Play Smart: An Enemies to Lovers Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Work For It Book 5), page 25
Imagine…
“Nash, I—”
My phone buzzes, and I glance down on instinct.
Marcos: Incoming. You ready to do this?
“Yes, it’s the spy thing,” I mutter, holding up my screen.
Nash scans the message, but doesn’t seem convinced. Oh well, we don’t have time for teenage angst anyway.
“Right after I do this, we should take off as well,” I say. “If we’re part of Larinda’s entourage it shouldn’t raise any suspicions and then we’re gone in case it is traced back to us somehow.”
He nods, clearly forcing away whatever he really wants to say. Does he sense the war raging inside me? Can he tell it has nothing to do with corporate espionage and everything to do with what he’s done to my heart?
But we don’t have time, and honestly, I don’t think I could take it right now anyway. I need to stay focused. I definitely need to get rid of him before I do something stupid.
“Hey, so I brought all my stuff with me, but yours is still up in the green room, right? Why don’t you grab it and I’ll meet you there.”
“What exactly is the plan? You still never told me.”
“I’ll explain everything later, I promise. It’s just a few quick keystrokes.”
I’m already at my laptop opening a browser.
“Tell me now. I’ll help you.”
He leans over my shoulder, immediately distracting my brain from all the things it needs to be doing right now.
“No, really. It’s fine. I literally just have to open a file. Go get your stuff and make sure Larinda got off okay. I’ll meet you in a few minutes, then we can compare notes. We still need to figure out how to help Larinda with her songs.”
“I’m already on it,” he says with a smile.
“I’m not surprised,” I say, returning it.
Our eyes lock for several seconds and my stomach flutters with all kinds of warnings. Yep, Nash Ellis is my own personal ransomware. What if there’s no passcode to free my heart?
Tell him! You’re crazy about him! Tell him tell him tell him.
Fine! I will. Just… not right now.
He pulls away and starts toward the door.
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asks, turning back.
“I’m sure.”
I force the brightest smile I can muster and take a second to capture how beautiful he looks right now. So talented. So honest and loyal. So perfectly flawed in all the right ways for someone like me.
It’s decided. I will tell him. I will take a risk and step outside the box and brace for epic heartache or epic happiness. Either way, “epic” will be a nice change for my static life.
A few seconds later, I’m alone. A few seconds after that, the Brighthouse IT department has a huge problem.
I take my time getting back to the green room after I confirm the virus is working.
As soon as the ransomware warning popped up on my screen, I snapped a triumphant photo and sent it to Eva and Marcos. They confirmed the streaming broadcast just got hammered as well, and I took some time to bask in the ensuing chaos as I made my way through the halls and up the stairs. It seemed like every office and workspace I passed had urgent chatter and distracted employees milling about.
Not saying I have any interest in a full-time spy career, but my rookie assignment seems to be pretty darn successful, if I do say so myself. I even take a quick pitstop at the restrooms to gather my cool and prepare for the hardest part of my mission still to come: telling Nash how I feel about him.
I don’t think I’ve ever attempted something like this. Probably because no one ever seemed worth the anxiety of pouring my heart out. I don’t even know what to say, and as I stare at myself in the mirror, I realize it’s because I’m approaching this all wrong. My feelings are because he’s always accepted me as I am, because he likes that I’m awkward and honest and don’t know my way around all this relationship crap. He doesn’t like games any more than I do, so I don’t need a speech; I just need to be myself.
He’s Nash, and I’m Paige. That’s all I have to remember.
I’m feeling a little more confident when I reach the green room, but disappointment seeps in when I look inside to find… no one.
“Nash?” I say, stepping further into the room. I scan every inch of the space, but he’s definitely not here. Where is he? Did he leave without me? He wouldn’t do that, right? Well, it’s Nash so I guess anything’s possible.
And then I spot his backpack.
My stomach drops as I approach it slowly. He wouldn’t have left it behind. Did he go somewhere else? Maybe he wanted to watch the drama unfold from a front row seat in the lecture hall?
I’m not terribly excited about going back there but I can’t leave without him either. I grab my phone from my bag and send him a text.
Me: Where are you? We need to go.
The next minute feels like forever, and when he still doesn’t respond, I try calling the number.
“Hey. Leave a message if you want,” his voicemail tells me.
Great.
Have you heard from Nash? I text to Marcos.
