“Ange, you escort Princess Alice back to the hotel. I’ll see to these blokes.” His tone leaves no room for negotiation.
Angela flashes him a thumbs-up and opens the door for me. We both climb in and drive away.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry,” I whisper.
“You’ll find out soon enough, but Jerry, Paul, and Brock got into a drinking game with some of their Japanese counterparts. Art tried hardto put a stop to it, but they chose to ignore him. I told him to just let them make fools of themselves and let HQ deal with them, but he’s too much of a gentleman to do so.”
She shakes her head. “When we’re on duty, it’s strictly against regulations to drink any alcohol. It wouldn’t surprise me if their bums are on a plane back to London first thing in the morning. There’s a zero-tolerance policy for misbehavior like that, especially when we’re abroad on a diplomatic mission.” Angela rubs her temples. “There’s going to be so much paperwork to fill out. It’ll be another long night for us.”
I shudder as guilt floods my system. A zero-tolerance policy. What would Angela say if she knew about the kiss? I gulp. Her hands would be tied, that’s what would happen, and Art would probably be on the first plane back to London too. I’ve mucked everything up.
Angela and Art already have so much on their plates. Trouble from me is not what they need right now. What can I do to help them out?Think, Ali. Think. Ugh. Nothing is coming to mind. My brain is fried. I’m so exhausted, and I bet they are too.
That’s when it hits me. As much as I want to stick to the planned schedule and had my heart set on seeing Kyoto’s architecture, if I cancel tomorrow’s engagements, they can have a few more hours of sleep. It stings, but I know it’s the right call. Tomorrow can be a “take it easy” day. If Papa were in my shoes, I bet he’d agree with me. He’s the one who taught me that a good leader listens to his troops. Being healthy is more important than anything else.
The walls connectingmy suite to Angela and Art’s are thin. I hear practically everything they’re saying to one another and to the London office. Art’s voice is as sharp as a knife. I can sense the anger radiating out from him.
I try playing music, a fan app, and using my supposedly soundproof headphones, but nothing works. I may be exhausted, but my mind is whirling with too many thoughts for sleep to come to me. I desperately need to speak to Art. Alone. But at the rate things are going, that may not happen until we’re back in London.
Around three in the morning, I give up completely and decide I’m going to call down to room service and order some midnight—or rather three a.m.—snacks.
Slipping my bathrobe over pajamas—a baggy T-shirt and a pair of shorts that fall to my knees—I tap my knuckles lightly against the connecting door to the adjoining two-bedroom suite. It’s yanked open a moment later by Art. He’s in a white T-shirt that’s stretched tightly across his chest and plaid pajama bottoms. Only he could make those pajama bottoms sexy. I fight to keep from gaping at him.
He places a finger to his lips and gently closes the door three-quarters of the way. Peeling a sock off his foot, he rolls it into a ball and places it on the ground to act as a doorstop. We’re in my room now. Alone. My heart has begun to beat wildly in my chest. He’s so close to me. I stop myself from reaching out to touch him.
“Angela just fell asleep. I don’t want to wake her.”
“I thought I heard you guys both moving around. I didn’t know she’d gone to sleep.”
Art crosses his arms, the T-shirt straining against his bulging biceps and ripped forearms. My throat goes dry. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in an outfit with short sleeves. There’s a tattoo trailing up his arm. It’s hard to tell what it is, but I think it’s a phoenix. I instantly want to know more about it.
“That was me puttering around the bathroom. I dropped the charger for my toothbrush.” His Adam’s apple constricts in his throat. “What can I do for you?”
“I, er... was just going to see if either of you wanted a late-night snack.” I slip a lock of loose hair behind my ear.
“Can’t sleep?” He raises his eyebrow.
“No. I turned the telly on, and the commercials seem to be for snacks. I can’t stand it anymore—they’re making me hungry. I was going to see if I could get some matcha ice cream or something else sweet.”
“I’m not in the mood for dessert, but I could go for some curry.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We need to talk anyway. Let me just grab my glasses.”
He wants to talk. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? His tone iscalm. So maybe it’s not as dire as I thought? “I’ll order the food.” My voice squeaks. “What type of curry do you want?”
“Yellow if they have it, with the pork tonkatsu? I’ll take a side of edamame and water too.”
“Hungry much?” I let out a nervous laugh.
He lingers in the doorway. A patch of pink colors his cheeks. “I didn’t get to enjoy my dinner. I was otherwise occupied. I’ll be right back.”
He disappears into his darkened room. I hurry over to the telephone and press the room-service button, ignoring the rapid beating of my heart as I place our order. As I hang up the receiver, Art reappears and takes a seat on the bed next to mine.
“It’ll be about twenty minutes.”
He nods, adjusting his glasses and glancing to the TV, where a giant robot is helping clean up a woman’s living room. Neither of us talks for several minutes. I’m more awake than I was earlier. My body is humming with pent-up energy. Is he going to say anything?
Another ad plays, and it’s still silent. “I didn’t know you wore glasses,” I squeak. They’re basic black and oval-shaped with thick arms, but they suit him. He reminds me of Henry Cavill playing Clark Kent.
He turns his gaze from the telly to me. There they are again—those bright hazel orbs. All I want to do is stare. “Only at night. I wear contacts during the day.”
