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“Has Dad been calling him?”
He toys with my fingers thoughtfully.
“What is it?” I prompt.
“Ryan suggested we clear the air before we go down. I plan to talk to him further.”
“He doesn’t get a say in this.”
His dark eyes flash to mine. “I agree. You’re mine. No matter what he says, I’m not giving you up. But he loves you. And you love him. There’s no reason us being together should cause a rift.”
He’s right, but there has to be more to it. “He’s coming to LA, isn’t he? He’s involved now, right?” Of course he is. He got scared about me, and now he’s inserting himself into an operation he wasn’t involved in before.
“Ryan said there’s a good chance he’ll show up in LA.”
I let out a sigh. I love my dad, but he can be a bit much. “So, is Ryan flying us down?”
“No. He and Trevor are flying down to be closer to the LA FBI office. We’re going to drive.” I roll my eyes, mainly because I’m feeling bratty and I’d much rather take the helicopter. “It’s a safety precaution. It’s clear the Toros have resources Stateside. On the off chance someone is watching us, we don’t want to tip them off by showing up to a helipad owned by Arrow Tactical Services.”
“Right,” I say, pulling my fingers from his and heading down the hall.
“You can call your dad from the car,” he calls after me.
I end up packing a big suitcase. The official story is we’ll stay for a couple of days, but realistically, I don’t know how long we’ll be there. I throw in several of my newly acquired Gemma-worthy outfits, a Balenciaga logo track suit, Gucci print heels, and a couple of Prada dresses. Then I catch sight of the Lanvin sneakers I purchased for Fisher.
“Here you go.”
“What are these?” His suitcase is half the size of mine and he’s already zipping it up.
“Shoes for you to wear today. Oh, and here’s a baseball cap.”
He glances at the cap. “Seven hundred and fifty dollars?”
“Take the price tag out before you wear it,” I say, returning to my closet.
“What is it made of?”
“Cashmere.”
“It’s soft. But for that much, I’d expect it to make your dick bigger.”
“Very funny.”
“Seriously. Do you normally spend this much?” He holds up one of the t-shirts I added to his wardrobe when we were in Whistler. “Two thousand dollars? I mean, I’ll admit, it’s nice to touch, but…”
“If you want to look the part…” I shrug. Two other officers failed at getting close to the Toros. He can mock me all he wants, but I understand this world.
“But you don’t normally wear these clothes?” He seems flustered. It’s cute.
“No. I don’t,” I admit. “One, you’d never catch me in head-to-toe logos. Two, on a day-to-day basis, I’m working with paycheck-to-paycheck people. I don’t know if you’ve ever looked around Langley, but they aren’t the most fashion forward crew. I dress the part.”
“Huh.” He leans against the doorframe as I fill a second suitcase with shoes and handbags. “What does the real Sophia choose to wear? When she’s at home, all by herself, not trying to blend in with anyone else?”
I pause, thinking about that. I’ve been dressing to blend in with others since my mom died and my dad hired a personal shopper. Lorraine gave me the foundational logic for what to wear in every conceivable situation.
“At home, I’m probably in something soft and comfortable.”
“Like sweats and a tee?”
