Page 17 of Sly Like a Fox (Romance Expected Dating Service #3)

Jenna

Three weeks into our partnership, Chloe badgers me into meeting her at the coffee shop we often frequent.

I’ve been avoiding her since the transformation began, partly because explaining my sudden wardrobe upgrade without revealing the truth requires more creativity than I can muster, and partly because Chloe reads people with uncomfortable accuracy.

“Okay, spill.” She slides into the booth across from me, carrying two steaming mugs and wearing her most determined expression.

“You’ve been MIA for weeks, you’re wearing clothes that cost more than my regular commissions, though clients are cheap bastards when it comes to graphic design, so that’s not saying much.

You also have that glow that only comes from getting laid by an attractive man. ”

I sip my latte, buying time while I formulate a response that contains enough truth to satisfy her curiosity without revealing anything that could compromise our operation. “Things with Fenton are going well, but I’m not getting laid.”

She looks skeptical “Going well enough that he’s buying you designer clothes, but no…” She waggles her eyebrows. “Uh-huh.”

Heat creeps up my neck. The wardrobe overhaul Fenton arranged is more extensive than I initially expected.

He insisted I needed professional styling, high-end cosmetics, and a closet full of clothes that actually fit properly and make me look like I belong in expensive restaurants.

The transformation is remarkable but explaining it to Chloe requires creative editing.

“He’s generous, and before you lecture me about accepting expensive gifts from men, this is different.”

Chloe leans back in her seat, studying my face with the intensity of someone who’s known me long enough to recognize evasion. “Besides the no sex, different how?”

“He’s not trying to buy me or be possessive of me. He just wants us to look good together at the events we attend.” True enough, though the events in question are reconnaissance missions rather than social outings.

“What kind of events require a complete makeover?”

I gesture vaguely, hoping to deflect without lying outright. “Business functions, charity galas, and networking opportunities. His work involves a lot of high-profile socializing.”

“And you’re comfortable with that? Playing dress-up for some guy’s professional advancement?”

The question stings because it suggests I’m being used, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Our partnership is built on shared goals, not exploitation, but explaining that to Chloe would require revealing details I can’t share.

“It’s not like that. We’re partners in this, not boss and employee.”

“Partners in what, exactly?”

I realize I’ve walked into dangerous territory. Chloe’s questions are becoming more specific, and my answers are becoming more revealing than intended. Time to redirect the conversation.

“Partners in building something together. Look, I know it sounds fast, but Fenton and I have a connection that goes beyond typical dating. We understand each other in ways that...” I trail off, surprised by the honesty in my words.

Chloe’s expression softens slightly. “You’re falling for him.”

The statement makes me flinch, not because it’s wrong but because it’s so obviously right.

Somewhere between planning our cover story and practicing our public affection, my performance became genuine.

The realization should terrify me, but instead, it makes me want to defend what we’re building. “Maybe I am. Is that so terrible?”

“Not terrible, just dangerous. You’ve spent your entire adult life being independent and self-sufficient. Don’t let some guy change who you are, even if he is gorgeous and generous.”

Her concern is genuine, but it’s based on incomplete information.

Fenton isn’t changing me. He’s giving me the opportunity to become the person I always wanted to be, who uses her skills for something meaningful rather than just survival.

“He’s not changing me, Chloe. He’s helping me become myself. ”

She snorts softly. “That’s what they all say right before they isolate you from your friends and convince you that you need them to be complete.”

The accusation makes me defensive because it’s so far from the truth. “Fenton has never tried to isolate me from anyone. If anything, he encourages me to maintain my friendships and pursue my own interests.”

“Then why haven’t I seen you in three weeks?”

Fair point. I’ve been so consumed with preparation for the gala that I’ve neglected everything else in my life, including the people who matter to me, but that’s my choice, not Fenton’s manipulation.

“Because I’ve been busy learning new skills, attending events, and building a relationship with someone I actually care about. When was the last time you saw me this happy?”

