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“… Team three is Michales, Hemp, Doe, Young, and Black. See Bishop for details. This leaves our last team to Reyes, Welch, Bellamy, Sharp, and Guzman. You’re with Campbell. Now strategy time.”
Ryker rolled up his sleeves, exposing his tanned forearms, his veins popping as he flexed the muscles, and I had to physically remind myself to not get caught staring. I mean, to not check him out. Ew, gross. A snicker behind me made me believe I hadn’t been as covert as I intended.
Over the next hour, Ryker displayed his knowledge and skill in how to approach a hostile situation. I’d managed to take notes, finding his pointers helpful. He had a natural flair for teaching, and I wondered if he’d ever considered another career path. He was only twenty-six. Surely this wasn’t his end goal? Besides, he was about to retire, or whatever, and be a mentor. As much as people boasted about retiring early, I doubted anyone wanted to do that at twenty-six. I’d get bored so quickly; I’d be making outfits for everyone out of all the curtains and sending them off to sing as they skipped along.
Okay, so I might have a slight obsession with theSound of Music, but it didn’t make it any less true.
“Right, that covers what you’ll be doing tonight. Any questions?”
A pretty brunette raised her hand, her eyes shining as she looked at Ryker, making me immediately want to stab her with my pen. Lying it flat, I sat back, hoping the homicidal urges would also lessen.
They did not.
Going to my happy place of no budget in Mood Fabrics as I perused the aisles to later being shouted at by Tim Gunn “to make it work” I almost missed it when the meeting was dismissed.
You’re so right, Tim Gunn. I just need to make this work. I have this in the bag.
Scooting back in my chair, I found my three guys looking at me with a mixture of odd expressions on their faces. “What?” I asked, wiping my face in case I’d drooled from the no budget dream. I narrowed my eyes as I tried to figure out what had them looking at me that way.
“You were whispering to yourself,” Milo said, taking pity on me. “Something about ‘making it work,’ and you wouldn’t let Tim down?” He said it with a slight question in his voice, almost as if he wasn’t sure if that was correct or not.
Asa laughed, placing his arm around me as we began to leave the conference room. “Tim Gunn is Fin’s spirit guide. Whenever she’s stressed, she watches him on repeat.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, my cheeks tinging red at being called out.
“We’ve been dating for almost a year. I’ve caught you with it on when I’ve been over. I might not know the difference between Valentino and Tom Ford, but I know Project Runway is your safety blanket.”
Sighing, I smiled, squeezing his hand that was draped over me. “Yeah, something about Tim Gunn yelling at other people really settles me.”
Cohen and Milo laughed, but it was more in spirit and not at my expense, making me relax more. We followed who I suspected were the other two members of our team to a private room down the hallway. I glanced at the girl and guy who joined us, but like before, outside of noticing they were fit and attractive, my brain couldn’t latch on to any details about them. In fact, once Cohen began talking, I forgot all about them.
“Alright, Team Campbell, I’ll be your handler during this mission. My role is to supervise only. I won’t step in unless someone is in danger. This is a real mission and should be treated as such. If you can’t handle this, then you’re not Order material.”
Everyone nodded, and I crossed my legs, liking Cohen’s take-charge voice a little too much if the zing in my lower regions was any indicator. He smirked at me briefly, catching my shifting, only flooding my panties a little more.
“Tim Gunn, Tim Gunn, Tim Gunn,”I chanted, making sure it was only in my head this time.
Cohen flicked on a screen, and our objective popped up. “This is a bakery that one of our sources states has a very eclectic clientele. Rough men and women come and go with pink boxes of cupcakes and pastries at all hours. Every day, like clockwork.”
“You think it’s a money-laundering scheme?” I asked, my brain already connecting the dots and the weak areas to exploit.
“Yes. We believe the cakes are used to disguise the money coming and going from the bakery. From our surveillance, a separate ledger is written into when these pink boxes are collected. That’s what you’re after. Get the ledger and provide evidence. Your only rule is to not get caught. You can use any of your talents; otherwise, I’ll leave you to discuss. I’ll be back in thirty minutes and expect to hear your plan. If it doesn’t sound feasible, you fail before you even begin.”
Swallowing, I thought through all the pitfalls as Cohen left, my brain running a mile a minute. As the others began to brainstorm, I took out my notebook, reviewing the notes that Ryker had given us. Some memories from MKG also surfaced, and I pulled on those strings of nights we discussed our plan of attack.
“It’s easy. We go in, we punch them out, and take the book,” the neutral male said, making me roll my eyes.
“You really think a bakery frequented by bikers and the like will let you just walk in and punch them? Please,” I sighed as I focused on the paper, flipping through the screen until it showed the blueprints. “There is a small window of time when they’re closed. We’ll strike then. Here are our entry points. We’ll need someone to disable the cameras and the alarm and stand guard. Two people will then enter the building and retrieve the book. If we do it right, we’ll be in and out in under two minutes.” I finished drawing the plan and looked up.
The girl was watching me and assessing my gaze on her as she pondered it over. Her male counterpart seemed to have a few screws loose as he scoffed, kicking his legs up on the table like he was king.
“Let me guess, princess, you’re one of the two? I saw you eye-fucking our leaders. If you think you can get into The Order through your pussy then you’re sorely mistaken.”
Asa sat up, ready to strike, and I felt Milo tense next to me. I placed an arm across Asa’s chest, stopping him. But before I could even retort, the girl punched him in the junk. The mouth-breather crumpled to the ground and I decided I liked her.
“That was awesome. What’s your name?”
“Nicole Sharp.” She stuck out her hand, and I took it, shaking it.
