I’m wearing a dark-red short jumpsuit with low cleavage. Burgundy tractor boots. No matter the weather, nothing will stop me from wearing boots. Looking in the mirror, I see what he means—I look hot. I wish I was hanging out with Archer tonight. But he’s MIA. Again. So annoying.
Evenings in Zion are charming. The air is warm with the salty breeze from the ocean and abundant lights as we walk to the restaurant that’s ten minutes away.
Tapas hides in a thick patch of palm trees, sprinkled with twinkling lanterns. It has an open-air area with several tables nestled under the heavy plumeria trees and an inside sitting area.
There are only a dozen or so people in the bar, a group of older folks at one table—the sight of anyone older than thirty still surprises me. Ayana is like a community of those who found a fountain of youth until you see older people.
“Scientists from the lab,” Marlow explains. “Really humble guys if you don’t think of Nobel prizes, Bader and Bower Award, and all that jazz.”
I pick a table in the very corner.
“Choosing the best spy spot?” Marlow chuckles as he plants his ass in the chair across the table from me and right away orders us cocktails. He knows just what I like but surprises me every time. No one cards here. Gotta love broken-rules society.
We’ve been to restaurants several times. Every time Marlow tells me the backstory of anyone who is there. So far, we haven’t been successful in meeting many spring-breakers.
“I actually need to tell you something,” I say. “Without a chance of anyone eavesdropping.”
And when the waiter—a local, by the looks of it, just like most service personnel—brings our cocktails, I tell Marlow about O’Shea.
Marlow is even cuter when he is serious, though his smile can seduce pretty much any girl in the world. Except me. Because I am into smirks. A particular one, that appears on lips that curl just a little bit crookedly to one side when they say, “Kitten.”
“There’s nothing useful in the database,” I say, finishing the story. “I sent Dad O’Shea’s info.”
“Chances are, if the guy works for Tsariuk, there will be nothing to find.”
“It’s his son I’m interested in. Dad will need some time to get to his connections abroad. Meanwhile…” I shift in my seat and lean with my elbows on the table. “I need to know O’Shea’s schedule at Ayana.”
Marlow narrows his eyes at me. “Why?”
I cock my head as if in reproach. “Gonna swing by him and see if I can sniff anything out.”
“Yeah.” Marlow rolls his eyes. “You already did that once. There are rumors.”
“What rumors?”
He snorts. “All sorts of rumors. The Big Boss driving to the Diggs to pick you up like you are a naughty kid? I mean…”
“Tsk, fucking Archer. Ruined that one, huh? What’s his deal? He constantly insists on teaching me how to do my job.”
I meet Marlow’s sneaky smile that I’m not so fond of at the moment. “What, Marlow?” I snap.
His smile widens. “His attention has nothing to do with your methods but more with the fact that our Chancellor seems too sensitive to anything you do.”
“How so?”
I try not to blush, feigning indifference.
But when Marlow takes a sip of his cocktail with an intentional loud slurp, I cock my eyebrow.
“You know he likes women.” Marlow wiggles his brows.
“Yeah, that’s a no-brainer. And?”
“I told you not to play with fire. And you do what?”
“And I do what?”
“Sleep with him.”