Chloe considers the question seriously, her expression growing thoughtful. “Never, actually. You do seem different. More confident and more...settled.”

“Exactly. So maybe instead of assuming the worst about Fenton, you could trust that I’m smart enough to recognize a good thing when I see it.”

She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I do trust you. I just worry that you’re moving too fast with someone you don’t really know.”

If only she understood how much I actually do know about Fenton—not just his cover story but his real motivations, his pain, and his commitment to justice. I know him in ways most couples never achieve, even after years together.

“I know him better than you think, and I know myself well enough to recognize when something is worth fighting for.”

She frowns. “Fighting for?”

I realize I’ve revealed more than intended. The word choice suggests conflict or obstacles that don’t exist in normal relationships. Time to deflect again. “Figure of speech. I just mean that what we have is special, and I’m willing to work to make it last.”

She studies my face for another long moment before nodding slowly. “Okay. I can see you care about him. Just promise me you won’t lose yourself in this relationship, no matter how good it feels right now.”

“I promise.” I mean it, though not in the way she expects. I’m not losing myself but finding a version I never knew existed.

After Chloe leaves, I sit in the coffee shop reviewing our conversation and processing the emotions it stirred up. The truth is, I am falling for Fenton, and it’s complicating everything about our mission in ways I didn’t anticipate.

What started as a professional partnership has evolved into something deeper and more personal.

I care about his quest for justice not just because it benefits me but because I’ve seen the pain behind his commitment.

I’ve researched Anklor’s victims, read news articles about families destroyed by his corrupt business practices, and experienced genuine anger at the harm he’s caused.

This emotional investment in something beyond my own survival is new territory.

For years, my focus has been narrowly self-interested, confined to earning enough money to pay rent, finding marks wealthy enough to improve my circumstances, and staying one step ahead of consequences.

Now I’m caring about abstract concepts like justice and accountability.

The transformation is both liberating and terrifying. Caring about something bigger than myself means I have more to lose if we fail.

I walk back to Fenton’s apartment, noting how naturally I think of it as home now.

I’ve been staying there most nights for the past two weeks, partly for operational security and partly because I sleep better in his guest room than I have in years.

The mattress is sumptuous, but the sense of safety really soothes me.

The arrangement started as practical since it was easier to maintain our cover if we’re actually living together, but it’s become something more significant.

Fenton is in his office when I arrive, surrounded by documents and computer screens displaying the intelligence we’ve gathered about Anklor’s organization. He looks up when I enter, and his expression brightens. “How was coffee with Chloe?”

“Complicated. She’s worried you’re going to corrupt my innocent soul.” I settle into the chair beside his desk as he chuckles, noting the new information he’s compiled. “What’s all this?”

“Final preparations for tomorrow night. Guest list confirmations, security protocols, and background intelligence on key targets.” He points to a series of photographs arranged on his desk. “We need to focus on these people from Anklor’s inner circle and the officials who enable his operations.”

I study the faces, memorizing names and relationships that could be crucial tomorrow night.

There’s Judge Patricia Vance, who’s ruled in Anklor’s favor on multiple occasions, City Councilman Lorenzo Terella, whose campaign contributions show suspicious patterns, and Porter Kane, Anklor’s bear shifter head of security, who handles the violent aspects of intimidation. “Any changes to our approach?”

He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Minor adjustments. The guest list includes two couples from the charity circuit who know our cover identities from previous events. Having familiar faces there will help establish our credibility but also constricts us to what we’ve established.”

Over the past few weeks, we’ve attended six different social functions, building our reputation as Fenton Nielsen and Jenna Johnson, successful young professionals with philanthropic interests and expensive tastes.

The performances have become increasingly natural as we’ve learned to work together, and they’ve also revealed how compatible we are beyond the operational requirements.

“Should we practice the introductions one more time?”

Fenton nods and stands, assuming the posture and expression he wears at formal events. I do the same, transforming from comfortable girlfriend to sophisticated socialite with practiced ease.