Itell him yes, so we askJacewhat the plan is to get the documents to him.Hesays that he thinks that the town’s fall festival will be the best place to do the handoff and to meet him by the carousel at 5:45.
“Butthere will be so many people there,”Isay. “Aren’tyou worried about them seeing?”
Jaceshakes his head. “Sometimes, the best place to hide is right out in the open.”
OllieandIboth nod, and all three of us stand.Jacethanks us and leaves, and beforeIhead back behind the counter to helpNorawith the customers who are starting to get backed up,Olliegives me a smile that causes a bit of a dimple on his right cheek and gives me a bit of a flutter in my stomach.
Thenhe takes a deep breath and, seeming a bit unsure, says, “Doyou think we can pull this off?”
“Weabsolutely can, teammate,”Isay.Idon’t know if we can, butIlike being able to give him a gift of a bit of confidence.
Hesmiles at the word “teammate.”Thenhe picks up his laptop and his pumpkin-spiced chai latte, and says, “I’llsee you later today, then.”
Istand there, watching, as he walks out the door.Assoon as it’s closed,Iwhisper, “It’sa date.”
CHAPTER 7
SPYCRAFT, SWAG BAGS, AND SMOOTH TALKING
OLLIE
I’mwaiting in the lobby of my building at ten minutes to five with a few manila folders full of papers thatIdo legitimately need to file in the records room beforeIleave.I’malso carrying a case to put the contracts we’re going to make a copy of.Thething that spy movies—or at least the onesI’veseen—gloss over is that when you’re asked to secure documents to hand off to an intelligence operative, the case to put them in doesn’t come with the job.
Aftergraduation, whenIgot my first full-time accounting job and started here atPacioli&Blackwell, my dad gave me a soft leather briefcase-style bag to bring to work.I’mnot about to hand that one off toJace—that thing has sentimental value.Notto mention that it has a lot of stuff in it thatIneed.Andit’s not likeJaceasked me to do this mission whileIwas still at home and could grab an alternate bag.
Luckily,Ihad a cheap bag made of a thin material that was closer to plastic than fabric that we’d gotten as swag from a company.Theyhad come to our offices to train us on their security software that would keep our accounting files safe from hackers.Istill had the one they gave me folded up in the back of one of my desk drawers.
Thebag is bright blue, and it has the software logo—StealthFile—printed in bright green and yellow.Atthe time,Ithought it wasn’t a very logical piece of swag to give us because the bag seemed anything but a safe, secure, or stealthy way to transport files.Theyshould’ve stuck with giving us a pen with their logo on it—there’s a reason why it’s a classic.
Thebag might be anything but clandestine, but it’s briefcase-shaped, has a zipper, andIguess it’ll get the job done.
I’mstanding at the back of the lobby, near the elevator, whenDaisywalks into the building.Almostevery timeI’veever seen her, she’s been wearing jeans, a white button-down, and aCoffeeLoftapron.Evenwhen her dog set her up for disaster on that walk, she was still wearing the jeans and button-down.
Butnow, she’s dressed in office attire.Adeep purple skirt that hugs her hips before it flares out, ending justabove her knees, a silky dark gold top, and a teal fitted jacket.Allin vibrant fall colors.She’seven wearing a necklace, dress shoes that are flats, and has her hair pulled up in a bun that’s much tamer than normal.Andglasses that are a deep purple that match her skirt.Shelooks amazing.Andit makes me realize thatI’venever really pictured her wearing anything other than whatI’vealready seen her in.
Idon’t even realize thatI’mstanding frozen and stunned into silence until she comes right up to me, motions at my current state, and asks, “Itake itIlook okay?”
Inearly choke on a cough. “Yes.Youlook more than okay.”Iwant to tell her that she looks incredible.ThatIlove the bold colors on her.ThatIlove seeing her outside of theCoffeeLoft.ThatIjust love seeing her.ButIdon’t want to come on too strong.Besides, she probably got all that and more from my expression.Wewalk toward the elevator, push the button, and don’t say anything more until we are inside and the doors close.
Ipress the button to the third floor, and she says, “Areyou ready for this?”
Iclutch the manila foldersI’mholding a little more. “Ithink so.”I’msuddenly a bit nervous.Oris this excitementI’mfeeling?It’shard to tell.Bothmake my stomach feel like it’s trying to teach itself to break dance.
Asthe display over the doors changes to the number three,Daisygrins and says, “Let’sgo be spies.”
Thereis such a thrill of excitement beneath herwords thatI’mgoing to go ahead and call the stomach break dancing “excitement.”Withher here,Ithink that’s what it is.
Assoon as we turn from the third-floor lobby to the hall leading to the records room,Daisyreaches over and takes one of the manila folders from my hand, cradles it in one arm, and pulls a pen from behind her ear with her other hand.Thenshe opens the file and hovers the pen over it as we walk, like she’s going to make notations on it.
“Whatare you doing?”Imurmur, a little horrified that she might make changes to my work.
Ina quiet voice, she tells me, “It’slike they say—anyone can go anywhere in a building if they’re carrying a ladder because it makes people feel like they’re supposed to be there, even if they don’t recognize them as an employee.Mewalking with you to the records room without an employee badge will look suspicious.”Shelifts the folder a bit. “Thisis my ladder.”
Asshe looks down at my reconciliation report,Ican tell that the glasses she’s wearing aren’t fake.They’vegot real prescription lenses.SoIask, “Andthe glasses?”
“Doyou like them?Itook out my contacts before coming.Neededto look the part, you know.”
Ichuckle quietly.Onlymaybe one-fourth of the employees here wear glasses, tops.Justthinking about them, though, makes me nudge my own glasses up.
