Spy Thy Neighbor

by Shandi Boyes

“Mischa.”

  My lips twist. I wasn't paying much attention when we checked in, so I have no way of gauging his accuracy.

  “Did you want to dance?”

  His eyes rocket between mine, astonishment from my sudden change in conversation evident all over his face. Since I’ve secured his devotion, I snatch the piece of paper sitting next to his silicon keyboard and hold it in close to my chest.

  “What's the first sentence of this document?” I ensure my hands are covering the document from both sides, just in case the paper is see-through.

  Hunter’s lips quirk as he stares into my musing eyes. “I can’t answer that.” The rough grittiness of his voice sets my pulse racing.

  “Ha! Proof you were telling porkies!” I squeal, my loud voice booming around the room.

  My earlier dizziness comes rushing back to the surface when his cloudy blue eyes stare steadfastly into mine. Even having a mask covering a majority of my face, I feel exposed, almost naked from his avaricious gaze.

  “I can’t answer as there are no words on that paper. It's all code,” Hunter says, filling the silence that encroached our intimate gathering.

  I furrow my brows together before I sneakily pull the paper away from my chest. The groove in the middle of my forehead deepens when Hunter recites, “55321667A2245B,” the exact code on the first line of the document.

  I place the paper on the edge of his makeshift desk. “That's cool and a little bit freaky.”

  “Kind of like you penning a novel about a bearded billionaire living in a crystal house?”

  I cringe, but my panic is kept at bay when I realize Hunter doesn’t seem the slightest bit angry. “You know about Archer?” My voice is scratchy, hampered by the barrel of emotions pummeling into me at once.

  He smiles before nodding.

  “And you’re not angry?” I squeak out, astonishment in my tone.

  “No, Paige. I’m not angry. Although the billionaire title is a slight exaggeration,” he replies with a chuckle.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? I’d be beyond pissed if I discovered someone was invading my privacy.”

  "I live my life as an open book," Hunter replies, his tone not hindered the slightest by anger.

  I cross my arms in front of my chest, faking annoyance. “Then why did you give me the telemarketing line the first day we met?”

  “I live my life as an open book. He doesn’t,” he answers, nudging his head to Isaac and Izzy’s image floating across the computer monitor as they move toward a set of double doors similar to the ones we are hiding behind.

  Shocked by Hunter's latest revelation, I take the spare seat next to him and watch him work in silence. Although I am surprised by his admission, I'm not totally stunned by it. Hunter has been nothing but forthright the past few weeks. He has the type of personality that people are either drawn to or repelled from. Grouchy Hunter scares me, but frank Hunter sucks me right into the Hunter vortex. He should come with a warning because once you've been swept into the Hunter vortex, there's no possibility of breaking free.

  "Where are they going?" I ask when Isaac and Izzy slip behind a set of doors.

  Hunter doesn’t need to reply. The crass grin stretching across his face is all the answer I need. My pulse quickens, surprised by their audacity to get friendly in a public place.

  "Is Izzy really in danger or is Isaac being overcautious?" My voice is weak, strained by excitement.

  Hunter’s lips twist. “I wish he was.”

  “Is it your job to protect her?”

  “For now, yes, it's my main priority.”

  "Sounds like an exciting job?" I'm an outsider to this uniquely dynamic group, and my heart is hammering against my ribs.

  “It is, for the majority,” he answers, his tone reserved.

  I eyeball him, silently demanding further explanation.

  “I like the parts where I’m not forced to wear a suit,” he explains, unamused. “Isaac has been trying to get me into a monkey suit for years.”

  I smile. “Well I think you look very handsome.” I add an extra dose of sugar to my voice. “You look an intriguing mix of mountaineer and—”

  “I look like Wolverine stuffed in a suit,” Hunter interrupts.

  “Exactly! What woman doesn’t want a rough and rugged Hugh Jackman in a suit? Roar!!”

  His laughter bellows over the top of the music streaming through the double doors. A small extent of silence crosses between us. It isn’t awkward or stuffy. I just don’t feel the need to fill the void with noise.

  After a few more minutes of quiet, I nudge him with my elbow. “You never answered my initial question.”

