The Paris Assignment. Addison Fox
The shadows faded from his eyes, replaced with another vivid, killer smile. “You bring up a good point, though, which reminds me you never answered my question earlier. About how we met.”
“I’ll follow your lead.”
“Nope. We need to be in sync on this, especially if we’re asked separately.”
The point was a legitimate one and she threw out the first thing that came to mind. “Walking in the park.”
“Too cliché.”
“Cliché?”
“This is New York. A lot of people meet in the park.”
“Which would make it a logical way to meet.”
He shook his head. “Nope. It’s too efficient. You strike me as the type who pops in her earbuds, does her run and pays no attention to anything, or anyone, around you. Something else.”
The urge to argue was strong, but she had to give him credit for being spot-on. “How’d you know I was a runner?”
“Those legs.” His gaze roamed lightly over her body and she sucked in a breath at the electricity that hummed underneath her skin at the perusal.
“Hmm. All right. How about at a business meeting?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Then people will ask what I do, leading to another lie.”
Abby had to give him credit. What started out as a simple exercise was rapidly morphing into a more serious discussion where walking in unprepared could give them away. “What do you do, then? You know. If I’m asked.”
“I’m in software. If anyone pushes any harder, say fractal wave patterns and it’s usually more than enough to shut them up.”
“You do realize fractal wave patterns are a legitimate, documented phenomenon in the financial industry. What are you going to do if you get a banker asking the question?”
“Ramble.”
She had to laugh at that. “You do this often?”
“Often enough to know that people really don’t want to know the ins and outs of a computer geek’s mind.”
“All right. Let’s just say we met on an internet dating site and be done with it.”
“I don’t need to get a girl through my computer.”
She shook her head at his sexist—and outdated—comment. “First, it’s a perfectly respectable way to meet someone. Second, you do live your life attached to a computer. It would make sense.”
“No.”
“Fine. You’ve got a better idea?”
“We met through my sister. A simple family connection. It’s not exactly a secret you went to Radcliffe. So did Kensington. It’s a perfect cover and it has the added bonus of being one hundred percent true.”
“If this was your goal all along, why not just say it?”
“Wasn’t it far more fun to debate it? Add to it that you’re far less nervous than you were when I got in the car and I’d say it was well worth the time.”
And there it was.
That simple knowledge that he wasn’t to be underestimated, under any circumstances.
He saw far too much and thought too much.
And most of all, he saw her. From the workings of her mind to her exercise routine, he observed, dissected and analyzed. It was unnerving.
Not to mention more than a little exhilarating.
“So what is this event this evening?”
Abby welcomed the change in topic as the lights of Lincoln Center came into view outside the car windows. “The opera.”
A dawning look of horror covered Campbell’s face. “Any chance I can convince you to turn the car around just throw money at the event instead?”
“I’ve already thrown money at the event. This is the result.”
“So they already got what they wanted. Let’s bail. We can get a few hot dogs at Gray’s Papaya and go to the movies instead.”
“What is wrong with you? It’s a few hours and a few arias. It’s not that big a deal.”
“Who’s this evening’s diva?”
“Carlotta Luchino. Why?”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * *
Whatever questions Abby had at his not-so-subtle rejection of the opera vanished in the whirlwind of the evening. The requisite ode to culture only involved about three pieces of music and the swanky after-party kicked into high gear.
Campbell and Abby mingled with the evening’s attendees, drinking post-performance cocktails and dodging requests for additional donations. He kept his hand steady on her back and played the attentive lover as he watched the room for any sign of the suspicious or out of place.
As covers went, he could hardly complain. He was sharing the evening with a beautiful woman. What troubled him was his inability to keep his mind on the task at hand.
Instead, his thoughts filled with her.
Abby, her long legs stretched out in the limo and visible through the thigh-high slit in her dress, so close to the tips of his fingers.
Abby, her lush mouth drawn up into a smile as she talked to the CEO of a key telecom company.
Abby, stripped from the long column of her gold-sequined gown, naked and willing in his arms.
Although he hadn’t technically observed that last one, the image was crystal clear in his mind’s eye all the same.
Conversation swirled around him, voices high and happy in the glow of expensive liquor when his gaze alighted on a man about ten yards away. Although the man stood in a group, his gaze was steady on Abby.
The intrusion was immediate.
“Champagne, sweetie?” Campbell leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek, whispering in her ear, “Who’s the man at your three o’clock?”
Her eyes widened but it was the only evidence she was alarmed. Instead, she shot him a gentle smile and nodded. “Yes, I’d love some.”
Campbell waved a waiter over and used the motion to cover her as she turned to look at the stranger. When the champagne arrived, she gave him a slight head shake as she reached for a fresh glass.
“I think I see an old college buddy. Would you excuse me for a moment?”
The CEO and his wife were well into the champagne and sent him off with jovial smiles as Abby resumed a story about her last analyst meeting. As the husky, cultured tones of her voice faded behind him, Campbell moved around the perimeter of the room, blending with the guests as he assessed the potential threat.
While he knew every man with a pulse had given Abby a once-over since they’d arrived, the man’s continued focus had Campbell’s hackles up.
Which was the only excuse he had for missing the cloud of perfume and the voice accented with the heavy notes of Italy as two long arms snaked around his waist. “Campbell, darling. You’re here yet you don’t come find me.”
A heavy pout pushed Carlotta Luchino’s rich red lips into a tight line before she leaned forward and pressed them to his cheek. “You wound me, darling.”
“Carlotta.” Campbell fought to keep his gaze on his quarry but the opera diva’s hands were too busy with holding his face still.
“I’ve called you.”
“More