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“What do you do when you’re not out in the forest chasing down wolf shifters?” I ask, tossing back the spirit.
“I can’t tell you that because someone might literally kill you,” Fiona says in a prim voice that I now know is pretend.
I cough a little from the burn of the vodka. “What are you, a spy or something?”
“An archivist,” she announces like I actually might know what that is. “I tell everyone I’m a librarian because they understand that.”
“You like books.”
“I do. I love books, especially romance. But they—Bexley and Boen—can’t understand why I didn’t go into science like them. Bexley’s an engineer, and Boen is so into chemistry he could probably blow up the world. Archival science is the closest I wanted to come.”
The vodka doesn’t make it easy to follow Fiona’s explanation. “What I’m getting is that your friends don’t approve of what you do?”
“They do…and they don’t. They think I can do more, even though librarians are some of the most wonderful people in the world. Can you imagine always knowing where to find a book, always therightbook?”
“Not really, no,” I admit. “But I get family being disappointed in what you do. What do you do as an archivist?”
“I work for the National Intelligence and Information Agency. I set up their reporting system, make it so that they can find anything they need at a moment’s notice. It’s kind of like a librarian. I know a lot of spy stuff,ifI were to read some of the reports I’m archiving, which I’ve promised not to do.”
“And you never break a promise, do you?”
“I do my best not to.”
Since the waitress hasn’t come back with the next round, I pour myself another quick shot of vodka.
“How can you drink that straight?”
I blink as the alcohol threatens to burn my esophagus. “I don’t actually drink all that much,” I admit. “I’m playing at least half the year and training the rest of the time. Plus—” I lean forward, unable to help myself. “It’s easier to hit on women when I’m not tripping over my tongue.”
I don’t miss the quick glance Fiona pays to my mouth, as if intrigued by the tongue in question. “That’s a good thing.”
“I think so.”
“Do you hit on a lot of women? How’s your success rate?”
“I make out okay. No need to get Biba to make a spreadsheet for me. She’s the math one, isn’t she?”
“She is, because I think she really likes to make spreadsheets.”
“No one in their right mind likes to make spreadsheets. Are you some sort of genius like she is? With all your top-secret archive stuff.”
“Who said she’s a genius?” Fiona asks.
“I like to know a bit about who I’m traveling with, so I asked Rachel to give me the lowdown on the flight down.”
“Now who’s the spy? I think Rachel is a perfect one to get all the gossip.”
“I look at it as a reconnaissance mission. What I learned is this is a very smart group. I’m sure you could have figured out how to fly the plane yourselves. And I want to know if you’re your part of the smartness? I think you are.”
“Does that turn you off? Smart women?”
I slowly shake my head, holding her gaze until her cheeks flush again. “Not at all.”
Right now, it’s very much the opposite.
“I like to think I’m part of the smartness.” She lifts her chin proudly, and I smile at the sight. “I’ve got a degree in Public Administration, graduate degrees in Information and Archives, Critical Information and Policy Studies. I might not be at Biba or Boen’s level, but I like to think I make a fair contribution to the intelligence of the group.”
“I don’t know what any of that is, but yeah, I concur.” I can’t seem to get enough of her smile. “You said Boen, but isn’t Bexley some super smart genius too?”
