad, reluctant to click, but curiosity or dread wins out.

The email opens to a wall of HR speak. Cold, formal language accusing me of “potentially inappropriate workplace conduct.” All thanks to an annoying complaint from one of my fellow coworkers.

Anonymous complaint, my ass. I know exactly who placed the complaint.

The irony. The hypocrisy. The nerve. He followed me into that bathroom, and now he’s reporting me ? It’s almost laughable.

I stare at the email from HR, the words “ Violation of Employee Fraternization Policy ” starting to blur. As if my day wasn’t set to be irritating enough.

All this because of him. Agent Holden “Policy Police” Grant.

My fingers curl into a fist as my other hand snaps the laptop shut a bit harder than necessary. The heat building in my chest has nothing to do with the coffee still steaming on my desk. My pulse pounds in my ears, a dull roar that echoes how absurd this all is.

Do not barge into his office and give him a piece of your mind, Arden . He isn’t worth it. At least, he shouldn’t be.

But of course, he finds a way to mess with me even when he isn't in the room.

This is ridiculous. I don’t know what this man wants from me. I don’t even like Agent Beckett, at least, not in that way. Sure, he’s charming in a smug kind of way, but I’m not stupid enough to mix work with romance. Not that it matters. Thanks to Mr. Hypocrite and his anonymous tip, here we are.

He knows exactly what this will do, how it’ll make me look. That’s the part that stings. Because if he’s trying to sabotage me, he’s winning. And if this is his fucked up away of trying to protect me, he’s doing a piss-poor job of it.

I try to focus on the reports scattered across my desk, but my eyes keep darting back to the closed laptop as if it might spring open and demand my attention again.

By the time the morning briefing rolls around, my nerves are frayed. I walk into the room with my now lukewarm coffee in hand, determined not to let the irritation of it all show on my face.

As usual, Grant is already here. His presence is as subtle as a clown at a circus, not a regular one—a dark and brooding clown who hates his job. His focus is fixed on whatever report he’s reading. He doesn’t so much as glance my way, but the tension in the air between us is almost palpable.

Good. It’s taking everything in me not to curse his ass out.

That’s what I tell myself anyway. There’s no mistaking the way my body warms as my mind briefly flashes back to that night in the bathroom.

It’s the second time things almost went past a point neither one of us could come back from.

“Morning, Williams,” Tate greets, sliding into the seat next to me. His easy smile cuts through my less-than-appropriate thoughts.

“Morning,” I reply, forcing a smile back.

“Rough start?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he pours a criminally insane amount of sugar into his coffee.

“You could say that,” I mutter, taking a sip of my drink and avoiding the way Grant’s gaze flicks toward me. The movement is subtle, but I feel it like a static charge.

The morning stretches into eternity when Harris finally walks in, his commanding presence silencing the room. He drops a thick folder on the table and crosses his arms, his sharp eyes cutting across the three of us, noticing Park isn’t here yet.

“I told him to be on time,” Tate quips as Agent Park saunters in like he has all of the time in the world, taking a seat next to Agent D?i?c?k?h? Grant.

“We’ve got a new assignment,” Harris says, his tone clipped. “One that will require a significant amount of preparation. As you all know, the president will be attending the Paris Summit at the end of next month. We’ve received credible intelligence about a potential threat targeting the event.”

My stomach twists as he continues, outlining the gravity of the mission.

“We’re assembling two teams to go undercover,” Harris continues, his gaze landing squarely on me before shifting to Grant. “Grant and Williams, you’ll be posing as a married couple. Tate and Park, you’ll be surveilling them.”

His words are like a sudden jolt, throwing me off balance even though I’m seated. Married couple?

I can feel Grant’s reaction before risking a glance in his direction. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and though his expression remains calm, there is something dark in his eyes when he finally glances my way.

Harris gives us a moment to process the news, then continues, his tone brisk.

My eyes cut to Park, who’s staring at me with a blank expression. His words from that night play in my mind.

Do you know what you’re doing?

My stomach sinks as Harris’s words settle over the room. Married couple.

Of course.

I steal another glance at Grant, but he’s still looking at me. Though his expression is now unreadable. Sharp and tense, but the faint twitch of his jaw gives him away.

He’s pissed.

