“How will I complete the assignment if I don’t know what it is?”
“You need to do what I tell you, and you will know only what I determine you need to know. With too much information, you’ll endanger yourself and everyone around you. Trust me when I say clueless suits you.”
“I’m sorry. I thought Pauline would tell us our task together.”
“Pauline is not permitted to speak to anyone but me about the logistics. If she did, she would be terminated. She takes her job seriously, and so do I. As for you… Why the hell are you here? You obviously don’t like violence, and you have the seductive ability of a Teletubby. I’ve honestly never encountered an operative like you in all my years working in the field.”
He took a beer from the refrigerator and returned to the office, leaving her behind to feel even more useless and incompetent.
Chapter Five
Why the hell are you here?
Simon’s words played in Cassie’s head over and over. She had no idea, and apparently he didn’t either.
She didn’t sleep that night. Her mind rewound and replayed the events with Simon and Pauline again and again. Neither one had done anything wrong. She, on the other hand, had decided to promote herself to the moral authority. With zero field experience, she’d challenged her superior’s judgment. Instead of showing her preparedness, she’d proven her ineptness.
Simon had left for some unknown place before she could rouse herself from the couch. No matter. He probably wouldn’t speak with her anyway. She took advantage of the solitude and gained some perspective during a five-mile run along the Thames. By the time she returned to the flat and showered, she was ready to deal with Pauline again.
She threw on a pale pink knit dress and flat canvas shoes. Pauline arrived dressed in a sophisticated black skirt and ivory silk blouse. With her dark features and petite frame, she carried herself with a cool elegance Cassie envied.
Pauline embraced her in the same cold manner as the day before. “Ready?”
“I guess.”
“Trust me.” Her dark eyes perused Cassie’s tall frame. “You’ll be beautiful when I’m done with you. I haven’t failed yet.”
They left for Bond Street in a chauffeured car. Pauline ignored her and spoke on the phone, setting up appointments for the day. At their first stop, she hustled Cassie into a day spa.
“Is this necessary?”
“Simon only dates women of a certain caliber.” She lifted Cassie’s nails, bitten down to the quick during crunch times at work. With a shake of her head, she waved over a manicurist. “She needs acrylic tips, medium long, and make the color blood red. Same color on the toes. Get rid of the daisies.” The words came out as a command, not a suggestion.
“Red?”
“Trust me. You’re not going anywhere that pink or blue would be appropriate.”
According to the stylist, Cassie’s hair color—golden blonde with natural sun-kissed highlights—was perfect, but Pauline told the woman to remove two inches from the ends and add some layering at the bottom.
“Trust me. This is what I do.” Pauline said “trust me” so often, she sounded like a philandering husband hiding his lies.
As a treat, Pauline arranged for Cassie to enjoy an hour-long massage—her first massage since leaving California. Her calm and relaxed state evaporated, however, when she emerged and couldn’t find either her clothes or shoes. The salon staff wasn’t talking, except to tell her to wait for Pauline to reappear.
After Cassie had waited twenty minutes dressed in only a terrycloth robe, Pauline strolled in with several bags. “These are for you. They should fit.”
“I don’t understand. Where are my things?”
“Cassie, do you think Simon would date a hippie girl with sensible shoes?” She shook her head and sighed. “No. He requires sophistication. Your things, however, scream folk music and country fairs. I promise to replace everything I took, both here and in the flat, but you must start over.”
Her meager property just became nonexistent, as did the size of her confidence. “You took everything?”
“Trust me. You didn’t have anything worth keeping.” Easy for Pauline to say. She had a complete wardrobe and a credit card. Cassie had nothing. All her possessions had been confiscated. And who would own the clothes Pauline had bought for her? Simon? The British government?
Pauline pushed a few bags into Cassie’s hands. “Stop acting like a child. This is strictly business, not anything against your style. Not really.”
