Page 14 of Undercover Star
Josh smiled, and Matisse's heart triple-timed it. "You have strange ideas about undercover work."
"Maybe." Matisse took another sip of his drink. "I don't have much time for TV, so I'm probably only watching the crappy shows. You know, the ones without the big red arrows pointing to the bits of plot the writers invented."
Matisse had hoped for a return of Josh's smile and he got his wish.
"You need special permission to go anywhere wired. Just like you need permission to tap someone's phone."
"I read about that."
"I'm sure you have."
Josh didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. Matisse might not have much time for TV shows, but he did read the papers, and the debates about the topic had been long and loud.
To break the sudden awkward silence they both reached for the earphones, and lightning zapped up Matisse's arm when their fingers touched. This... was becoming annoying. Long practice helped him keep his face impassive while he got his heartbeat under control. They tested headphones and microphones, and when he couldn't find the snark he used as a shield, Matisse fell back on professionalism. It worked.
"What do you want me to do when we're there?" Matisse asked when Josh had assured himself they could talk. Josh's blank look didn't bode well. "At the gala. Will you tell me what your thief looks like so I can keep an eye out for him?"
"Won't you be busy with... work?"
"Schmoozing, boozing, and falling down drunk you mean?"
"I meant nothing of the sort. You told me you're presenting an award."
"That takes ten minutes, at most. It's not as if I'm MCing the whole evening."
"What do you usually do at these things?"
As little as possible, Matisse wanted to say. Not that it was true. He had to attend a fair few galas, and he much preferred charity events to awards ceremonies. "I usually talk to the representatives from the charities," he admitted. "See if I can help."
"Then do that. We don't want to draw attention to you."
"Oxymoron right there. Have you seen my suit? Besides, none of the charities I support are on the invite list. If I'm not slipping out as soon as decency allows, I want to help."
Josh's gaze softened. "You didn't once ask about my case."
"I'm allowed to do that? Isn't what you do sort of confidential?"
"It is, but we roped you in to help. I think it'd be fair to explain—if you really want to know."
"I do."
"Then... will you let me buy you lunch? Or dinner? I appreciate what you're doing, and I wanna say thank you."
Matisse hesitated. "I'm not sure...."
"Whether you're hungry or not?"
"No. Whether I want to spend the night being stared at. And drag you into the insanity with me."
Josh's brows rose. "Going to dinner is insane?"
"It can be."
"Then... how about we hide out at my place? Or yours, if you think that's safer."
Matisse liked the idea. It meant he could go home that much sooner, could bury himself in his studio for a few hours and indulge his need for music—before they discussed the precise arrangements for the next day's gala over dinner. He drew it out a bit, looking Josh up and down as if he was considering the idea until Josh caught on. "My place it is."
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