And the other thing I’m realizing is…I’m envious.
Which is a fucking weird thing to feel, but it’s true. He’s standing there both at ease and on alert, his smile quick and sincere as he talks and laughs with the Prime Minister. His shoulders are back, his stance wide and powerful, especially in his tuxedo. He’s just oozing confidence. Sure, some of this mightbe performance (I have always assumed most of it is), but the fact is, this is a man who does not know the wordfear.He doesn’t feel it. In his brain, in the very heart of him, fear is something that has no place in Vanguard’s life. It just doesn’t apply.
And then, there’s me. I desperately needing this win to feel like myself again, to prove myself to the team—and fear is the only thing I can feel right now.
Fear might be the only thing I’ve ever truly felt.
“What is going on in that head of yours, Mia?” Bayo whispers. “Your heartrate is increasing again.”
“Sorry,” I say behind another swig of my drink. “I’m just taking stock.”
“Well, get ready to pounce. Once the PM moves on to someone else, I reckon you have just a few seconds before you lose your chance.”
“I won’t lose,” I tell him, finishing the glass and placing it on the tray of a waiter walking past. I straighten my shoulders and walk toward the edge of the pool, noticing the security around the PM, his usual crew. I quickly scan around Vanguard, noting the groups of people slowly inching closer, having the same idea I have.
Except they want selfies with him.
And I’m attempting international espionage.
The closer I get, the more it seems the Prime Minister and Vanguard get into deeper conversation, the PM’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing as he leans in. He’s too far away for me to read lips properly, and I can’t exactly stare at him either. I slow, heading toward a waiter standing with a tray of canapés, keeping with the vibes of a meandering guest who isn’t used to champagne, perfecting the art of looking like I’m not waiting.
“I’m sending in Fi,” Bayo says. “Hold your position.”
I’d nearly forgotten Fiona was at this party. She’s new to our team, and I’d taken her under my wing as a mentee. Young, funny, but totally green around the edges, she isn’t quite ready to be out in the field as a NOC (Non-Official Cover), but she is really good in situations like this, where her background in improv shines.
“Holding,” I whisper around a bite of a crustless cucumber sandwich the size of my thumb. I give the waiter an appreciate smile before noticing Fi approach the PM and Vanguard from behind. She’s wearing a black dress much more demure than mine, designed to blend in rather than stand out, her black hair held back in a low barrette. Her heels are dangerously high, though, and she’s teetering as she walks, as if it’s her first time wearing them, liquid sloshing out of her glass. She heads toward them at an angle, her gaze focused on a potted plant on the other side of the reflective pool.
“Get ready,” Bayo says to me. “Start walking. Turn off my transmission.”
I swallow down the sandwich and walk toward Vanguard and the PM, who are still deep in conversation, hoping whatever needs to happen will happen quickly. I reach up and twist my earring to the right, which lets Bayo hear me but keeps me from hearing him. Normally, no one would be able to hear his communication in my ear; however, Vanguard is an anomaly with enhanced hearing. There’s a good chance he’d be able to pick up on it.
I’m just about to reach them, and I’m pretty sure from the faint stiffening of Vanguard’s posture that he knows I’m coming when suddenly, a yelp rings out. I freeze and watch as Fi’s heel snaps in half, causing her to tumble to the ground right beside the PM. Vanguard’s attention immediately goes to her, as does everyone else’s, including the PM, who lends Fi a hand.
I swoop in.
“Excuse me, Vanguard?” I say, swiftly sliding my body between him and the Prime Minister. I try not to touch people as a rule, but I nearly find myself reaching for his arm, restraining myself just in time.
His gaze goes from Fi, who is giggling and calling herself a bloody idiot for being so clumsy, to me, but the intense focus in his blue eyes doesn’t change.
“Yes?” he says, flashing me his camera-ready smile, though I notice the way he glances at my hand, almost as if he was expecting me to touch him.
I straighten my shoulders and give him a lopsided grin, the one a nervous journalist might give what could be her biggest interview of the year. “So sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time.”
Vanguard nods, but his smile falters slightly, a micro-expression I’m not sure many people would notice. They’d probably be too overwhelmed that they’re talking to America’s superhero, something I’ve pushed to the back of my mind, tucked away in a small compartment for me to freak out about later.
“Of course,” he says, glancing briefly at the Prime Minister, whose attention has now been taken up by someone I recognize as an ambassador to Romania. Fi has limped over to a statue, leaning against it while examining her broken heel. I make it a point of not looking at her for too long, just enough to know she’s okay and the distraction worked.
“How can I help?” he adds.
I give him a flustered look. “Right. I’m so sorry. I’m normally more organized than this, but you’re… I just never thought I would meet you, see you face-to-face.”
“I get that a lot,” he says, his smile patient, but I can tell he’s not really paying attention to me. I suppose the makeup and the sexy dress and the blowout I got earlier makes me look nobetter than any of the models and actresses constantly draping themselves over him.
Which means I need to up my game.
“Sorry, I should introduce myself,” I tell him. “I’m Mia Baxter, a journalist with Vantage. Do you know of it?”
“The prestigious international affairs magazine for today’s new world?” he says, repeating the media tagline. “Yes, I know of it.”
