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Becky
Iwalk up to Peter’s penthouse door and sigh. I have no idea why he’s brought me here, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not nervous. Things with Peter and Darian have been fun, but the longer shit like that goes on, the more complicated it seems to get, which is why I find myself silently hoping that the meeting is nothing more than a friendly rendezvous. I can’t afford to blow my cover, no matter how good things have been.
Sighing slowly, I reach my hand out and give the door a slightrapwith my fist. Peter opens the door after a couple seconds, and although I’m nervous, I can’t help but smile.
“Peter,” I say, “Nice to see you.”
I expect him to smile too, but he doesn’t, which only increases my nervousness. Peter mentioned on the phone that Darian was coming as well, but as I scan the penthouse with my eyes I make a quick mental note that he has yet to arrive.
“Becky,” says Peter as he beckons to the couch, “Why don’t you have a seat?”
I can tell that something is wrong. Peter is being much too formal, and it sounds like something is weighing heavily on his mind. Still though, I stay quiet. I just walked in, and it’s much too early to be making any sort of assumptions. It might put my cover in danger if I start questioning things too soon, so I only sit down on the couch and look up at him.
He’s standing across from me, with only the coffee table separating us. It has a glass top, and I silently remark that Peter has probably fucked more than a few girls on that table.
Get a hold of yourself. The minute you start thinking about shit like that, your cover gets put at risk, because you get jealous. And jealousy has a habit of leading to disaster.
I knew that it was true, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. The sex with Peter and Darian had been nothing short of fantastic, and thinking about either of them with other women made the hair on my arms stand on end.
“Would you like a drink?”
I lift my head from its position examining the table and am surprised to see that Peter moved to prepare us drinks while I was daydreaming. He holds two glasses of champagne in either one of his hands, and I reach out to grab one.
“Thanks Peter, this is nice.” I raise my glass slightly, making a small “cheers” gesture in the air. Peter only watches me through squinted eyes, and I realize that something must really be wrong.
“Peter, what’s the matter? You’ve been weird ever since I came in. And where’s Darian? Didn’t you say he was coming?”
“Yes. But before he does, I think we oughta talk about these, Becky.”
Before I can ask what he’s talking about, Peter disappears into his office, reappearing seconds later with a beige colored folder in his hands. He carries the folder with purpose, and I can tell something big is coming. When I open my mouth to ask about the folder, he cuts me off and throws the whole thing down on the table.
“Take a look at those and tell me what the fuck is going on here.”
Peter sounds angry, but there’s another emotion underneath the anger that I can’t quite put my finger on. Jealousy? Maybe, but Peter never struck me as the jealous type. Not wanting to keep guessing, I lean forward and flip open the folder.
Fuck. Where did he get these?
A plethora of pictures slide out of the folder when I open it, all of them showing me with Max Kleeberger. There are pictures of the two of us at the club, along with several shots of the two of us in other bars and restaurants around the city. Looking at myself with Kleeberger makes my skin crawl, and I glance up at Peter. He’s still standing on the other side of the coffee table, taking careful, measured sips of his champagne. The expression on his face hasn’t changed.
“It’s me and Max. What’s the problem? I don’t understand why you’re so worked up.”
Even I know that the last part of that was a lie. Of course I understood. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.
“Why am I worked up?Why am I worked up??Becky, one of these pictures shows you with Max the morning after we fucked! You went to work and had breakfast with this guy after spending the night with me?”
Shit. Peter clearly thinks that there’s something romantic going on between Kleeberger and I, and that’s exactly what I was trying to avoid. When shit like this starts happening, keeping my cool as an undercover agent becomes more difficult. I lean forward and reach my hand out to Peter’s, but he takes a sharp step back so that he’s out of reach.
“Don’t touch me, Becky. If there’s something going on between you and Max, I want nothing to do with it. If you really want to be sleeping around with Max Sleezeberger, that’s on you, but I want nothing to do with it.”
Well, you were right about the jealousy. This guy is actually ready to call things off, and he doesn’t even know the full story.
“Peter, c’mon,” I stand up and take a couple steps towards him, but he backs up again. “This isn’t what you think it is, really. The relationship I have with Max is strictly professional, nothing else. And frankly, the fact that you don’t believe me makes me more than a little upset. Do you really think I would do that?”
The fire in Peter’s eyes softens a little, but I can tell his guard is still up, so I continue:
“Have I been spending a lot of time with Max? Yes. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t. But is there anything romantic going on between us? No. absolutely not. To tell you the honest truth, I don’t even like Max. But when you get yourself in a position like mine, sometimes professionalism comes before personal preference. The nicer I am to Max, the nicer he is to me. That’s all there is to it. It’s for the job, Peter.
“And what job would that be?”
