“So the part about you being a journalist was true?”
Her cheeks turned pink and she frowned. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one here who’s been withholding information.”
She wasn’t wrong. Jason blew out a breath and nodded. “Fair enough. And this probably isn’t the place to get into it.” He opened the shop door and waved her in ahead of him before following her inside.
His mom had been using wigs and hairpieces to change her look on the fly for as long as he could remember, but this would behisfirst foray into faux hair.
Emma, on the other hand, was apparently an expert. She knew exactly what she wanted, moving through the place full of bodiless mannequins quickly as she explained to the clerk that they were staging a photo shoot and the models needed options.
“And are you one of the models?” the blond man asked Jason in lightly accented English, his eyes bright and interested as he gently wrapped their purchases.
“I am.” He grinned, channeling his younger, cockier self, who hadn’t yet realized how lonely and frustrating it was to be seen as nothing more than a nice set of abs in the studio, a fast pair of legs on the football field, or a someone’s idea of a hero.
The blond scribbled on a business card and slid it into the shopping bag. “If you need anything else while you are in town, even…after hours, call me.” He held Jason’s gaze for a beat before taking the Swiss francs Emma held out, and making change. “Come back soon.”
Jason nodded politely and followed her outside.
“So, that still happens to you a lot?” Emma asked as they threaded through the crowd on the street, hats pulled low to hide their faces.
He shrugged. “Define a lot.” Enough that his friends gave him shit for all the phone numbers he’d been given over the years. Enough that it had caused problems during his brief relationship with Emma in college.
It wasn’t like hewantedpeople to come onto him all the time. Sure, it was flattering, but the clerk at the wig shop didn’t know him. The blond had decided he wanted to fuck Jason, but he had no idea if Jason was a nice guy or a total dick, funny or humorless, smart or clueless. And he clearly didn’t care. To him Jason was simply an object to be desired, easily kicked aside once that desire had been sated.
It was honestly exhausting.
“I think more than once is a lot,” Emma said. “I’ve literally never had anyone slip me their number unprompted.”
“Oh, come on.” He stared incredulously at her face, partially hidden beneath the hat she’d dug from her bag. “I find that hard to believe.” He’d expect people to fall all over themselves to get her attention. The way he had once upon a time.
It was her turn to shrug. “Maybe I give off a don’t-fuck-with-me-vibe.”
“Now that you mention it…”
Her faint laugh shouldn’t have eased the tension in his shoulders, but it did. “In reality, I think it’s more of a blending-into-the-wallpaper vibe.”
He didn’t see it, but he also wasn’t here to flirt. And she wasn’t to be trusted. He was here for the files.
And, yes, to keep her safe. Just until he understood what the hell was going on.
After a quick stop at a souvenir shop, they found a single-stall public restroom and crowded in together after Emma inserted a franc to unlock the door.
“I know we ditched our phones,” she said, “but to be safe, maybe we should check our clothes for tracking devices.”
“Okay.” At this point, he shouldn’t be surprised by anything that came out of her mouth.
They stared at each other for a second and then turned toward opposite corners by unspoken agreement.
He tried to ignore the rustling of her clothing as he shucked his shorts and turned them inside out looking for bugs.
Nothing.
Likewise, he found nothing in his shirt, shoes, or socks. The only person who’d even come close to touching his underwear was Emma, so he wasn’t worried about it, but he gave himself a thorough pat-down anyway.
Emma cleared her throat. “Can you, um, check my back?”
“Sure.” He spun to face her and his throat went dry at the sight of her pale back and bare legs, her beautiful body covered only by a wide bra strap and bikini underwear.
“Anything I can’t see?” she asked, holding her hair off her neck with one hand.
