As I gather a half-eaten pie from the fridge, I try to ignore it. He wouldn’t wear camera buttons on a date, so why even contemplate spying? It would be pointless, but you wouldn’t believe that with how fast I secure his laptop and access the surveillance program we used for the Lamaze class stings.
Curiosity wins this round, though I promise to give it a worthier battle when my heart isn’t overflowing with hope.
Surprisingly, Grayson registered the serial number of a button camera in a shirt that looks oddly similar to the one he dressed in after showering this morning.
After a brief swallow, I click on the link on the equipment register. It takes me to footage obtained today around the time Cameron would have left for her appointment. I click the first file of footage in a long list. My position as lead agent on this case requires me to gather and document all surveillance my team receives.
Yeah, right.My spying hasnothingto do with my job.
The footage of Grayson checking his reflection in the tinted window of our bureau-assigned sedan proves he’s wearing the light-blue button-up shirt we wired up with surveillance days ago. It is the same ocean-blue color of his eyes, and it clings to the ridges of his body as if tailored for him.
The frantic bob of his Adam’s apple is unmissable when he spots someone in the background of his reflection. Cameron is making her way to her vehicle, her hands minus the appointment card I spotted on her entryway table.
With the button camera’s closeness to the sedan hindering my view, I switch to the building’s security network. In three clicks, I have a perfect view of the parking lot. I zoom in until Grayson and Cameron are the only two people in the frame, then sit back to watch the drama unfold. All I need is popcorn, and I’d have the perfect high-octane entertainment.
Cameron approaches her vehicle, fiddling with her keys, as Grayson watches nervously from the sideline. I hold my breath along with Grayson when Cameron tries to crank the ignition. As expected, nothing happens. She tries again—still nothing.
Frustration doesn’t morph on her face until Grayson approaches her stationary vehicle. He keeps his hands in his pockets, acting casual, while requesting that she pop the hood.
Cameron only winds down the window half an inch. The gap is barely big enough to speak through. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
She doesn’t look at him. Not even for a second.
What is wrong with you?
Grayson remains consistent, forever stubborn. “It sounds like you have a dead battery. Are you sure you don’t want me to take a look?” She brushes off his offer with a brisk headshake. Grayson acts as if he doesn’t understand universal gestures for no. “It could be a loose connection. It will take two seconds to fix, and then you can be on your merry way.”
Is it just me, or does he sound a little moody?
It’s understandable. She still hasn’t looked at him.
“Two seconds?”
A ghost-like grin hikes my lips when Grayson replies in true Grayson style. “Three seconds, max.”
I breathe out slowly when Cameron pops open the hood as requested. Finally. Grayson tinkers with her motor like he knows what he’s doing. He’s a genius, though this is out of left field for him. He fakes it like a pro, just like he did when he set up the crib and changing table in the corner of my room.
After a minute, Grayson shakes his head, flopping his blond spikes side to side. “It’s not the battery.” I don’t breathe when he pulls the spark plugs I removed yesterday from his pocket. The hood hides him, so Cameron is unaware of our scheme, but I am still nervous.
I almost asphyxiate when Grayson suddenly peers back at the surveillance camera mounted on a light pole above the lot. He stares straight at me for several long seconds, like he knows I’m watching. He couldn’t. The camera captured this footage hours ago. But you’d swear that he’s assessing my soul through my eyes. His stare is white-hot, and it has me squirming in my seat.
Even through a monitor, the tingles I felt this morning when he strapped my belly are undeniable.
As they shift my hope to an emotion I can’t control, I almost beg him to slot the spark plugs back into their rightful spot. To walk away as if Cameron means nothing to him. But nothing but air bubbles leave my mouth.
He needs this, and I need to continue being the bigger person.
I swallow my disappointment when, a second after he returns his focus to the engine, he stuffs the spark plugs back into his pocket and continues with the ruse I orchestrated.
He tells Cameron that her battery is dead before he offers her a ride into town.
She dismisses his offer with a wave, still not looking at him, before she attempts to call a taxi. I realize I have competition to claim the title of Grayson’s best friend when a security prompt flashes across the screen.
Remotely, Brandon blocks Cameron’s cell signal, leaving her with no choice but to accept Grayson’s offer. She hesitates, then, seeing the empty lot, gives in.
Grayson walks her to his sedan, the space between them as wide as the Amazon. I panic my ploy is failing until Grayson reaches across her to open the door for her. His hand brushes her forearm, and as much as Cameron tries to hide it, I can see how much it affects her.
She gasps in a sharp breath before her eyes rocket to Grayson. I take in the same features she absorbs in rapid succession. His icy-blue eyes, partially stubbled jaw, perfectly straight nose, and lips that taste like heaven. She drinks them all in as the vein in her neck thuds as uncontrollably as my heart.