The bubbles appear right away, and I hold my breath.
No. I called him a few minutes ago, but he didn’t answer. Everything okay?
I clench the phone as I stare at the response. Of course it’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be?
So why is my heart racing? Why is my stomach flooding with dread?
Bubbles burst to life again in the chat window. Then disappear. Then reappear. Then—my phone rings.
I answer immediately. “Marcos?”
“Reedweather just got a call,” he says, and my body goes numb at his urgent tone.
Oh god.
“They have Nash.”
19—AVENGING
NASH
They wanted to take me to a scary dark basement, but the door was locked and the head maintenance person said they couldn’t get there for another hour. Then they wanted to take me to a scary dark closet but the first three we tried weren’t big enough for all the chairs and torture and shit, so after wasting twenty minutes tossing, then reorganizing, cleaning supplies, here we are in a seldom-used conference room in a remote part of the building, seated quite comfortably in ergonomic leather chairs.
They did draw the blinds at least, so it’s dark-ish? They also brought in a desk lamp and removed the covering to expose the bulb. I think that’s supposed to be the obligatory “interrogation lamp” required for these types of situations, but it was designed for Fran in accounting to see her calculator better, not uncover treacherous spy networks, which means the flickering ten-watt bulb isn’t instilling a ton of fear. It is mildly annoying, I guess.
“Again! Who do you work for?!” the man named Pete shouts in my face for the third time.
“Seriously, Pete. Will you stop? We already know he works for Sandeke,” Grant says behind him.
“Right. Um…” Pete scrunches his nose, clearly out of questions.
I stare up at him, waiting patiently for whatever gem is coming next. The hilarious part is I don’t actually know anything. Hell, I still don’t even know why I’m here. Paige obviously succeeded at whatever she was orchestrating, but Brighthouse security picked me up on my way back to the green room. I don’t even know what she did. Glad it worked, though.
To their credit, the Brighthouse security team is slightly more intimidating than the hotel security I encountered last night. Their uniforms even have official-looking crests that almost make you forget they can’t actually do anything besides call the real police. My only goal is to keep them from doing that.
“You’re in a shit-ton of trouble,” Pete warns, trying a new tactic, apparently. He shoves a finger into my chest. “A shit-ton.”
“Okay, but I’m Canadian,” I lie. “What’s the metric conversion on that?”
The man cocks his head, thinking.
“I got this,” Grant interrupts, waving his grand inquisitor behind him. Gonna guess “prisoner interrogation” wasn’t in this dude’s job description before today.
“We know who you are, Nash Ellis,” Grant says in his best evil villain voice. “We know you work for Sandeke Telecom. So just tell us everything we want to know and this doesn’t have to get ugly.”
Hmm. What movie was that from again? Pretty much all of them, I think.
I scan the room before settling my gaze back on Grant.
“And does Sandeke Telecom know you’re a spy for Brighthouse? What do you think is going to happen when I go back to Denver Sandeke and tell him his COO is working for his competitor?”
Grant’s face blazes a fun shade of red. “How do you know all of that?! How long have you been spying on us?”
Really? He didn’t see that coming? I mean, it was kind of preschool hide-and-seek-level sleuthing.
“Well,” I draw out. “You’re here… when you’re supposed to be working there… so…”
Even Pete would’ve been able to put that together without much coaching. I watch the man fiddle with the lamp he brought. It appears his diagnostic strategy consists of turning it on and off repeatedly. Eh, maybe not.
Grant is still looking quite angry when I focus back on him. “Well, that’s assuming you get out of here to tell them!” he says.
“Yeah!” Pete echoes, giving up on the lamp and returning to his boss’ side.
I lean back in the chair. “I see. So you’re, what, gonna kill me? This is a real thing?” I wave around our little pretend prison. “Shouldn’t I be tied up or something?”
“We can arrange that!” Pete growls, stomping forward.
Grant throws out an arm to stop him and shoots a discreet warning. “We can’t, actually,” he mumbles.
“But he’s a spy!”
“Yes but…” Grant tosses a look at the security guards stationed by the door. “Never mind. Just go figure out that damn lamp or turn it off. It’s giving me a headache.”
“You got it, boss!”
With the lamp situation under control, Grant turns to me. “I’m not messing around, Nash. I can make your life very difficult.”
“Yeah? How exactly?”
I’m actually curious.