Harris doesn’t pause long enough for us to recover. “Shaw and Associates has accepted your cover identities. You’ll be moving into your assigned residential property this Thursday to familiarize yourselves with the area and each other’s routines. We can’t afford mistakes once you’re embedded.”

My gaze snaps back to Harris. “Residential property?”

“A townhouse,” he says matter-of-factly, flipping open the folder on the table. “It’s prepped to pass as your shared home. Park and Tate will be stationed in a surveillance house directly across the street, posing as another married couple. Their job is to run intel and provide backup.”

I barely have time to process the logistics before Tate interjects, leaning back in his chair with his signature nonchalance. “Let me guess, we’re the quirky neighbors who throw barbecues?”

Park doesn’t even blink. “I don’t grill.”

The corner of Tate’s mouth twitches, but Harris shuts down the humor with a curt wave. “Now is not the time for jokes. This isn’t a sitcom. You’re there to observe and step in if things go south.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Married couple. Shared home. Routines. Every word from Harris makes the situation feel more intrusive, more dangerous.

Harris’s gaze sweeps back to Grant and me. “Williams, Grant, your cover identities are Andrew and Amelia Smith, former military contractors who now work exclusively as a team for high-profile clients. You’ve been married for six years and have a reputation for getting the job done discreetly.”

Grant’s voice is a low gravelly sound when he speaks, “What’s the timeline?”

“You’ll be embedded by Monday,” Harris replies, his eyes narrowing. “That gives you five days to learn everything about your cover identities, backgrounds, habits, quirks, the works. Shaw will test you at every turn. If they sense anything off, you’re done. And so are we.”

I glance at the thick file on the table, my pulse pounding in my ears. Five days.

Harris continues, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. “You’ll attend Senator Fallon’s fundraiser gala in two weeks. It’s the first opportunity to get close to him and gather intel. Shaw has placed you both on Fallon’s personal security escort detail, which gives you direct access to his inner circle and his movements. He has a team guarding him at his residence, so Park and Tate will run surveillance from the sidelines."

“Will Shaw be suspicious of our identities?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain steady.

“They’ve done their vetting,” Harris replies. “As far as they’re concerned, you’re exactly who you say you are. That doesn’t mean you can let your guard down. Shaw and Fallon aren’t amateurs, and they won’t hesitate to eliminate a threat if they suspect one.”

The gravity of his words settles like a stone in my chest.

Harris finally closes the folder, leaning back in his chair. “You’ll receive the rest of the details during your briefing tomorrow. I suggest you all get familiar with each other’s roles in the meantime. Dismissed.”

As we file out of the room, the air feels heavier. I can feel Grant’s presence behind me, close enough to be unsettling but not close enough to touch.

In the hallway, I turn to Tate, desperate for a distraction. “You ready to play house?”

He grins, his easy charm cutting through some of the tension. “Oh, absolutely. I can already see it. Park and I, the perfect suburban couple. Maybe we’ll get a dog.”

Park gives him a flat look. “I hate dogs.”

“Semantics,” Tate replies with a dismissive wave.

Despite myself, I let out a small laugh, but it quickly fades when I catch Grant watching me. His gaze is steady and far too penetrating. I look away, trying my hardest to pretend I don’t notice.

Tate glances between us, his grin fading slightly. “Good luck, you two. Looks like you’ll need it.”

Park doesn’t say anything, but the weight of his stare lingers long after they walk away.

I take a deep breath and start toward my desk, but Grant’s voice stops me.

“Williams.”

I turn, my pulse quickening as I meet his dark, unreadable eyes.

“We need to talk,” he says.

“About what?”

He steps closer, his presence suffocating in the empty hallway. “This mission. Our cover. If you’re not prepared—”

“I am prepared,” I interrupt, my voice sharper than intended.

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, the tension between us feels unbearable. Then he leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “You better be, Rookie. Because if you screw this up, it won’t just be your ass on the line.”

The words hit harder than they should, and I bristle under his scrutiny. But instead of firing back, I hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the cracks in my composure.

“Are you finished?” I ask evenly. Noticing there’s not a trace of the person from this past weekend. I don’t know if I’m grateful for it or irritated.

His jaw ticks, but he steps back, his expression unreadable once again. “For now.”

Without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding in my chest and his words hanging over me.