For all Pauline’s faults, most of which were related to her relationship with Simon, she had an amazing fashion sense. Cassie emerged from the dressing room in a long black Donna Karan cashmere sweater and a tight wool skirt that conformed to her every curve. Even her cotton underwear had been replaced by silk lingerie. Every bit of her new clothing had been harvested from some sort of animal.
“Shoes?” She lifted her pedicured red toes toward Pauline.
“In the large white box.” She pointed to a box marked “Jimmy Choo,” a designer Cassie could never have afforded on her past salary without foregoing food or heat.
Inside the box, long black leather boots with shiny gold heels—tall enough for Cassie to look Simon in the eye without tilting her head—peeked out of tissue paper. “These are beautiful, but I don’t wear leather.”
“Simon’s girlfriend does. That’s you, by the way. You need to make a fashion statement and be unforgettable in a short amount of time. This should do it.”
Her job required her to take on a new persona, but in the process, her essence was being systematically stripped away and replaced by someone functioning according to a different paradigm. Her insides began to tighten, twist, and moan, one part in hunger and the other part in fear. She didn’t like the new Cassie. She wanted comfortable clothes, a desk job, and a bed. But she resigned herself that once the assignment was over, she’d sprint back to her roots. And her Birkenstocks.
The day continued at a fast pace. Despite her earlier misgivings, she enjoyed Pauline’s company. How could she complain? The woman acted cordial the entire day and was carrying an unlimited credit card she used exclusively on Cassie’s purchases.
They shopped at the best shops in the Bond Street area. Not only did Pauline not question the moral or economical wisdom of paying three thousand pounds for a pair of flimsy leather stilettos, she also decided Cassie should have the handbag to match.
They skipped lunch to visit Burberry. No time to eat for the fashionable. Cassie’s stomach, however, protested. Pauline tried to help by offering her fruit at the Chanel boutique. It wasn’t enough, but she carried on with the hope she’d be back in the apartment in the next few hours.
After hitting every major designer in the area, she’d accumulated enough clothes to open a small boutique of her own—Versace gowns, Chanel suits, shoes with long Italian names, and every accessory possible.
By six o’clock, Cassie needed a break. Pauline, it seemed, had had enough as well. With a wave of her hand, she summoned their car. They traveled toward Notting Hill. When the car pulled up in front of Assaggi, a small Italian restaurant, Pauline prodded her out the door.
“Go. Find some food. I’ll send your purchases to your flat.”
Cassie remained in her seat. “You don’t have to go through the trouble. I can go home to eat. I’m pretty tired.”
“This isn’t a suggestion. It’s an order. Have a great time on your trip. I’ll stop in when you return.” An elegant finger pointed to the door.
She wanted to hug Pauline, because she’d been the closest thing to a friend Cassie had known since leaving California. Pauline, however, seemed to prefer a quick exit.
When Cassie emerged onto the sidewalk, she ducked her head back inside the car for a final good-bye. “Thank you for everything.”
“Go.”
At the order, Cassie shut the door. As soon as the car sped out of sight, she remembered she had no money and no phone with her. Str
anded across town, hungry and broke. She’d have to carry her killer boots on the walk back to the flat.
“Amazing.” Simon’s baritone voice wrapped around her and pulled her back from the edge of the busy road.
Cassie spun around. For the first time since they’d met, Simon wasn’t dressed in jeans, workout clothes, or boxer shorts. He wore a black suit rivaling her new designer clothes. His white shirt was open at the neck, but the total effect made him seem overdressed. She strode toward him, but the boots had created quarter size blisters on her feet, and her sexy strut turned into a wounded man’s limp. Simon held her around her waist and steadied her gait. She sank into his embrace—almost melted into it when he kissed her cheek and murmured in her ear how much he liked her new outfit.
Some of the crowd behind them had turned to look. They must be staring at Simon. His presence diminished everyone else’s. Cassie couldn’t keep her eyes off him.
She straightened to her full height plus three inches, rising above the crowd. Together they must have appeared like two well-dressed giants. “How did you know I’d be here?”
