Page 23 of Sly Like a Fox (Romance Expected Dating Service #3)

The pride in her voice is unmistakable, and I realize this charitable work represents more than social obligation for her.

It’s probably the only meaningful work she’s allowed to pursue in her regulated environment.

“It must be incredibly rewarding to work directly with children and see the impact of your efforts.”

She nods enthusiastically. “It really is. Last year, we were able to expand the reading programs to twelve additional schools in underserved areas. The improvement in test scores has been remarkable.”

As Caroline talks about her charity work, I admire how committed she is.

She’s not just someone who shows up at events for appearance’s sake.

She’s actually making a real difference in kids’ lives with the programs she’s created.

It’s hard to ignore the contrast between her husband’s shady behavior and the good work she’s doing.

It makes things more complicated, morally speaking.

Still, I can’t deny her genuine enthusiasm for her work presents an opportunity.

Someone like Caroline, who seems lonely and eager for meaningful connections, might be open to someone who shares her interests.

It’s not a great feeling, knowing I might need to take advantage of that, but I shove aside the guilt.

What matters most is keeping Fenton safe and making sure we complete the mission.

“Your programs sound amazing. I’d love to learn more about the implementation strategies sometime.” I lean forward with apparent enthusiasm. “I’ve been looking for meaningful volunteer opportunities, and education advocacy really speaks to me.”

Caroline’s face lights up with excitement that comes from finding someone who shares a genuine passion. “Really? Oh, that would be wonderful. We could use someone with your event planning background to help coordinate our school visits.”

Before I can respond, I notice Anklor approaching our seating area with that calculating smile that makes my skin crawl. Behind him, Fenton maintains casual conversation with another guest, but I see the subtle tension in his shoulders, revealing he’s aware of the approaching interaction.

Anklor settles into the armchair beside our group, his presence immediately shifting the dynamic. “Ladies, I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. Caroline has been telling you about her pet projects, I assume?”

The dismissive tone he uses to describe his wife’s charitable work makes my jaw clench involuntarily. Caroline’s expression doesn’t change, but her hands tighten slightly around her champagne flute.

“Caroline was sharing some fascinating details about the literacy programs,” I say with diplomatic neutrality. “The impact measurements are really impressive.”

“Yes, she does enjoy her little reports and statistics.” Anklor’s condescension is barely disguised as affection. “I sometimes wonder if all that time spent with numbers might be better allocated to social obligations.”

The casual cruelty of the comment makes me want to throw my champagne in his face, but Caroline’s slight flinch reminds me my reactions could have consequences for someone who has to live with this man every day.

“I think it’s wonderful when people find ways to make a real difference in their communities,” I say delicately, offering Caroline subtle support without directly challenging her husband.

Anklor’s attention shifts to me with predatory interest. “Speaking of making a difference, Ms. Johnson, I understand you have experience in event coordination. Perhaps you could assist Caroline with her upcoming fundraising activities.”

The suggestion sounds reasonable on the surface, but something about his tone makes my instincts prickle with warning. Is he trying to create ongoing contact between us, or is this part of some larger manipulation I don’t yet understand?

“I’d be happy to help however I can.” I maintain my socialite persona while mentally calculating the risks and benefits of deeper involvement with Caroline’s charity work.

If tonight is a success, I’ll have no need to maintain the pretense.

I’m oddly disappointed by that. Not that I want to manipulate her, but I’m startled to realize I’d like to get to know her better, away from her stifling, condescending jerk of a husband.

“Excellent. I’m sure you and Caroline will work wonderfully together.” Anklor’s smile grows wider, but it doesn’t fool me. “In fact, why don’t you join us for dinner next week? We can discuss the details in a more intimate setting.”

Before I can respond, he stands and moves toward Fenton with purposeful intention. “Mr. Nielsen, might I have a word in private? I’d like to discuss a business matter.”

I swallow a lump in my throat when I realize this is the moment we’ve been working toward.

This is Fenton’s chance to access Anklor’s private files and financial records.

It’s also the moment of maximum danger, when he’ll be alone with a man who just finished discreetly discussing murder as a business solution.

Fenton nods with appropriate business-like interest. “Of course. I’d be happy to hear your proposal.”

As they move toward the hallway leading to Anklor’s private study, Caroline leans closer to me with conspiratorial excitement. “I’m so glad Garret approves of you. He’s usually quite selective about the people he invites into our social circle.”

Her comment makes my stomach drop. If Anklor is being unusually welcoming, it might mean he suspects something about our true identities.

Or worse, he might be planning to eliminate potential threats before they become actual problems. Best-case scenario, he thinks he can get something from Fenton, so he’s using me to get Fenton to agree.

“That’s very flattering. Fenton and I are honored to be included.”

Caroline continues chatting about upcoming social events, but my attention remains focused on the hallway where Fenton disappeared with a murderer.

