Page 23 of How to Steal a Galaxy

“I know,” I say, cutting her off. “And the asset is all but secured.”

More eyebrow gymnastics.

“Really,”I say.

She sighs like she’s five decades older than she really is. “Could you just stop with whatever games you’re playing with Fetor?”

“You got it,” I say.

She rolls her eyes, not believing me. “You’ve ‘laid the groundwork,’ eh? I’ll have to hope that’s enough. This entire project has been a mess. The whole thing. Took forever to get the planning in and the prototypes developed, and now that the climate cleaners have been approved, everything’s a rush job.”

Things get sloppy when they’re rushed. Cracks start to show. Things fall apart.

Exactly the kind of chaos I thrive in.

Phoebe cuts me a glance. “And Fetorinsistedwe announce the nanobot program tonight. I can’t even tell you the number of security breaches we’ve already stopped.”

I knew this event would be a draw. Ugh, competition.

“Fetor likes the spotlight,” I say.

Phoebe snarls in disgust, which makes me like her even more. “It’s all a show to him.” She describes a little of what’s happening later—a hover stage that’s going to soar out over the guests, with holo projectors doing a three-sixty wraparound display as the galaxy is informed of the Fetor Tech-funded climate cleaner innovation.

“Sounds big,” I say.Sounds easy to break,I don’t say.

She shakes her head. “Too big. Wefinallygot the whole stage offline, so it’s not attached to any network, but...” She shakes her head harder, braids dancing. “It’s too fucking much.”

So, Phoebe sees the flaws too.

I try to get a bead on the situation, on her. I knew my client had someone on the inside—a volunteer, abeliever. Phoebe may have been recruited...but she doesn’t have Rian’s security clearance to get the job done. The government is wasting her, using her to put out all these little fires rather than giving her more access.

While I’ve been thinking, Phoebe’s been watching me. “You’re missing an earring,” she says.

I touch my left ear. Observant. I shrug like it doesn’t matter.

I could use a distraction, though. If she’s in it for the charity instead of the money, I’m betting she’s a local girl. Judging from her accent . . .

“American?” I guess.

“Like you.”

I hate that she knows more about me than I know about her.Andshe’s getting it from two sides—she’s got what little information my client knows about me as well as whatever Rian’s been able to root up. And while I paid quite a coin to make sure records on my background were purged...I don’t like the situation. We’ll just leave it at that.

It’s easier to be a ghost. It’s better to be gone before I’m even spotted in the first place.

And here I am, in a glittering gown for every eye to see.

Food’s good, at least. Still, there’s a difference between smiling for camera drones that will delete my unimportant face, and my actual name being read by people who know to link it to me.

“So, what’s your angle?” Phoebe asks.

“Same as yours.”

She snorts, the sound full of contempt and derision.

“We could not be more opposite,” she states. “I’m not paid for helping.”

“You are,” I say. “Just not in cash. So, what part of America were you from?”

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