“We need to talk about today. The schedule, how we’re going to pull this off. What I need you to do to stay safe. How we communicate.”
He keeps his tone gentle, like he’s trying to ease me in to this whole idea of being in danger. If only he knew the truth. That I’ve feared for my life every day since I got off the plane in New York City more than fifteen years ago.
But if you tell him, he’ll figure out how damaged you are.
“You need to see my lips. I remember. We need to be close for that, yes?”
Griff reaches for an eyeglass case on the table and flips it open. “Yes. But there’s another option. Put these on.”
“Your glasses?”
I’m confused, but he gives me an encouraging nod. “Now say something. Anything.”
“Did you sleep—? Oh, my God.” My words scroll across the lenses in a bright red. It’s odd—staring at the text so close to my eyes and having Griff’s face blur in the background.
“My eyesight is fine. Those glasses can pick up multiple voices at once. Each one gets its own color. They don’t work in crowded or loud rooms, but lipreading is sometimes unreliable. Different accents, rapid speech, strong emotions… The glasses don’t care.”
My words faded in the middle of his explanation, and I frown. “Why didn’t it pick up what you said?”
Griff chuckles as I set the glasses back in the case. “BecauseIknow what I’m saying. It doesn’t need to.” Picking up his tablet, he taps the screen. My words appear there too, and he scrolls back to the previous night where everything Marina said appears in orange. “I can program the voices with names and colors, and any unknown voices will be assigned random numbers I can go back and categorize later.”
“This is amazing. How far away does the microphone work?” Another sip of coffee, and I feel almost human.
“Thirty feet. Give or take. It depends how loud the person’s voice is. The official story is that I wear them to look cool. Not because I need them.”
“The official…story?” Everything I know about the CIA comes from TV, but that’s another one of those pastimes I rarely get to engage in unless I have a long break from shoots.
Griff nods. “My boss and the rest of the team in Boston built a whole cover persona for me. Business major in college, bounced around three different agencies, then took a job with Ulstrum a year ago. That’s where we met. You need to memorize as much of the file as you can before the press conference.” Setting his cup on the table, he scoots closer to me. “Are you okay with me touching you?”
“What?” No one’s ever asked me that question before. Not the doctor who examined me after the police raid, not the plastic surgeon or the counselors at rehab, not Max, Marina, or anyone I’ve worked with over the past fifteen years.
“We’re supposed to be dating. People will expect us to be affectionate.” Griff’s entire body language screams how uncomfortable he is with this plan, and I wonder. Is he worried about touching me? Or the other way around?
“You don’t know anything about modeling, do you?” I hold the coffee cup between us like a shield, hoping it will help him relax.
“Nope. Only how boring your diet is.”
I laugh, and we both relax by degrees. “People touch me all the time. The Christmas BookBeauty and Styleis releasing after tomorrow night’s runway show? Every one of the outfits I’m wearing in those shots required boob tape, butt tape, or nipple shields. Some of them needed all three.”
Griff gapes at me, his cheeks taking on a ruddy tinge. “Oh. Well, that’s…”
“Uncomfortable?” I drain the last of my coffee, then pick up his empty cup as well before refilling them both and returning to his side. “Humiliating? Degrading?” My voice cracks, and I’m relieved Griff can’t hear it.
Keep it together. Smile. Change the subject. He doesn’t need to know how hard it is to have someone pawing at your breasts to get them to spilljust soor being stripped of your panties so wardrobe can thread the string of a thong up your ass instead.
“Sloane? Take a deep breath,” Griff says, close enough now we’re hip to hip. “The most important thing I need you to do over the next few days? Talk to me. Don’t shut down like you were about to.”
“I wasn’t—” The words die in my throat. He saw right through the emotionless mask I slide into place when I’m scared.
“Hiding’s my thing, remember?” He lifts his left arm slightly. “I know the signs.” With his right hand, he cups my cheek and his thumb skates over the remains of the bruise I didn’t even try to cover up this morning.
“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.” I’m dangerously close to letting my guard down, despite only meeting this man last night. “The file you have on me? The one filled with lies? I have to live those lies every single day. If I don’t…”
“What? What’s going to happen if you tell me the truth?” He’s so earnest. Like he truly believes there are no secrets I could reveal that would send him running as far and as fast as he can.
My phone alarm—blaring from the nightstand—saves me from answering. “I have to start getting ready. Can you send me the file? Everything you want me to memorize? I can read it while I dry my hair.” Without waiting for a reply, I hurry into my bedroom, scribble my email address on a piece of the hotel stationery, and turn around, only to find Griff standing just inside the door. “Here.”
Defeat weighs on his shoulders as he tucks the note into the pocket of his shorts. “There’s still a lot we need to talk about.”