Maybe he never gets his hands dirty, but he’s surely approved several murders, judging by how blasé he was with Gaynor Lewis.

Every minute that passes feels like an hour, and I have to force myself to maintain natural conversation while fighting the urge to find an excuse to check on him.

“So, tell me more about how you and Fenton met,” Caroline says with genuine curiosity that makes alarm bells ring in my head. “Garret mentioned something about professional matchmaking, but I’d love to hear the romantic details.”

The question goes beyond our established cover story in ways that could be dangerous if I provide inconsistent information. Fenton and I rehearsed basic relationship details, but we didn’t prepare for in-depth romantic storytelling sessions beyond our supposed engagement scenario.

“Oh, it’s not that exciting really.” I try to deflect while buying time to formulate a safe response. “Just one of those situations where two people click immediately.”

“How did you know he was the one? What was that moment of recognition like?”

Caroline’s romantic curiosity appears genuine, but the timing feels suspicious.

Is she fishing for information, or am I being paranoid because Fenton is currently in danger?

I’m probably being paranoid. My instincts tell me she’s lonely and wants to experience romance again, even vicariously, but I still need to be cautious.

My mind races through possible responses that won’t contradict anything Fenton might have said while potential inconsistencies make my palms sweat.

If I say the wrong thing and Anklor compares our stories later, we could both end up as statistics in Porter Kane’s professional disappearance services.

I stand abruptly, pretending to wobble slightly. “I think I need some fresh air. This champagne is stronger than I’m used to.”

As I move toward the bar area, I deliberately bump into a server carrying a tray of full champagne flutes. The collision sends glasses crashing to the marble floor in a spectacular display of breaking crystal and sparkling wine.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” I immediately bend to help the flustered server collect the broken glass, creating a scene that draws attention from across the room.

“I really shouldn’t have had that third glass.

” I hope no one is keeping count because I’m still nursing the first one she gave me when we arrived.

The commotion provides the perfect cover for my inability to answer Caroline’s probing questions while also creating a distraction that might help Fenton if he needs to exit Anklor’s study quickly.

Several guests gather to help with cleanup, and Caroline hurries over with concern about my apparent intoxication.

“Jenna, dear, perhaps you should sit down again instead. Too much excitement and champagne can be overwhelming.”

By the time order is restored, and the server has been reassured that accidents happen, Caroline seems to have forgotten her earlier questions about my relationship with Fenton. Instead, she’s focused on making sure I’m comfortable and properly hydrated.

Fenton is still in Anklor’s study, and every minute that passes increases my certainty that something has gone wrong. The casual way Anklor discussed violence earlier makes me imagine worst-case scenarios where Fenton is already dead, and they’re planning how to dispose of his body.

I settle back onto the sofa beside Caroline, accepting a glass of water while maintaining the facade of someone who’s had too much to drink. The performance allows me to appear distracted and unfocused, which provides cover for my inability to concentrate on social conversation.

“You know, I think I should find Fenton and suggest we call it an evening,” I say, making my voice slightly slurred. “Early meetings tomorrow.”

Caroline nods sympathetically. “Of course, dear. Business obligations can be so demanding.”

As I stand to look for Fenton, I notice Porter Kane standing near the hallway leading to Anklor’s study. The bear shifter’s presence there seems casual, but his body language suggests he’s guarding access rather than mingling socially.

The sight of Anklor’s head of security blocking the path to Fenton makes me tremble.

Whatever is happening in that study, they don’t want interruptions, and if Fenton has walked into a trap, I might be the only person who can help him escape.

However, attempting a rescue would blow our cover completely and probably get us both killed.

All I can do is wait and hope Fenton’s three years of planning included contingencies for situations exactly like this.

The next few minutes stretch like hours as I maintain my tipsy socialite act while internally calculating escape routes and wondering if I’m about to watch the man I love disappear forever.

Then I hear Fenton’s voice from the hallway, calm and professional as he discusses technical specifications with Anklor. The sound of his voice, alive and unharmed, makes relief flood through me so powerfully that my knees nearly buckle.

“There he is.” I move toward the hallway with small steps that suggest someone trying not to appear intoxicated. “Fenton, darling, I think we should head home soon.”

He emerges from the study with Anklor, both men wearing the satisfied expressions of people who’ve concluded successful business negotiations, but the slight strain lines around Fenton’s eyes reveal the conversation was more stressful than it appeared.

“Of course, love. I think we’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening.” Fenton moves to my side, sliding his arm around my waist in a gesture that provides both support and reassurance.

Anklor joins us and issues an invitation. When Fenton hesitates, I quickly accept, still feigning a level of intoxication. The slimeball seems pleased by our agreement, but I can sense Fenton is uneasy.

As we make our farewells and prepare to leave for the next thirty minutes, I catch Anklor watching us with calculating interest. His expression suggests he’s made an important decision. Whether that decision bodes well or ill for our future remains unclear.