Page 47 of Silent Comrade
Jenna pulled her head back and pressed ahand against her chest, drawing attention to the plungingsweetheart neckline of her white KHAITE ribbed-knit top. Yeah, thatshirt cost as much as Britt made last month at the coffee shop.
“Oh, I won’t be in the lab,” she gasped. “Ihave an event to attend at Chateau Elan tomorrow.” At Al’squizzical expression, Jenna tittered. “Exclusive country club.Would you like to attend as my special guest, Al? You’re thequality of person welcome there.”
He blinked behind non-refractory lenses.“Um, no, thanks,” he said, shifting his tote to the other shoulder.Hopefully it was so he could reach a weapon and fend off Jenna.
Britt smirked at the thought of Al and Jennaat the soiree. She could picture the club’s packed event hall,filled with men in pressed white David Donahue button-down shirts,Zegna floral silk ties, topped by charcoal Hugo suit separates.There would be semi-bragging chit-chat about golf scores and Stateand local government. Handshakes and promises of business favors.Too-loud laughs. Accompanying them would be picture-perfect datesdelicately fighting breathlessness and hunger in tight,unique-but-same little black dresses. There would be way too muchjasmine and amber Chanel No. 5 perfume floating in a room whereveneer smiles and air kisses werede rigeur. No, thanks.
Jenna flipped her hair off a shoulder.“Besides, I finished my collection ahead of time, so I get tocelebrate. The models are flying in from LA and Paris nextThursday, right on time for the show. Oh my gosh, you’ll have tomeet them. They’re fabulous.” She paused. “Though their rates aresome of the highest in the industry.” A shrug. “Hashtag:worthit.”
“Hashtagthanks, Dad, you mean,”Britt said under her breath.
Her gaze narrowed. “Just because you don’thave funds to succeed is no reason to pull me down. Here we arecongratulating each other. Fashion colleagues supporting fashioncolleagues.”
Nothing collegial about how Britt wanted toram a shoulder into Jenna’s ribbed-knit midsection right aboutnow.
Al opened and then deliberately closed hismouth. Britt didn’t know whether that meant he was smart orlily-livered.
Time to bail. “Bless your heart.” A phraseBritt absolutely did not feel right this minute. “May you receiveall that you have earned. Take care now.” Thank God for years ofobserving her mother handle nasty, rude people.
Al wasn’t standing up for her in thissituation. Irritation needled her, making her skin itchy. Hey, hisjob wasn’t to help her navigate snobs. He was tasked with keepingher alive. Big difference.
Before Jenna could respond, Britt turned onher heel and stomped toward the common area for lunch. She tampeddown the tidal wave of anxiety that hit her out of the blue andleft her trembling. Britt drew in a long breath, then exhaled asshe mentally made a list of the final items before the show nextweek. Items, budget, schedule. Last push before the show. Thefinish line.
A last wish, fulfilled.
Not if Al had any say in it. He wanted tocontrol Britt’s every move. Stop her from finishing her work. Shebegan to hyperventilate as she stomped her scuffed thrift storeMartens.
Seemed like there was always something orsomeone in her way. Heck, Britt had gotten in her own way lots oftimes. Now Jenna’s cattiness, then Al’s meddling. How aboutcatching a break? Life would be simpler if those two stayed out ofher business.
Oof. She tripped on a step edge andcaught herself. Man, Britt needed to chill. She did her sight,sound, and smell grounding exercise and took three long, slowbreaths. Better. Marginally.
She walked into The Hub, the SCAD diningarea, grabbed a packaged sandwich and bottled drink at random, andswiped her card. Glancing back, Al wasn’t far behind. How about alittle space? Would it kill him?
Or how about not so much space? A wave ofwarmth made her midsection quiver as she remembered how his sensualmouth felt against hers. How those strong arms felt wrapped aroundher, not enough to hurt but tight enough to assert quiet authority.If he wished, he could move her around wherever—and however—he wanted.
She didn’t dislike the idea. Britt pressedher legs together.
Not going to happen.Concentrateon finishing the degree. Ignore the hot, weird undercover dude withan agenda separate to Britt’s.
Hungry for more than lunch, she unwrappedher sandwich and took a disappointing bite of hummus and cucumberon dry pita bread. On her stroll to the fashion lab, a text poppedup.
Tachi:Got the evening off. Are we goingout tonight? (disco dancing emoji)
Pretty sure techno beats and large crowdsdidn’t fit on Al’s approved activity list. Britt glanced over hershoulder. He still hovered as a quiet, watchful shadow who hadn’thelped her deal with a bully. All the restrictions chafed at Britt,and started to feel like imaginary shackles, ramping up heranxiety. Damn this guy and the whole situation.
She needed to release the tension buildingunder her skin or she was going to lose her mind. Her favoritestress-reliever—dancing? With Tachi?
The mission. Danger. Making better choices.A twinge of doubt was quickly squashed by a wave of impulsiveenthusiasm. Why shouldn’t she have one normal night out?
Britt:Does a duck say quack?Yaaasss!
Guess what? Britt nodded her head and puffedout her chest. Al could always tag along if he had concerns aboutBritt’s safety in an electronica venue with hundreds of mildlybuzzed dancers where the biggest threat involved avoiding preppydudes hitting on Britt and Tachi and witnessing some bad tranceshuffles.
Heck, Alshouldcome with. It wouldbe good for him to loosen up some. Meet some people.
A little GNO wouldn’t hurt, either.
Chapter Twenty-Two