  “Which one?”

  From the gleam in his eyes, I know he's acutely aware of which question I'm referring to, but feeling playful, I decide to play along with his little ruse. “Did you want to dan—”

  “No,” Hunter interjects before the whole sentence spills from my lips.

  “Why not?” I shoot back.

  His brows bow. “Because I don’t dance. Period.” His voice sounds disgusted that I even suggested it.

  “We can dance in here where no one will see us,” I suggest with a shrug.

  “No.”

  “Hunter—”

  “No, Paige.”

  “Dancing is just like sex, you just keep your clothes on,” I continue to argue.

  “No, Paige.”

  "I've seen you move your hips; you could totally work it on the dance floor."

  “Paige,” Hunter drawls out in a long angry snarl, his frantic pace on the keyboard halting. “I don’t dance.”

  I huff and cross my arms in front of my chest, hoisting my small bosoms up higher. He's discreet, but I don’t miss his quick glance at my chest region. My insides sigh from his adroit glimpse.

  When his eyes return to my face, his thumb twangs my lower lip. “Suck your lip back in. Pouting isn’t sexy when you're…” He stops talking and his face screws up. After a brief shake of his head, he turns his attention back to the computer monitor.

  I watch him in silence, confused as to why he stopped midsentence. Then it dawns on me. He doesn’t know how old I am.

  Smiling at the memories of the time I asked him his age, I mumble. "I'm twenty-five."

  Hunter peeks up at me. “What?”

  "I'm twenty-five, a Virgo, love long walks on the beach, and have no siblings." I lock my eyes with his amused gaze. "I think that about covers it. Unless you have any other questions you want me to answer?"

  “Only one,” Hunter replies, shocking the contemptuous look right off my face. “What’s your opinion on going undercover?”

  My eyes widen so they’re nearly as large as my mouth.

  “So all I have to do is walk around the room?”

  "Yes.” Hunter adjusts my hair so the small bead in my ear is concealed. "I'll keep in contact with you by the listening device. If you think someone is acting suspicious or you feel uncomfortable, scratch your right collarbone and I'll move in."

  “Should I be concerned for my safety?” I question after swallowing a lump in my throat.

  He shakes his head. “No. But you’ll garner some attention.”

  My heart rate increases. Not just from the way his eyes rake my body, but from the increase of adrenaline pumping through my veins. This is more exciting than watching the Super Bowl.

  After he finishes his avid assessment of my body, his eyes lock with mine. “In that dress, you’ll gain the devotion of a lot of old geezers who want to skip their little blue pill for the night.”

  Grinning, I kick his borrowed black polished shoes with the toe of my stilettos. Hunter smiles and returns my kick with a gentle nudge to my pumps.

  "I appreciate you doing this, Paige.” He adjusts the pendant on my necklace. "I have twelve cameras uploaded from the hotel's main server in the ballroom, but with the blind spots and poor lighting, I can't get everyone's faces. You doing this will ensure I capture every attendee in the room."<
br />
  “And you call me a voyeur,” I jest, my tone drenched in wit.

  When the entirety of his statement hits me, I freeze. “Hold on, how will you capture everyone’s faces just from having me wandering aimlessly around the room?”

  Hunter’s lips quirk as he returns his focus to the computer equipment. After a few quick strokes on the keyboard, the side of his well-formed torso fills the main screen of his security monitor.

  A groan I’ve never heard before rumbles from my throat when I realize where the new image is projecting from. “You put a camera in my necklace?!” I squeal, sending my voice ricocheting off the whitewashed walls. “What if I wore it in the shower?”

  The shit-eating grin on his face enlarges. “I could only hope.”

  This time when I kick him, I aim for his shin, and I add more force. "Friends don’t see their friends naked.”

  The scowl on my face fades when Hunter says, “I was just evening the score between us.”

  Although his voice is full of playfulness, I remain quiet, muted by guilt. Not even the world’s best lawyer could win this case.

  After a beat, he mumbles, “Don’t feel guilty, Paige, if I didn’t want you to see me naked, you wouldn’t have.” He locks his eyes with mine so I can see the honesty behind them. “You saw what I wanted you to see.”

