Griff releases me and removes the black frames. “There’s a touch sensor on each side. The one on the left temple turns the glasses into a camera. As long as I have my phone on me—and a signal—the video streams directly to the cloud. If I’m somewhere with no cell service, the recording maxes out at ten minutes. The sensor on the right switches between three different modes. Off, on, and alerts only.”
“Alerts?”
“The software recognizes sounds like alarm bells, fire and police sirens, someone knocking, even laughter and crying. Royce—he’s the hardware guy who came up with the idea for these things—is working on a version for the public that’ll identify all kinds of ambient noises. Things like approaching cars, footsteps, dogs barking, cats meowing, birdsong.” As he speaks, his shoulders straighten slightly. “The man is a genius. He designed the panic button too.”
Oh, crap. I haven’t told him. “Um, about that. I can’t keep it on me today.”
Griff’s casual, relaxed expression vanishes in an instant. “Then I’m not leaving your side.”
“You can’t be in the dressing room with me. Only models and staff are allowed.Beauty and Styleisverystrict about their runway shows.” With every word, Griff’s deep blue eyes grow harder.
“We’ll see about that.” He pulls out his phone and taps the screen half a dozen times. “Austin, I need Wren or Ripper to find a way to get me backstage with Sloane for today’s runway show. She can’t wear the tracker, and there are going to be over a hundred people going in and out of that room over four hours. I know it’s the middle of the night in Seattle, but anything you can do…”
The speech-to-text software translates his words, and he texts them to his boss. “Are you ready to go?” His easy, warm tone is gone, and in its place, the hardened CIA agent I met two nights ago right after I found Max’s body.
“No. But we don’t have a choice. If I don’t show up, not only will I be in breach of contract, but Dimitri will find out—somehow—and he’ll know something’s wrong.” With a sigh, I run a hand through my long locks. Without any makeup, wearing a dress that’s two sizes bigger than I need, with soft, black moccasins on my feet, I look nothing like Sloane Sanders, the Christmas Book cover model and the global face ofBeauty and Style.
And when I take Griff’s left hand, I catch sight of the two of us in the large mirror on the wall. For a long moment, I can’t move, can’t tear my gaze away. His suit is just as smart and stylish as yesterday’s, and he slicked his hair back today, the longer strands on top reminiscent of James Dean.
“Sloane?” Griff steps in front of me, breaking the spell that had me so entranced. “We have to go.”
I’d give anything to hide out in the suite for the rest of the day. Or hell, the rest of the weekend. To pretend Dimitri had never found me again. To succumb to the magic I saw for just a moment in that mirror and be a “normal” couple.
Instead, I plaster on my fake smile and follow Griff out the door.
* * *
Griff
“You can’t go in with her, sir,” the security guard says when I try to accompany Sloane into the dressing area off the main ballroom. “Only models andBeauty and Stylestaff.”
“I’m Sloane’s agent, and I’m responsible for her safety and happiness at this event,” I say, leaning forward so I can get right in the man’s face.
“If you continue to make a scene, I’ll have you removed from the hotel, sir.” The second guard pulls a handheld radio from his belt, an obvious threat to call in backup.
“Griff.” The single word in red text scrolls across my lenses, and Sloane’s warm hand cups my cheek. “I’ll be fine. There should be a seat with your name on it in the front row of the ballroom.”
Fuck. Austin hasn’t returned my text, and while I could take these assholes—they’re not much better than Rent-A-Cops—that would ruin the whole show for Sloane. “I don’t like this, sweetheart.”
“I know.” She draws me away from the desk so one of the other models can check in, then wraps her arms around my neck and leans in to kiss my neck. “Can your glasses pick up my words if I whisper?”
“Assuming that’s what you’re doing right now? Yes.” To anyone watching, we’re two people in love, and she’s doing her best to calm me down.
“Good.” Another kiss and she scores her teeth over my earlobe. “Trust me. I don’t like this any more than you do, but this is my job, and I’m really good at it. Ifanythinggoes wrong, Marina will know, and she’ll use her panic button.”
These pants are getting tight, and it hits me. We haven’t said the words. Hell, I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to say them. But the picture we’re painting for the world? It’s not a lie. Sloane has my heart, and she always will.
When she draws back enough for me to see her lips again, I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “What’s one supposed to say to a model before a show? Is it like Broadway where you can’t say—”
“Good luck?” She laughs, and for the first time since we left the hotel room, her smile is completely genuine. This is the real Sloane Sanders. The same woman who walked theBahnhofstrassewith me last night. “You can say it. Or maybe just cross your fingers that all the tape stays where it’s supposed to.”
“Make sure it does.” Threading my fingers through her hair, I slant my mouth over hers, and time stops. Kissing her is my new favorite pastime, and from how her body responds to me? She feels the same. Her nipples tighten into hard nubs, and it hits me. No marks on her body. Nothing tight. She’s not wearing a bra.
Pressing closer, she slides her hand down my back, all the way to my ass. All the blood in my body heads south, and if I don’t stop this soon, I won’t be able to walk into that ballroom.
“Sloane.” All I can manage is a single word, and thank fuck Marina pokes her head out of the dressing room door.
“If you don’t get your butt in here right now, Sloane, you’re going to be last in line for hair and makeup, and you know what that means!”
