Indiscreet (The Agency Dark Affairs Duet Book 1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
INDISCREET: The Agency Dark Affairs Duet
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INDISCREET: The Agency Dark Affairs Duet
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
INDISCREET
The Agency Dark Affairs Duet
Book One
Amélie S. Duncan
Published by Amélie S. Duncan
Copyright © Amélie S. Duncan, 2018
authorameliesduncan@gmail.com
Cover Design by Sommer Stein and Perfect Pear Creative
Interior Formatting by Entanglement Publishing
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior permission of the author or publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All books, songs, song titles, mentioned in the novel INDISCREET are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
CHAPTER ONE
* * *
Winter had come, as people say on Game of Thrones or when they just want to be sassy and empowered about something or someone they got over. I was going for the sassy variety. After seven months of separation and deliberation, my ex-husband, Governor Patrick Walsh Jr., had run out of excuses. He’d finally signed our divorce papers, and the judge had made it final. I was now free to move on, though after six and a half years together, I had no idea how to go about it. That didn’t matter right now; the logistics were for worrying about later. Today was all about celebrating starting over.
I was one party down and about to leave for the second one. The first was the annual Christmas party at Perfetto Cosmetics, the company I ran with Astrid Marin, the executive director and my best friend. We held it on the two floors of our office in downtown Seattle’s Westlake building. The celebration included rich catered food, an eye-candy DJ, and prizes, and we made our big announcement—five additional vacation days added on to their holiday week. Our amazing staff danced and sang our praises the rest of the day, and we had more than the holiday to bring us cheer. Our accountant, Dalton Pierce of DP Management, had personally called to let us know we’d had record profit this quarter. Perfetto was on its way to becoming women’s first choice in cosmetics.
The second party was more low-key, though not any less noteworthy: my divorce dinner with Astrid at Elation Bistro, the restaurant two doors down from the office. The location was chosen not just out of convenience, but because they had the best, most delicious cocktails in town. I was ready to have a couple, and that was the plan once I finished up with work.
I was about to shut down my computer when Astrid opened my office door. She did it with her usual flourish, jingling a bag of samples from our Summer Heat line, and strutted over to my desk.
“Watch out men, Gia Ruiz is available,” she joked.
“Watch out?” I giggled. “More like come and get me.”
She laughed with me, but it wasn’t just a joke. I had gone without sex for far too long.
I freed the bag from her hand before she, as usual, dumped her belongings on one of the two fabric and steel chairs. Then, pushing aside one of the neat piles of paper and products, she sat down on the edge of the desk.
Until recently, Astrid and I had been the wonder twins around the office. Both of us often wore a variation of black wool designer power suits. Today we had on different shades of button-down shirts; hers was blue while mine was gray. The change came with our hair. While mine was black, wavy, and hung just past my shoulders, she’d chopped hers off to a platinum blonde pixie that made me want to try something different with my own every time I saw it. Speaking of different, I picked up the sample size Crave Me Crimson black metallic tube and smeared it across my lips. We had the staff handle most of daily production, but we both enjoyed testing the samples. The marketing notes read: Perfetto Cosmetics “Crave Me Crimson” lipstick. Target market: 18- to 24-year-olds.
When I tried on lipstick or any of our cosmetics, I wasn’t just assessing how it looked, but more noting the feeling I had when I looked at myself wearing it. What came to mind was what I hadn’t felt in years: attractive, captivating, and beautiful. I decided my 28-year-old pucker looked hot as hell in this shade of red. I was killing it, and my confidence didn’t go unnoticed by Astrid. Her soft brown eyes squinted. “It’s kind of vampy on you with your pale complexion, but sexy.”
“I’ll take sexy,” I mused. Tilting my head upward, I ran my finger over my bottom lip and showed her the lack of transference. “Perfect shine, no smear.”
She picked up the sample pack and we tried on the pink, coral, and plum in matte and satin finishes. After using the last of the sample makeup remover wipes, I quickly jotted down on my notepad to schedule a brainstorming session on broadening our target market.
“I like the ‘doesn’t kiss and tell’ part you added to the campaign,” she said, providing her feedback.
I beamed. “I do too. I just wonder what I’d wear with such a shocking shade of red.” My eyes widened, and so did hers, our light bulbs going off at the same time.
“Sexy Me Stilettos!” we said together.
I swiveled in my black rattan chair and clicked on the computer screen to open the Frisky Frolics app. In a quick search, I found the Manolo Blahnik red and suede pointed-toe pumps I’d seen that morning and quickly pressed the button to purchase the available pair at Saks.
“We have dinner reservations,” she reminded me as she started nosing through my overstuffed handbag for her Christmas gift. Of course, we both knew she enjoyed surprises, and I had already finished shopping before Thanksgiving. It wasn’t long before she zeroed in on my e-reader and mused as she scrolled through my library, reading aloud the titles of some of my more obvious erotic choices.
