to the elevator that will take us the final floor to the top.
We move inside, and the doors close. Tallinn hits the button twice and we ascend in a slow glide.
“What do you mean maybe ?” I ask, rotating my neck from the tension of the weightlifting. After the mystery woman—after everything—a stupor covers me like a cloak. I'm befuddled. I shake it off, trying to force its grip from my mind.
“You sure you can't contact this Sebastian guy?”
“I'm certain. It's part of the mystique, Tallinn. It's what I signed up for. Intrigue—unpredictability. It's part and parcel of the fantasy.”
“And this is supposed to flesh out whether the woman is the right one? Sort of like a pressure cooker?”
A small smile erupts. “Yes. Every scenario presented is hand-engineered—tailored, if you will—to the individual. Myself, the woman. It is meant to help me choose.”
“Help her choose,” Tallinn says, swiping the key card.
I incline my head. “Yes. Though I'd say it should be mutual.”
“It might not turn out like you want.”
I walk into the suite behind Tallinn and stop short.
“Holy crow!” Tallinn says.
I scan the suite, leaving no stone unturned, no piece of furniture untested.
The sound of Tallinn's ankle gun escaping its holster causes instant tension to course through my body.
He kicks the door open wide. It slams into the wall as he sweeps the weapon in front of his body.
“Paco, stay there.” His voice is low and careful.
I back against the door until I feel the solidness against my spine.
Three minutes feels like three hours.
Tallinn returns from his adjacent suite.
“It's clear.”
We survey the damage, our gazes seeking the same thing.
It’s missing—the photo of the woman.
Gone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Greta
A text dings and I look down at my now fully charged phone.
Zaire Sebastian : Hello, Greta. How you doing, darlinʼ?
Me : I'm fine!
I think of Tor, and a soft smile breaks the seal of my lips.
Zaire Sebastian : Great.
Me : Can I ask questions now?
Zaire Sebastian : You may, but I might not answer them.☺
I stare at his smiley face emoticon and scowl.
Mysterious jerk.
Me: Fine, nevermind.
I sigh.
Zaire Sebastian: Take heart, sweet thing—it's all part of the CA experience.
Right.
Me: Okay, ttyl.
Zaire Sebastian: Take care, Greta.
I've been with the Club Alpha fantasy for over a week and haven't felt as though it's very dangerous. I think back to some of the questions posed on the twenty-page psych evaluation. There was no mistaking that it'd been exactly that.
Some of the questions gave me pause. So did the rigorous physical paces they'd put me through.
So far… I'm on cloud nine. I met Tor!
My smile is crooked . He didn't even look at my swatches.
A new notification dings. It’s from Charles Oppenheimer, my boss. A flutter of apprehension floats inside my stomach.
Charlie: Hi, Greta.
Me: Hi.
Charlie: Wow, you do move fast! Excellent work.
I wrinkle my nose.
Me: What do you mean?
Charlie: You got the Aros deal!
Relief and elation vie for position inside me. I squeal in delight, jumping up and down.
Me: Really?
Charlie: Yes! Negotiations are in full throttle, thanks to you. When are you scheduled to return?
I bite my lip. I've got the deal nailed, though not thanks to my business savvy. Other things are at play here. But I would bet Charlie doesn't know that.
I begin to tap out a response and a second text appears.
Charlie: You deserve it—why don't you stay an extra week?
That gives me two weeks in Norway. It'll be long enough to explore what's really happening between Tor and me.
I nod, realize he can't see me, and let my fingers fly over the virtual keyboard of my smartphone.
Me: I'd love to, thank you.
I manage that instead of a hell yes!
Charlie: Terrific, see you before Halloween.
I frown. I'll be home before then.
I shrug.
Me: See you
We move inside, and the doors close. Tallinn hits the button twice and we ascend in a slow glide.
“What do you mean maybe ?” I ask, rotating my neck from the tension of the weightlifting. After the mystery woman—after everything—a stupor covers me like a cloak. I'm befuddled. I shake it off, trying to force its grip from my mind.
“You sure you can't contact this Sebastian guy?”
“I'm certain. It's part of the mystique, Tallinn. It's what I signed up for. Intrigue—unpredictability. It's part and parcel of the fantasy.”
“And this is supposed to flesh out whether the woman is the right one? Sort of like a pressure cooker?”
A small smile erupts. “Yes. Every scenario presented is hand-engineered—tailored, if you will—to the individual. Myself, the woman. It is meant to help me choose.”
“Help her choose,” Tallinn says, swiping the key card.
I incline my head. “Yes. Though I'd say it should be mutual.”
“It might not turn out like you want.”
I walk into the suite behind Tallinn and stop short.
“Holy crow!” Tallinn says.
I scan the suite, leaving no stone unturned, no piece of furniture untested.
The sound of Tallinn's ankle gun escaping its holster causes instant tension to course through my body.
He kicks the door open wide. It slams into the wall as he sweeps the weapon in front of his body.
“Paco, stay there.” His voice is low and careful.
I back against the door until I feel the solidness against my spine.
Three minutes feels like three hours.
Tallinn returns from his adjacent suite.
“It's clear.”
We survey the damage, our gazes seeking the same thing.
It’s missing—the photo of the woman.
Gone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Greta
A text dings and I look down at my now fully charged phone.
Zaire Sebastian : Hello, Greta. How you doing, darlinʼ?
Me : I'm fine!
I think of Tor, and a soft smile breaks the seal of my lips.
Zaire Sebastian : Great.
Me : Can I ask questions now?
Zaire Sebastian : You may, but I might not answer them.☺
I stare at his smiley face emoticon and scowl.
Mysterious jerk.
Me: Fine, nevermind.
I sigh.
Zaire Sebastian: Take heart, sweet thing—it's all part of the CA experience.
Right.
Me: Okay, ttyl.
Zaire Sebastian: Take care, Greta.
I've been with the Club Alpha fantasy for over a week and haven't felt as though it's very dangerous. I think back to some of the questions posed on the twenty-page psych evaluation. There was no mistaking that it'd been exactly that.
Some of the questions gave me pause. So did the rigorous physical paces they'd put me through.
So far… I'm on cloud nine. I met Tor!
My smile is crooked . He didn't even look at my swatches.
A new notification dings. It’s from Charles Oppenheimer, my boss. A flutter of apprehension floats inside my stomach.
Charlie: Hi, Greta.
Me: Hi.
Charlie: Wow, you do move fast! Excellent work.
I wrinkle my nose.
Me: What do you mean?
Charlie: You got the Aros deal!
Relief and elation vie for position inside me. I squeal in delight, jumping up and down.
Me: Really?
Charlie: Yes! Negotiations are in full throttle, thanks to you. When are you scheduled to return?
I bite my lip. I've got the deal nailed, though not thanks to my business savvy. Other things are at play here. But I would bet Charlie doesn't know that.
I begin to tap out a response and a second text appears.
Charlie: You deserve it—why don't you stay an extra week?
That gives me two weeks in Norway. It'll be long enough to explore what's really happening between Tor and me.
I nod, realize he can't see me, and let my fingers fly over the virtual keyboard of my smartphone.
Me: I'd love to, thank you.
I manage that instead of a hell yes!
Charlie: Terrific, see you before Halloween.
I frown. I'll be home before then.
I shrug.
Me: See you
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