“I know everything. Have you forgotten already?” His breath tickled.
She tilted her ear into his shoulder to brush off the sensation. “Apparently I did.”
“I decided Italian food would be perfect for dinner.”
“That’s fine. I can have a salad.”
“No. You need more to eat than that. Consider this our first date as a couple. I’ll be acting the part of a domineering boyfriend and will pick your meal for you. You’ll eat everything on your plate and enjoy it. That’s an order.” His expression did not allow for resistance, so she nodded.
Her acquiescence brought a slight grin to his face, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. Darn, it was sexy. If she had to follow someone into hell, he might as well look like Simon.
The maître d’ embraced Simon and led him past a line of impatient people, to a private table in a corner of the dining room under a large orange and gold contemporary painting. “Mr. Dunn, we’re glad you’ve returned. It’s been a long time.”
“Too long, Tony.” Simon pulled out Cassie’s chair and waited for her to be seated, then took the seat next to hers. “Please bring me a bottle of the 2000 Famiglia Anselma Barola.”
“Certainly.” The man hurried away in search of whatever Simon had just ordered.
A few patrons stared in their direction, but Simon ignored them all, focusing his attention on Cassie. He reached out and covered her hand. So it begins. Our playacting. She couldn’t let him down, so she allowed her hand to rest comfortably under his. Acting as lovers wasn’t so bad.
His thumb rubbed the top of her hand absentmindedly… or maybe on purpose. “I’m glad you met me here tonight. I need to go somewhere, and I thought you’d like to drive with me.”
Did she have a choice? “Sure. I need a field trip. It’ll be fun.”
“If everything goes as planned, you’ll wait in the car while I pick up what I need.”
“Not so fun.”
“I’d prefer to have you bored in the car rather than transported to the morgue. Although more exciting, it’s not quite as satisfying.”
Nope. Not fun at all.
Cassie hated death. She’d spent months by her mother’s side as cancer slowly murdered her. Would a quick killing be any less horrifying? Her nerves curbed her appetite. She didn’t want to eat. She’d never wanted a career in subterfuge and violence, but her only choices had been early retirement or spy school.
The maître d’ returned with a bottle of red wine, uncorked it, and poured them each a glass. Simon didn’t touch his, so Cassie left hers sitting in front of her as well and smiled at the waiter who had arrived to take their order.
“We’ll each have a garden salad, then the venison.” Simon squeezed her hand and smiled.
Cassie forgot to smile in return. He squeezed a little harder until she acknowledged him.
“Sounds good.” Venison? Bambi? Darn him. Why couldn’t we start with scallops?
He nodded to the waiter, who hustled away.
Trying to pose as an attentive lover, Cassie leaned toward him to whisper in his ear. “I can’t eat deer meat.”
“Yes, you can,” he whispered back before biting her earlobe.
The moan leaving her mouth was not part of the act. If he continued to seduce her with his teeth, he’d have her on the floor, begging for him, before the salad arrived. She backed away and sighed.
Lifting her wineglass, Simon sniffed it, and then handed it to her. An odd gesture, but endearing anyway. “Drink.”
He picked up his glass and toasted to a successful mission. He savored his wine, but never let his eyes leave hers. She took a sip. The wine ran over her tongue, allowing the flavor to emerge slowly. Simon gave her an imperceptible nod. She must have passed one of his tests.
Headquarters had provided so little background on her new identity that she was unsure what to say to fill in the gaps in conversation. “This is a so romantic. Remind me again where we met?”
“At a party in Miami,” he replied.
“I love Miami.” She did love Miami and had spent a few months there for General Atomics.
“I know.”
“That’s right, you know everything about me. What’s my favorite ice cream flavor?”
“You don’t eat ice cream…but you do allow me to coat you in it and lick it off.” His voice deepened as though he could taste it, taste her.