“Captured, Rescued, and Ravished by the Bad Boy.” She snickered. “Well, look who’s ready to get back into the saddle…or should I say the cuffs?”
My face warmed as I fondly reminisced. Whew. That story had set my e-reader on fire. Loved it. I snatched the device away and placed it in my handbag. “So what? It’s fantasy.”
Honestly though, it was more than just a fantasy. Patrick’s cheating and my ambition weren’t the only problems in our marriage. Mixing it up sexually had been a constant preoccupation of mine for years.
“You know I don’t judge at all. I’m the one who recommended you read some of the ones you have on here,” she said with a grin. “I’m happy for you. You deserve better. You go for whatever you want, like you told me after my divorce.”
I laughed and leaned back in my chair. “Easy for me to say and for you to do. You found your Mr. Perfect.” Astrid got that dreamy look on her face, as she should have. She’d found her happily ever after; she was married with a child. For me, I wasn’t so sure what my happy ending would be.
“You are witty and clever, you run the hell out of your own business, not to mention that you’re beautiful. There are plenty of men who would love to go out with you, even here at the company. In fact, Brent from marketing—”
“No way,” I lamented, cutting her off. “I’m not dating anyone I manage.”
“You don’t have to marry him, just have sex,” she teased, waggling her brows.
“Yeah, so I can be water cooler gossip of the week.” I smirked. “No thanks.”
“Who said you’d get a whole week?” she mused, and we laughed together.
“But seriously,” she asked when we calmed down. “How do you feel?”
I bit my lip. “I’m happy about the divorce, but this putting myself out there stuff…”
I didn’t finish, and I didn’t have to. Astrid got up and gave me a hug. “It’ll be hard at first, but look at it this way: you know what you don’t want now.”
I sighed. I sure did, but tonight wasn’t about the woes of the end of my marriage. It was about celebrating. With that in mind, I stuffed the divorce paperwork in my bag and we prepared to leave.
Astrid and I put on our winter coats and beige infinity knit scarves, bundling up against the wintery wind. Our leather boots crunched the fresh snow and salt on the sidewalk as we made our way to Elation. We each ordered a steak au poivre and a Christmas-tini. When the drinks were delivered to our table, we raised them up for a toast. “To the next chapter of your life,” Astrid said with a smile, and then we clinked our glasses together.
I gulped down half of my drink and motioned for the hostess to get another one. Astrid ordered another too. By the time the food arrived, Astrid had shared every little thing her three-year-old son Jacob had done since I saw him the previous week, when he came to what was supposed to be our relaxing night, along with a long list of holiday parties her husband had to oversee for his corporate management company. Listening to her made it clear that my world had done a one-eighty.
Did I have anything left to share now that I wasn’t Patrick’s wife?
Realizing I had gone quiet, Astrid reached over and patted my arm. “I just can’t believe Patrick,” Astrid complained. “He’s made the biggest mistake of his life. I mean, with all he has on his plate with his campaign, to cheat on you—”
“Doesn’t matter now,” I interjected, speaking over her while putting on a smile. “I’m just happy it’s over.”
“Sorry.” She covered her mouth. “I didn’t mean to bring it up again. You know we’d love to have you over at our house for Christmas. It bothers me that you’ll be alone in that big house.”
I shook my head and smiled. I hadn’t been in “that big house” but for a few weeks. Between moving and work, I had spent barely any time there, so I had plenty of unpacking to do. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know, but it could be fun. We’ll decorate the tree, and maybe we can discuss some contacts in the area that might help Tim’s mayoral bid—”
“I’ll give you my contacts for Tim,” I replied lightly, but I was certain that part of my life was over. I’d help some, but Tim would need to do his own heavy lifting. I tried to remind her I was no longer in politics as gently as I could.
“That would be great,” she said. “We’re both excited about the possibility of his run, but we’re finding it’s not easy to navigate. The way you managed Patrick made it look so easy.” The tiredness around her eyes made it clear he wasn’t the only one who was stressed.
“It’s not, and fundraising is only the beginning,” I cautioned her again. It was beyond me why she would encourage her husband to get involved in politics after all the stress and pressure she saw in my life—the endless fundraising, soul-crushing ass-kissing, and God-awful obligatory smiling, not to mention all the constant networking. She’d become what I had been: a wife-workhorse. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’ll be fine. I’m done with politics. I won’t be getting involved in any of it.”
She looked at me, puzzled. “I didn’t mean it that way, Gia. I invited you because I thought it would be fun, but I understand. Thank you from both of us for the contacts.”
I beamed at her and sighed inwardly. She was sick of the campaigning already. “You’re very welcome.”
