Page 34 of Darcy
Less self-sabotage, I remind myself gently. This picture is a memory, not a magazine cover. Judging myself by anything other than the happiness in our eyes is wrong. One day, it might be the only proof we even met at all.
Once this job is over, it’s unlikely our paths will ever cross again. I’d like to have some mementos to remember this by… even if I am feeling rather disillusioned with them all at the moment.
“Send it to me?” I request, handing his phone back.
He grins, and my phoneribbitsa second later. “Now, back to your favourite song.”
“Nope. You’re not getting it out of me.”
His pout is adorable. “But how can I add it to the set list tomorrow if I don’t know it? At least tell me the album.”
Rolling my eyes, I go to change the topic, but his phone rings before I can say anything.
Arlo frowns, raising it to his ear, then groans at the voice on the other side.
“Calm down, man. It’s just breakfast,” he says, though he’s gotten quieter. “Look, Slate aside, this is our chance to—”
He cuts off, interrupted by the voice on the phone. It must be Prophet, or maybe even Dodger. Neither of them were happy to see me.
I stand, grabbing my bag. “It’s okay,” I promise. “I get it.”
Arlo takes a breath and hangs up. “No, you really don’t. I’m so excited to see you, and I wish—”
“Thanks for breakfast,” I finish. “But I should be going. I want to explore the city before work tomorrow.”
Arlo’s face falls, and he nods. “It’s been good to finally meet you,” he says, and there’s an open honesty in his expression that makes me believe him.
He doesn’t try to stop me as I flee from the cafe and into the bright sunshine.
Upon my return to the hotel, I flop face-first onto my bed and let out a little scream.
This is not going how I envisioned. Meeting the guys for the first time, even having coffee with Arlo…
“This is why we swore off bad boys,” I remind myself hollowly. “We have a plan, remember? Nice. Normal. Safe.”
I spent my early twenties fucking around with the dangerous ones. The toxic, sexy ones. The tragic hotties. The chemistry might have been there, but it wasn’t healthy. I also got my heart stomped on one too many times, and none of those guys were ready or eager to move in and start a life together.
Hence the new plan.
I’m done with fixer uppers. A relationship shouldn’t be a restoration project, and—
“Protesting wayyy too hard, Darce,” I mutter.
Sighing, I prop myself up on my elbows and try to find the motivation to get on with my mission. At the very least, I need to get my laptop up and see if I can get into the hotel’s records to find which room Gabrielle is in, and whether Miguel is staying here. Then I need a shower.
Head buzzing with the plan, I set up on the crappy desk and throw myself into the work.
Miguel isn’t staying here—a shame—but Gabrielle is on my floor, and I’m betting her phone is attached to the free Wi-Fi. I hum as I work, grinning as I send a deauthentication signal. Her phone is knocked from the server, automatically mistakes my evil twin network for the hotel Wi-Fi, and locks on.
Gotcha.
I set my rootkit to download and head for the shower.
After the morning I’ve had, I can’t be bothered to put my contacts back in, so I stick with my glasses and a pair of ripped skinny jeans with an oversized Starfleet Academy hoodie. My gun is holstered at my waist and reachable through a fake pocket.
Retail therapy, here I freaking come.
Thirteen
