Page 75 of Tattletale

End?

It didn’t.

TWENTY-ONE

LANCE

I check my phone,looking for a text that reads, “on my way,” or “almost there.” But there’s nothing. No notifications. I just have to stand here in the blistering heat, dressed head to toe in black, waiting by the dumpsters behind my building for my ride. I look like the most well-dressed drug dealer in the world.

Almost two weeks after Vesper gave me the most condescending, patronizing assignment of my life, Vienne texted me. The directions were minimal. A black SUV would arrive at the back of my building at precisely seven o’clock. I was to meet her in a tailored tuxedo that she was having messengered over.

In regard to the tux, she wrote “nonnegotiable” in all caps. Vesper must’ve warned her about my rebellious attitude toward suits. When I texted Vienne and asked her if she needed my measurements, she said she already had them.

I received the suit a few hours ago, and the tux fit perfectly. The hem of the pants touches below my ankles at exactly the right height. The tailor even left the perfect amount of room in the crotch so my jewels aren’t strangled. Vienne somehow knows the size of my body down to the millimeter. I’m going to have to pretend like that doesn’t make me extremely uncomfortable. Iswear if this woman gropes me tonight… Actually, I don’t know what the hell I’ll do. I can’t put the First Lady in a headlock, right? Not even Vesper could get me out of that mess.

Right as I decide I need to head back inside for a cup of water before I melt into a puddle, I hear the grinding of tires, slowly creeping through the alley. A black stretch escalade with blackout windows pulls up next to me. As soon as the vehicle halts, the back passenger side window rolls down. Vienne drapes her hand over the window ledge, flashing her large wedding ring.

Her hair and makeup are done up like she’s about to walk the red carpet. From what I can tell, she’s wearing about a pound of diamonds between her ears, neck, wrist, and left ring finger. “You look hot, Lance,” she says.

Oh, God. Here we go.I take two steps toward the car and lean down so we’re at eye level. The air conditioner coming from inside the vehicle feels like heaven. “I want to clear this up before things get uncomfortable. Per Vesper’s request, I’m at your service and here to protect you. But you’re married to the President of the United States. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a very attractive woman, and maybe in other circumstances, but I have a girl. Or had.” I run my hand over the sides of my freshly trimmed hair. “I’m working on turning the ‘had’ back into a ‘have’ and I’m not interested in anything else. So, if we could keep this strictly professional, I’d appreciate it.”

Vienne tilts her head to the side as she narrows her eyes. She clears her throat and asks, “Just so I’m understanding, you think I requested you as my personal—”

“Cabana boy. Correct.”

She sucks in her lips and pulls her hand back into the car. Right when I think I’ve pissed her off with my rejection, she holds out a bottle of ice-cold water. “You lookhot, Lance,” she repeats. “As in, you look sloppy. You have sweat dripping downyour face. Drink some cold water and compose yourself. I don’t like my security looking disheveled.”

Hesitantly, I take the bottle of water and uncap it. After a small sip, I ask, “So you weren’t hitting on me?”

She blinks at me wordlessly, like I’m dense in the head. “Would you like me to be hitting on you?”

“No.”

“Good. Now that we’re clear—get in. We have a lot to talk about.”

“Being?”

“Get in,” she barks. She pushes her door open and moves to the far seat, leaving room for me to climb into the SUV.

The moment I’m seated, the car peels forward. “Where are we going tonight?”

“Cricket didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I say with an edge of irritation. “I haven’t heard from her.” I’ve been trying to respect Cricket’s space, just like Eden suggested. It’s been almost a month since she was assigned to Gabriel. She’s undercover, and in case he is dangerous, I’m not going to risk her cover by trying to contact her.

“That’s probably because she’s been shacked up with Gabriel at his bed-and-breakfast in wine country every weekend.”

For a brief moment, the entire world goes black as a nauseating surge of adrenaline takes over my body. I ball up my fists. “What do you mean, ‘shacked up’?”

“I mean, the receptionist at his bed-and-breakfast told my assistant that Mr. Lochland has checked in three weekends in a row with a guest. He also RSVP’d fortwoto Sal’s birthday dinner.”

Images of Gabriel and Cricket,naked, and wrapped around each other like a folded pretzel, poison my mind. The air-conditioning is frigid, blowing right in my face, but my blood is still boiling. “He’s bringing Cricket?”

“I think he knows her as Ms. O’Leary,” Vienne says. “Or that’s what he put down on the RSVP anyway.”

What? No way she gave him her real name.I try to swallow down the giant lump in my throat, but it’s not budging. “So, we’re all dressed up for a birthday party?”

Vienne smiles. “Sal loves a black-tie affair. We do this every year for his birthday at the same Japanese restaurant. Cocktails and butlered hors d’oeuvres for the first hour, followed by a hibachi dinner, which always melts my makeup right off.” She exhales, smoothing her hair. “But he loves it, so we do it.”

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