Owen slides a hand around my elbow. “I’ll take you.”
"I'll take you," Shadow offers at the same time.
"No. I can take myself.”
Owen scowls down at me, and Shadow clenches his jaw. Dimitri is the only one amused by all of this. What a jerk.
“I can't be seen with either one of you. There are rules I need to adhere to, and I didn't spend the last couple of weeks being tortured with makeup and stinky hair products for everything to come to an end right now."
They all huff with laughter.
"Fuck off. You would have a headache, too, if you had to endure that shit every freakin’ day. Not to mention that I risk breaking my neck every time I walk in those heels." I roll my eyes and turn to make my exit.
"Princess, I highly advise that the next time you choose to wonder the halls of the castle, you wear something underneath that robe," Owen suggests.
I smile. Well, well, well. Look who joined the Alphahole club. He's definitely not the same teenage boy I once knew.
Chapter 51
The Editing Room
JESSICA
Present Day
Ilook up and down the corridor before I make my exit. My headache eases somewhat. Instead of heading to the medical room, I continue down the corridor until I find the laminated sign marked Editing Room. I quietly open the door before slipping inside.
I scan the area completely before fully entering the room, appreciating that this one is not as dark. A table in the center is littered with papers, empty plates, and glasses. Off to one side is a small sitting area, for the staff to come and go between filming, take a break, or hold quick one-on-one meetings. The other wall is comprised of CCTV monitors. Three additional monitors adorn a nearby desk.
Squirrel sits at the desk, clicking on the mouse, freezing and unfreezing footage recently filmed. He wears headphones so I can’t hear the audio from the screens. And he clearly didn’t hear me enter the room.
I approach the center table, shifting through papers and reading a few. I stack the plates neatly and align the glasses so no one accidentally knocks them over. I approach the wall of monitors, noting every room where the production team placed a live-feed camera.
A group of men gathers in a lounging area. Marcus and Wills talk with them. I peruse the buttons to turn up the volume. However, I don’t see what I’m looking for. I turn around and place a hand on Squirrel’s shoulder.
He flashes beneath my touch and disappears from his chair. Headphones crash to the floor. I whirl around in search of Squirrel, finding him clear across the room. I clap my hand over my mouth, stifling a laugh.
Eyes wide but brows furrowed, he controls his labored breathing. He swipes his headphones off the ground before flashing back. “I don’t want to hear it,” he huffs, returning to his seat.
Squirrel is sensitive about his little glitch—well, that’s what we all call it anyway. But his glitch doesn’t detract from the fact that his computer skills are phenomenal and his ability to build specialized weapons that look like everyday household items makes him indispensable. Because of this special skillset, he’s often behind the scenes, mostly behind a monitor or in his workshop, where he can focus on building devices for my team. This is the first time he’s actually in the mix of anything we do.
I clear my throat. “Maybe don’t wear these while you work. We’re supposed to be covert. Yeah?” I tap the headphones around his neck. I move close to his side, leaning against the table so I can see his face.
He grimaces. “Sorry about that. I got caught up with the editing. The producers are giving Carmen a lot of shit now that we’re behind schedule. I need to ensure I do a good job to keep this position here.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I ask, “Anyone suspect that you actually work for me or the guards?”
He offers a sly smile. “Of course not. Besides, no one on the production side knows me as Squirrel. They know me as Donald, the editing guy.”
I raise my eyebrows, surprised that he chose to use his real name. I seem to recall that he hated it when we first met. He was always so jumpy and fast when we sparred, I called him Squirrel. It stuck. “You chose your real name?”
“It was just easier. I don’t know how you do it, changing your name all the time. I used to wonder how you remembered to answer someone when they called your name.”
I shrug. “You get used to it, sometimes. Are you good here? I know that this isn’t something you're used to doing.”
He nods. “I’m good. I’ll put a motion detector by the door to stop the sound in my headphones and maybe a flashing light to alert me that someone entered the room.”
I giggle. “Or you can rearrange the room to face the door.”
