Overnight Male. Elizabeth Bevarly
um, Virtuoso, don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot.”
“I’m not doing—”
“Virtuoso,” she said again.
“Joel,” he corrected her. “Please call me Joel. I know it’s not protocol, but we’re not in Cincinnati yet, and I feel like an idiot whenever someone uses my code name. It just seems like such a Hollywood affectation.”
“Is that why you don’t call me by my code name?” she asked, trying to change the subject. And also wanting to know why he called her Lila when, professionally speaking, he shouldn’t.
He grinned. “Don’t try to change the subject.”
Although she noticed he didn’t answer her question, she let it go. “Then don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot,” she repeated.
“I’m not.”
She met his gaze levelly. “Don’t pretend you didn’t read over my personnel file, too. It makes perfect sense that they would give it to you. Even if they didn’t give me yours.”
She told herself she did not sound petulant when she uttered that last comment. The reason she hadn’t been given any more information about Joel than the essentials of name, rank and serial number—at least, technically speaking—was that she already knew the most important thing about him: That he’d never been out in the field. And also because—dammit—he was the one who would be in charge of the operation, feeding her whatever information she needed as she needed to know it. Clearly, anything personal about him was nothing she needed to know. At least, the higher-ups at OPUS didn’t think so. Nor did Joel, evidently, because he certainly wasn’t talking.
And why that bothered her so much, Lila would just as soon not ask herself.
She continued, “I’m sure you know every intimate detail of my background and personal life. At least, the parts that OPUS knows.” Which, granted, was pretty much everything, she had to concede. But there was no reason Joel couldn’t think she had one or two secrets she was keeping to herself.
He studied her in silence for a moment longer, as if he were going to continue the charade. Finally, though, he admitted, “Okay, I know everything OPUS knows about you. But you don’t strike me as the sort of woman who would worry about other people discovering all the skeletons in her closet.”
She chuckled at that, too, though with genuine good humor this time. “Ah, no,” she admitted freely. “The skeletons in my closet got tired of the crowded conditions and made their break a long time ago. There’s not much left in there to discover.” Quickly, before he had a chance to comment on that, she added, “Still, you get to know everything about me, and I know almost nothing about you. So much for our partnership.”
She emphasized the first half of the word deliberately, hoping to goad him. Goading people had always helped Lila keep them at a distance, which, she told herself, was the only reason she was trying to goad Joel. To drive the wedge between them a little deeper. It wasn’t because she was hoping it would present a challenge that made him offer up some snippets about himself, too.
He eyed her in silence for a moment, long enough to let her know he understood exactly what she was doing. Then he asked, “What do you want to know about me?”
She arched her eyebrows in genuine surprise. If OPUS hadn’t given her information about Joel, then she wasn’t supposed to have it. Anything he might tell her about himself that she wasn’t already privy to would be in violation of the organization’s rules. Not a huge violation, especially if he only told her things like how he’d come in third in the fifthgrade spelling bee or how his favorite food was Mallomars. It was still a violation. And it surprised Lila that he would overstep the rules by even that much. Maybe archivists played by their own rules, but their rules weren’t generally in violation of OPUS’s. Joel especially seemed like the type of guy who would abide by regulation.
In spite of that, she said, “Where did you grow up?”
“Falls Church, Virginia,” he told her readily.
“You’ve lived your whole life in the D.C. area?”
He nodded. “My father was a Virginia senator until he retired a few years ago.”
Lila’s mouth dropped open at that, but she said nothing.
“He still does a little advising for the current administration,” Joel continued matter-of-factly, “but mostly he and my mother enjoy their respective retirements, usually on another continent.”
“Respective retirements?” Lila echoed. “What did your mother do for a living?”
“She edited the Washington Sentinel. Her family owns it. Among other things. They’re big in the publishing world.” Before Lila had time to digest that, Joel was adding, “My grandparents lived in D.C., too. My grandfather worked for Eisenhower, and then Kennedy. The house I live in now belonged to him and my grandmother. She left it to me when she died, since my sister and her husband already had a place in Tysons Corner and she knew I wanted to stay close to home after I graduated from Georgetown.”
Lila’s head was spinning by now, thanks to the rarefied atmosphere she’d just entered. Senators, presidents and newspaper families were the sorts of creatures she never had much chance to meet, but to Joel, they were a part of everyday life. Falls Church, Georgetown and Tysons Corner were all very refined, very affluent areas. Certainly Lila was no stranger to the lifestyles of the rich and powerful. But she’d been a part of them only as an outsider looking in. And only when she was working on assignment. Never in her life had she been a part of that environment for social reasons. To Joel, there was no other life.
“You come from money, then,” she said, stating the obvious.
“I do,” he admitted. Again without hesitation, but also without apology or vanity. It had been Lila’s experience that rich people usually copped to their wealth in either one way or the other. To Joel, however, it seemed to be a part of his makeup, the same way his lungs were.
“Must be nice,” she couldn’t quite keep herself from saying.
“It was,” he told her. But once more, he spoke without any kind of inflection. “Still is.”
“And you have a sister. Anyone else?”
He shook his head.
“She’s older?”
He nodded.
Well, goodness, this conversation was offering Lila all kinds of insights into Joel’s background and character. If this kept up, she might even find out what his favorite color was, and that would really violate regulation.
She grinned. “If you could be any vegetable in the world, what would you be and why?”
That, finally, got a reaction out of him that wasn’t matter-of-fact. Not a big reaction. Mostly just the squinching up of his eyes so that he was looking at her as if the sun had gone into total eclipse and thrown the planet into complete darkness, but hey, it was something.
Even so, his voice remained unchanged from its usual straightforward delivery when he replied, “One of those bags of salad that’s already washed and ready to serve.”
Lila’s smile broadened. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“But that’s not actually a vegetable, is it?”
“Of course it is,” he insisted. “And it’s a damned interesting one, too.”
“Okay, so why would you be that?”
He gazed at her blankly. “Are you kidding? Salad already washed and ready to serve? That’s like a party just waiting to happen.”
After that, the remainder of the ride to their jet passed in a surprisingly swift and tension-free manner, with Lila learning all kinds of things about Joel. Like,