  “You wanted me to see you’re a manwhore?” I query with my nose scrunched up tight.

  He laughs. It isn’t his usual boisterous chuckle, being more reserved and apprehensive. “No, I wanted you to see me at my worst.”

  My brows furrow. “Why?”

  Hunter sets a contraption down on the desk and shifts on his feet to face me. He fiddles with my necklace while muttering, “Because I didn’t want you to like me.”

  He's so quiet, if I didn’t have his listening contraption in my ear, I wouldn’t have heard him.

  “You didn’t have to be a manwhore for that. I don’t like you.” Even I can hear the deceit in my voice.

  He chuckles again. This time it's his proper laugh.

  “That’s good to know,” he mumbles under his breath as he places his palm on the curve of my back and guides me to the set of double doors.

  “Remember, scratch your collarbone if you’re worried,” he instructs, his tone more serious than earlier.

  I exhale a deep breath and nod. “Let’s do this.” I lean in to press a kiss on his hairy cheek.

  Hunter spins me on my heels and shoves me toward the mass gathering of gala attendees when I guess, “Creed Aventus?”

  When I twirl back around to face him, the fan of my skirt flares out. "One day I’ll learn what your scent is," I quip, walking backward. "Then all your greatest secrets will be exposed." I make my voice super dramatic like I'm the voiceover for the newest Sci-Fi movie about to hit the cinemas.

  He winks before closing the door between us. After running my sweaty hands down the front of my dress, I mosey around the room, which is filled to the brim with sparkling gown-wearing ladies and gentlemen dressed to the nines. The room has the distinct aroma of wealth and superiority, which isn't surprising considering the required donation per attendee.

  I've attended numerous functions similar to this in my lifetime, but not one the past two years. Nothing against the organizers, but it doesn't seem like I've been missing out on anything. These types of events aren't about having fun. They are either to network or drain your bank balance for a worthy cause.

  My heart leaps out of my chest when Hunter’s chocolatey rich voice unexpectedly sounds through my ear. “That’s a good pace, Paige, just be sure to circle the entire room.”

  “Okay,” I barely whisper, ensuring I don’t look like a loony talking to herself.

  By the time I’ve made it halfway around the room, I’ve dipped my chin in greeting to many inconspicuous gawkers and altered the course of my direction when a few inquisitive stares lasted longer than I was comfortable with. As I make my way toward a bar set up in the corner of the ballroom, I freeze, and my hand clamps over my chest.

  “Everything alright?” Hunter ask not even two seconds later.

  My lips quiver when I begin to speak. “Yes. Everything is fine.”

  I can hear Hunter running his hand over his beard. “You sure everything is okay? Your pendant isn’t responding.”

  “Everything is fine.” My voice jitters as I track two females crossing the space between the bar and the dance floor.

  "Paige," he drawls out in his smooth, rich voice. "What's going on?"

  From his voice alone, I can tell he isn’t buying the explanation I offered.

  I huff. “Two Victoria’s Secret models are walking by.”

  “So you covered your pendant to stop me from seeing them?” he asks with amusement in his tone.

  “Yep,” I snarl, the P having an extra pop to it.

  “I have at least another ten cameras in your region alone. Covering your pendant was utterly pointless.”

  Hearing the laughter in his voice, I lower my hand from my chest. Alessandro Ambrosio graces me with her perfect smile as she saunters by. Just from the way her god-gifted assets jiggle, I have no doubt she didn’t need the help of silicone to achieve her alluring curves. She's downright gorgeous.

  “Although I don’t quite have the angle you do,” Hunter growls, his voice low and clearly aroused.

  My hand snaps back up to cover the pendant.

  Hunter’s chuckle jingles through my ear and clusters in my core. “I’m joking, Paige.”

  Even with hearing the truth in his tone, his little taunt bruised my ego.

  Any concerns on my faltering esteem diminish when he says, “There's only one girl my eyes are tracking in that room.”

  “Izzy,” I respond, recalling why I'm aimlessly wandering around like a loser without a date.

