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“Calloway will be happy to hear that,” he said with just enough of a smile to make her smile, too.
“It’s not just that. I feel like I can be myself here. I can draw as much as I want, knowing that no one’s going to raise an eyebrow and ask when I’m going to stop doodling and focus on a real career. I don’t get out of bed in the morning knowing I’m heading to a job I just don’t love. I feel protected, yes, but I also feel strong. Like if the shit hit the fan with Portia and Archer, I’d freak out a little, yeah, but then I’d take a breath and use my wits to try and stay safe.”
“Like you did in the vault,” Roman said.
She nodded. “Yes. But as soon as I leave here, all that other stuff becomes reality again. I still won’t love my job, and my parents will still think I have no direction. My family will probably treat me like evenmoreof a baby—God, they’ve probably turned my apartment into a literal fortress by now. Part of me wishes I could stay here, where none of that is close enough to touch me, you know? I just”—Camila broke off, frustration burning in her chest—“I’m tired of not doing what I love. I’m tired of being not enough.”
Roman moved in an instant, his fingers under her chin and his gaze steady on hers. “Hey. You arealwaysenough.”
Her heart lurched. “My family doesn’t think so.”
“Well, they’re wrong.” For a beat, then a few more, Roman looked at her, his hand moving down to her shoulder, his expression thoughtful. “Let me ask you this. If you could do any job, anything in the world and money was no object, what would you do?”
“But money is an object,” Camila protested, and the corners of his mouth kicked up.
“Not to be harsh, but you’re not very good at this game.”
At thec’mongesture he made with his hand, she caved. “Fine. If money were no object”—she made an exaggerated lift of her brows—“I’d be an artist.”
“And you’ve never thought of pursuing that as a career…why?”
She laughed. “Because I like to eat?” Very few artists ever made enough money to turn it into a career all by itself. The vast majority of them were like her, drawing or painting on the side.
“Okay, fair,” Roman said. “But I’m not sure you’re thinking outside the box.”
He had her attention in full. “What else is there?”
“Tons. But specifically, I’m thinking of your ability to visualize facial details and get them into drawings with accuracy. The FBI is always looking for sketch artists, and so is the police department. Frankly, after the work you did on this case, they’d probably fight over you.”
Annnnnnd just like that, Camila’s jaw was on the kitchen floor of the safe house.
“Okay, but I don’t have any training. Like, atall,” she protested at the same time her heart began to gallop and her brain moved in three different directions at once. “I have no résumé to speak of.”
“I didn’t say it wouldn’t be work,” Roman said. “You’d have to create a portfolio. But I’m sure you could ask Sinclair and Calloway for references. And, let’s face it. Your work is incredible, Camila. It speaks for itself.”
She sat on her bar stool, entirely poleaxed. She couldn’t possibly just apply for a job with the FBI.
Could she?
“Okay, but what if I apply for a job and they laugh in my face, then turn me down? Then what?”
He tilted his head, considering her question. “Well, there is a possibility they’d turn you down, although I highly doubt anyone would laugh in your face, first. But there might be an even bigger question to ask yourself.”
She waited, and he said, “What if they don’t?”
Camila had no idea how four simple words could slide between her rib cage and into her heart so easily, but here she was, with this man’s belief in her filling her chest. “Do you really think I’d have a chance?”
Roman laughed. “You’re a force of nature, sweetheart. If you decide you want it, I don’t think there’s a roadblock in the world you can’t tackle.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, sliding off her bar stool to wrap her arms around him.
He gathered her into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Solidarity.”
“Solidarity,” Camila said back.
But what she really meant was, “I love you.”
* * *
