She tucked her earpiece in.
Before she realized he was there, Markus started laughing. “What is that you’re listening to?”
“Uh… I was trying to get pumped up?”
“Slow your roll, Jane Bond,” he said, voice dry as a generic-brand Keebler cracker, because why pay for brand-name?
At least he couldn’t see her blushing, because her cheeks were flaming.
“You don’t need pumping up, Agent Greene. You got this. All you need to do is walk in, make coffee, take notes, answer the phone. You could do that in your sleep.”
Could she, though? She itched around the edge of her nose. “Is this fake nose supposed to be itchy?”
“Just relax. You’re gonna be fine.”
He was probably right. It was all in her head, nervous fixation. Like when she was in a plane and spent the entire time imagining crashing to the ground in a fiery blaze and double-checking where the life vests were located, as if they would help. Today that was her nose. The plane never crashed, and her nose was fine. As she walked through the parking lot, she murmured, “You can do this, Gabby!”
Markus cleared his throat on the other end.
“I was going to remind you not to talk to me in front of people, but I guess, don’t talk to yourself either.”
“Gotcha.” She’d spent the last couple of years narrating her day to Mr. Bubbles like he was listening. At the moment, she would give anything to be safe at home with her dog, nothing to worry about but some dirty dishes and kid pickups.
eStocks was the kind of place that Gabby would drive by and never think twice about. Glass doors with a tasteful sign announcing its very boring name. Inside, a receptionist sat behind a sleek desk. A small lobby had black leather chairs and artwork that looked like it came from a bin labeled “artwork.”
It was the kind of place that would activate Justin’s claustrophobia. Last year, they’d had drinks at Shelly’s house, and he had started breathing too shallow and sweating. “Justin, are you okay?” she had asked.
“No.” He had fanned his face.
She had been ready to call 911, sure he was having a heart attack.
“I just need some air.”
Turns out, he had felt “trapped by the décor.” Like his spirit was literally being crushed. She understood that it wasn’t just the bad art. It was the implied expectation that he fit himself into the box with it.
Justin couldn’t be undercover at eStocks. He wasn’t hardy enough. Gabby could handle bad wall art and a badly behaved finance bro. Hell, she’d been married to one.
She squared her shoulders, while casually walking past the receptionist desk. Carmen Delgado, twenty-five, one kid, loved clubbing. “Hi, Carmen.”
“Camille, you’re back!”
She smiled involuntarily. Her disguise had worked.
“That is Carmen Delgado,” Markus whispered into her ear. “It was her birthday last weekend.”
Gabby already knew. “How does it feel to be twenty-five?” Gabby ribbed.
“Ugh!” Carmen groaned and pointed to a half-empty gallon of Gatorade. With a pouty face, she announced, “I’m too old to drink now.”
Gabby laughed and said, “I think you have a few years of carousing left in you.” It was so funny when people who had just become adults complained about aging. Her granny could drink Carmen under the table any day.
“Your desk is down the hall and to the left. Bathrooms are on the other side of the lobby.” The bathrooms were marked, but it was cute how Markus wasn’t leaving any detail to chance. He couldn’t have her breaking her cover by wandering into a coat closet like it was the conference room.
The offices were floor-to-ceiling glass. The design aesthetic screamed, “Look at our hands. We’re not stealing anything.” Gabby knew better.
James, the tech guy, spied her. “You’re back. Feeling better?”
“Yep. Thanks for asking.”