  “No, Paige. You,” Hunter replies.

  The beat of my heart shrills in my ears, and I have no chance of hiding the smile spreading across my face when Hunter says, "Now hurry up so we can get out of here. This bowtie is cutting off my circulation."

  Grinning like an idiot, I continue with my original endeavor.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hunter’s eyes track me when I enter the room and glide across the floor. Although his gaze spurs on a rush of goosebumps to prickle my skin, the usual frozen stance a coveted glance like his would incite is surprisingly void.

  "Get too restrictive?" I tug on the untied bowtie dangling around his broad shoulders.

  His smile makes me giddy. Something has changed between us this weekend. I don’t know if it stems from his generous gifts or the honesty he has bestowed upon me. Whatever it is, I like it.

  “What will you do with these images?” My voice is high with excitement as I see image after image captured on the multiple monitors in front of him.

  "I'll run them through facial recognition, and if anything triggers a flag, I'll run an additional search on a more advanced program," Hunter replies, his gaze locked in on a dark-haired gentleman sitting on a barstool.

  “Have you done that to me?” I endeavor to keep suspicion out of my voice. I fail.

  His eyes drift to mine. “No.” He shakes his head. “You’re the first girl I’ve propositioned before running a background search.” A cheeky glimmer shimmers in his eyes. “And look where that got me.”

  I giggle and nudge him in the ribs with my elbow. “I’m not the one who pulled out the friend’s card,” I mumble under my breath.

  My nipples harden when Hunter quietly mutters, “Biggest fucking mistake I ever made.”

  Not willing to let his little comment slide, I ask, "Not running the background check? Or the friend's card?" I tap on the listening device still in my ear, ensuring he's aware I heard his sneaky comment. "And by the way, I'm keeping this. It's nearly as good as having eyes in the back of my head."

  He chuckles. "It's only a prototype at the moment, but once I have them manufactured, I'll be sure to give you a friends’ discount." />
  “There you go with the friend's card again,” I say with a roll of my eyes. Heat pulses through the middle of my legs when Hunter laughs.

  When his focus returns back to the bank of computers, either refusing or choosing not to answer my earlier question, I ask, “Is skirting questions a hobby of yours or more of a career?” My tone is full of wit.

  “There's only one skirt I like getting into, sweetheart, and it isn’t an interrogation.”

  When I screw up my nose and snarl at him, he runs his index finger down the grooves indenting my nose. “I like that you're a mystery, Paige. That’s why I didn’t run a background search on you. It kind of sucks knowing everything about someone. You’re an unknown. A little onion I’m unraveling one layer at a time.”

  Warmth blooms across my chest. “Oh, that's so sweet. Except for the smelly onion reference. You couldn’t have said I was a beautiful rose you're removing one petal at a time?”

  The covetousness in his murky blue eyes spears me into place. “Are you asking me to deflower you, Paige?” he asks, his voice rough and gravelly.

  I stare at him, blinking and confused. From the impish glimmer in his eyes, I have no doubt there's a whole heap of hidden innuendo in his statement, but I’m wholly stumped at what it is. Even after watching Hunter in meticulous detail for months, I still haven’t learned how to read his prompts yet. Unless he lays his cards out on the table for me to see, I have no clue what he's thinking.

  It's only when the corners of his lips flitter and his rascal eyes lock with mine does the sentiment of his question slam into me, closely followed by a fiery heat. I swallow, feeling the warmth pumping through my veins extending to my cheeks.

  “And Paige finally clicks on,” he mutters, tapping the heel of my stiletto with his boot.

  Before any response can dribble from my mouth, Hunter's attention turns back to the computer monitor. "Isaac is on the move. It's time for us to go."

  He stands from the chair and rapidly gathers his equipment. I'd offer to help him, but I don’t want to impede his technical-looking dissembling, so I just stand to the side and watch him in awe.

  In a record amount of time, he has everything stored back into his hemp bag that was left slouched on the floor during his surveillance. After ensuring everything in the room is back to its original configuration, appearing as we've never been here, he holds his hand out in offering. It's the simplest of gestures, but it causes the biggest dose of excitement to heat my blood.