In response, her stomach fluttered, making her want to skip dinner and go straight to dessert. She bit her lip to keep her feelings at bay. She could fall hard for this controlling, hard-edged hulk of a man, despite knowing every seductive word and action toward her was business as usual for him.
Simon refilled her wineglass to three quarters full, leaving his glass half empty. She wanted to slow down with the alcohol, but Simon was very persistent. No one had ever ordered her to drink more than a glass of anything before. At least the wine was a good vintage. The salad came and went without complication, despite the cheese and the buttermilk dressing. Her hunger and her need to prove her professionalism trumped her ethics. That would have bothered her normally, but Simon’s overpowering presence and a bloodstream full of whatever red wine she was drinking won out over her principles.
Simon bumped his hand into a water glass. Cassie’s hand shot out to stop it from spilling.
“Good catch,” he said, but he didn’t look too apologetic about his mishap. Perhaps men like him didn’t feel the need to apologize for klutzy moves. Women like Cassie, on the other hand, over-apologized for things that weren’t even their fault. She needed to act more like Simon.
The waiter presented their main course with a flourish. He even stood over the table waiting for them to take a bite of their food.
The thought of venison, however, destroyed her appetite.
“Eat, angel.” Simon cut her a piece and held the fork in front of her mouth.
“I’m not hungry, honey.”
The waiter glanced at Simon and then at their water glasses. If he could have fled, he probably would have sprinted away.
Simon smiled and reached out with his other hand to beckon her closer to him. “Let’s just say it’ll make me really happy to see you eat and enjoy what’s on your plate.” His expression became earnest with a minor threat mixed in. “Seriously.”
Cassie silently apologized to the deer for being involved in its slaughter and promised to donate more funds to PETA next Christmas. Then she took a bite. The meat, covered in a heavy mushroom sauce, melted in her mouth. She wanted to hate the flavor, but continued to chew until the piece disappeared. Simon handed her the glass of wine, waited for her to swallow, and then encouraged her to take another bite. The waiter smiled at Simon and departed.
She sipped wine in between each successive bite and ignored the gorgeous man next to her, who was busy devouring his own meal, no doubt content in his manipulation of her cravings. In
less than fifteen minutes, her dish was empty.
Their waiter stood next to her to clear the plate. “Did you enjoy the meal, madam?”
She really did, and hated herself for it. “Yes, thank you. My compliments to the chef.”
Simon didn’t acknowledge her comment, but focused on the waiter. “Two cappuccinos and one of your chocolate tortes, Martin.”
“Coming right up, Mr. Dunn,” he said before rushing away.
Simon turned his blue eyes toward her. If he leaned over and kissed her, she’d kiss him back. How could she resist? How could any woman resist him? She sighed and took another sip of her wine, probably her fourth glass.
A self-satisfied smirk graced his face, like a vampire who was watching his victim’s first kill. “You liked it.”
“Only because you ordered me to enjoy it.”
He brushed her hair back behind her ear. “That’s a good enough reason…for now.”
Chapter Six
Dinner was a test. Simon had pushed Cassie’s boundaries as far as he could. She did what he’d told her, even as it went against every fiber of her being. Her willingness to follow his orders proved he might be able to keep her alive after all.
He lifted her into his Range Rover and buckled her up. He’d carefully observed her limit with alcohol. Two glasses. After that, her reflexes and attention faded. Three glasses put her at risk of doing something stupid, and four took her over the edge, too easily seduced. Simon, however, preferred women who were sober and consenting.
He’d monitor her intake from now on to make sure she never exceeded her “stay alert—stay alive” limit. It wasn’t Cassie’s inability to say no worrying him. It was his colleagues’ desire to diminish the capacity of those around them.
“Thanks.” She rolled her head toward him but never lifted it from the headrest. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. She was out cold within a few minutes of the drive from Notting Hill. A restless sleep, but at least she wasn’t singing pub songs and asking him personal questions. Not that he would have answered.
True Deceptions (True Lies) Page 4