“Now for the good stuff,” she said, grinning as she pulled out her phone. “I got a list from Tim of all his single friends and acquaintances who we both know would love to meet you.”
“Hold that thought,” I said. I got up and went to the restroom around the bar. Her husband was nice, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t want a Tim or a Tim-like man. Yes, he was loving, attentive, and a great dad, but he was too much like Patrick—always focused on how to increase his power and profile. I wanted a man who was comfortable and confident in himself, a man who put me first, a man who wanted me.
I washed my hands and fixed my hair before going back to join Astrid.
On my way back to our table, I spotted Liz Crenshaw coming through the entrance. We hadn’t seen her in a while so I walked closer to greet her but then stopped—she wasn’t alone. She was with an attractive twenty-something man. I was surprised and impressed, not only by his age, but by what he was doing. He grabbed her face and kissed her passionately. His hands moved down to her hips, and then lower. He was touching her in a way I’d never been touched in public before. It was raw, possessive, and passionate. I was enthralled.
Then another man came up to stand next to them. He was the tall, dark, and handsome type, striking in looks and well put together. He was dressed in a leather jacket, designer gray slacks, and a black button-down shirt opened at the collar. He was brooding, but magnificent. He tapped their shoulders and, for a moment, looked my way. I quickly turned my head, finally realizing how rude I’d been by staring. They parted, and I was about to move back to my table when Liz called out to me. “Gia Walsh!”
I turned and took the hug. “It’s Ruiz,” I reminded her.
“Oh. Congratulations,” she said, covering her mouth. Her lips were swollen, and she had a sappy grin on her face. “Sorry, but—”
“No apologies,” I cut her off. “Patrick was an asshole.”
“Amen,” she said.
I laughed. “Astrid’s here, want to come over and say hello? You can have dinner or share a dessert with us if you’re alone.”
She glanced behind her and the men were gone. “Yes, that sounds great. I was going to wait for my friend to finish his meeting at the bar, but it could be a while. We can all catch up.” She excused herself for a call and I heard her explain a change in plans to dine with us, then she followed me over to our table where she hugged Astrid. After Liz ordered a potato bisque and salad, Astrid asked her, “What are you planning for the holidays?”
Liz tossed her hair back. “Oh, the usual boring affair.”
I arched my brows. She didn’t mention her new lover, and for whatever reason, I didn’t either, at least not yet. “Same here. I’ll probably redecorate or something tedious.”
Liz laughed, arching her back in a way that made the V-neck of her tight cashmere sweater dip.
“What is going on with you?” Astrid asked. “You look different.”
Liz shrugged and ran her hand through her new long red hair. “I recently got a makeover.”
“I’d say it was more than that,” I murmured. This went beyond her new highlights and layered hairstyle. She was giving off a sexual charge, and just a glance around the restaurant let me
know men were responding by gazing over at Liz. Their looks were curious, their smiles full of admiration. She must have felt them looking, but she didn’t discourage them; instead, she just took it in stride.
Yeah, I’ll have whatever she’s on. I wasn’t sure about what had brought this boost in confidence, but I was happy for her, and honestly, downright envious. From the view on the outside, I’d have said she’d hit a gold mine in whatever she was doing now, and I wanted to know more.
“How about another round?” Astrid asked.
“Sure, but I’ll be right back,” Liz said, rising to go to the restroom. I stood up too, and Astrid minutely shook her head.
“You’re going again, Gia?”
I lifted a shoulder. “It’s the cocktails.” It was a little lie, but I wanted a moment alone with Liz.
She was at the sink putting away her phone when I arrived.
“I saw you sucking face at the door,” I said, grinning and poking her shoulder. “Spill.”
She laughed gleefully, and I joined in with her. “God, Gia…I mean, when Marco is around, I just forget myself.”
I couldn’t hide the wide grin that spread across my face. Even his name was sexy. “How did you meet Marco?”
“I may still have the card.” She dug in her purse and handed me a black and white card that said The Agency. “That’s how.”
“What is it?” I stared down at it
“It’s like a matchmaking service,” she said.
I wrinkled my nose. “I hate that shit.” I held the card out for her to take back. “No thanks.”
She pushed it back toward me. “This one is different. It’s exclusive,” she explained, leaning against the counter. “What I’ve found and learned…it’s beneficial in many ways.”
I shook my head. “Is this another one of those hot new online matchmaking companies? I can’t put my photo and information online.”
Along with the non-disclosure we’d agreed on to get Patrick to finally sign, he’d added a clause that we both agreed to avoid public relationships until after his re-election the next year, and not to embarrass each other in any scandal. If that happened, it would make the agreement null and I’d have to give him half of the money and property created during our marriage, so I had agreed. It could include some of my family inheritance released during the marriage and dividing up my company, neither of which I would ever risk losing.