“Let’s see.” Scarlett redirected Jules to the screen. “There are four people to pull a full black-tie wardrobe and accessories for.” She clicked with the mouse. “I’ve helped before. It’s like virtual dress-up and so much fun—but I don’t want to screw up.”
On one screen, the profile pictures of four women appeared, their faces blurred. Under each person was an identification number, measurements, and physical features. On the other screen were rows and rows of dresses.
“We can filter by size, shape, color, style… on and on. You name it. We have to make them look beautiful. And we haveabout an hour to pull it off. As you can see”—Scarlett gestured to herself—“my sense of style is the opposite of elegant red carpet.”
“Your style is fantastic.”
“Thanks, agreed, but your two cents are needed.”
“We just choose and… What happens?”
Scarlett shrugged. “A CIA fairy godmother snaps her fingers, and the clothes show up? Not sure. Not our problem. The looks have to work. See—this lady has a killer rack, and that lady’s booty is something else.”
They oohed and ahhed and picked the perfect dresses for the four body types. Accessories and shoes were a breeze.
“Done.” Scarlett leaned back from the keyboard. “They’ll look stunning.”
Rhys walked in with another guy also built like a Dorito, with wide shoulders and a tapered waist. Jules might never look at chips the same way again. Both men had dark hair and chiseled jaws with five o’clock shadows.
“Got a minute?” Rhys asked.
“We’re done.” Scarlett tucked her legs under the chair. “Guess it’s time for you to start meeting people.”
The other man strode forward. “Dean Whitlow.”
Dean was a maverick with computers. This wasn’t what she thought he’d look like. Still, given that she’d just helped dress four very normal, albeit beautiful, women who were apparently spies, Jules guessed she shouldn’t have mentally cast Dean before meeting him. “Thanks for working on all my problems over the years.”
“It’s always been the more interesting parts of my work. We’re on our way to talk with Viv. She has updates to share.”
Jules tried not to let reality crash down on her too hard. With a stiff upper lip and a faux pep in her step, she followed Rhys and Dean.
Vivian was on a phone call, pacing, when she gestured for the men to come in. She caught sight of Jules, giving her a quick wave, and pointed at her earbuds before returning her attention to the call.
Dean leaned against the wall. Rhys motioned for Jules to sit in one of the two chairs in front of Vivian’s desk. He took the other.
“Sorry about that.” Vivian tossed her earbuds onto the desk. She was nothing like what Jules had pictured. Apparently, that was the ongoing theme. She’d made assumptions, and Titan blasted them away.
In black leather pants, a fitted tee, and bright-cherry spike heels, Vivian Maddox looked like a bartender for a motorcycle gang hangout. Her gray gel nails matched the shimmer of her gray eyeshadow. The woman was scary and sexy and smoky rolled into one badass lady.
“What’s going on?” Rhys asked.
Vivian settled behind her desk and tapped her nails three times. “Feds tracked payment for the flowers to the internet at Mason’s place in Bel Air.”
“What? No.” Jules’s hand covered her mouth. “Really?”
“I’m sorry,” Vivian said.
Rhys gave Jules a concerned look as Viv and Dean volleyed a conversation back and forth, but she couldn’t hear them. It was like she’d shoved cotton into her ears or they were speaking gibberish. Their mouths were moving, but she couldn’t comprehend anything that came out. Her arms and legs were too heavy. The air was as thick as glue. She couldn’t take a deep enough breath.
She twisted toward Rhys. His eyes narrowed. Could he tell that she couldn’t breathe? Mason was behind all this? That didn’t make sense. Part of their arranged-marriage vision had been which franchises she hoped to continue and which film roles she could pursue. His career benefited if her career flourished.
Her vision blurred. “I need water.”
Rhys stood.
She needed to get out of Vivian’s office. All these years, everything she’d done, and the man messing with her was the one she’d almost married? How stupid was she? This was why she didn’t trust anyone. Everyone had an agenda—even if she didn’t understand it.
Rhys grabbed her by the arm. “All right. Let’s go.”