“Tons of ways. I could get you blacklisted so you’ll never work in this town again. How does that sound?”
Like a line meant for other professions, but sure, “marketing intern” could probably be added to the list. I’m sure there’s someone out there who’d find the prospect of never again making photocopies or stapling shit for minimum wage horrifying.
“Oh no. Not that!” I say in mock fear.
He glares back. “This isn’t a joke. Do you have any idea who I am?”
“I thought we already established I do.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh, then what? As in, your job title?”
“No! Like, in general. Who I am in general!”
“An Aquarius? Single? Vegan? I’m gonna need more clues here, Grant.”
Steam wafts from his head as he balls his fists. “I take back what I said. Cuff him!” he hisses at the guards.
The three guards exchange a look, and the tallest clears his throat.
“We can’t actually do that, sir. Item 4.3 of the protocol stipulates—”
“I don’t care what it stipulates. Tie this bastard to the chair!”
“Um, well, we don’t have that kind of equipment,” another one explains.
He shrugs apologetically when Grant fires a look at him.
“What?!”
The man lifts his arms and twists from side-to-side to show off the big fat nothing around his waist except a belt. Like, a regular belt. They could prong me to death maybe. Or pool all their belts into something more useful?
“What do you have?!” Grant asks.
The guy looks nervous as he fishes through his pockets. “Uh… chapstick? A receipt?” He pulls them out. “A guitar pick. Don’t ask how I got that.”
“Oh, fun,” I say. “You in a band?”
He nods eagerly. “Yeah! I play bass—”
“For fuck’s sake!” Grant says, and the guard shrinks.
“Sorry,” he mouths to me, making a zipping motion over his lips.
“Later,” I mouth back before returning to Grant. “What exactly is your plan?” I ask him. “I know you can’t actually hurt me, and I don’t know anything even if you could. So is this it? You’re just going to bore me to death?”
“How about getting you arrested for trespassing?” he says with a smug look.
“Hmm. Well, that’s a possibility. You sure you want to bring the authorities into this, though? You and Brighthouse don’t have a single thing you wouldn’t want people with badges investigating?”
Also, technically I was invited as part of Larinda’s entourage, so pretty sure I could beat a vicious trespassing rap, but I have no intention of bringing more people into this.
“Just tell us the damn plan!” Grant shrieks.
“You already know the plan,” I say. “The plan has happened. We are now post plan.”
“I know there’s more. There has to be more. I was there when Denver made the call to sabotage our event, I just didn’t know how you were going to do it. I thought it was the Reedweather thing, but then the ransomware thing happened. What else is coming? Tell me now!”
Ransomware? That’s what Paige put together? Hell yeah. What a badass. I can’t wait to kiss her later.
“I told you already. I don’t know anything else. Yes, Reedweather was a decoy,” I lie. Although, gotta say, I didn’t see that working out as well as it did. Another win for Zeros Being Heroes, I guess. We’re like the Accidental Avengers. We’re so bad at shit it goes full circle and kinda works.
“Yes, but now that the ransomware part happened, it’s over,” I say. “Isn’t that bad enough?”
“You tell me.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. Per your instructions, I’m telling you, that yes, it’s bad enough. Ransomware is pretty fucking bad.”
“I know it’s bad!”
He’s about to yell at me some more when his phone rings.
“What?” he shouts into the receiver. “I’m in the middle of something.”
Yep, the worst interrogation of all time. They would’ve been better off locking me in the mailroom and forcing me to stuff envelopes until I cracked. I guarantee it would have taken six minutes. This, though? I check on Pete who’s now writhing on the floor while waving the lamp over his head for some strange reason. The cord keeps getting caught on his nose at each pass but it doesn’t seem to deter him. Yeah, this I could do all day.
“Oh. Yes, put him through,” Grant says. “Pete! Get over here. I need you to take over the negotiations. They can’t know I’m here.”
His accomplice puts down his nemesis and pushes himself up from the floor. As he makes his way to the table, I can’t help but wonder how many times in the course of history an evil mastermind has handed the reins to a subordinate who got outsmarted by a lightbulb. This should be interesting.
Grant gives me a triumphant look as he places the room phone in front of me and answers it on the first ring.
“Brighthouse here,” Pete says, taking the chair to my right. “We’ve got your man.”
“We need proof of life,” a low, growly, fake-accented voice says.
Oh no. Please don’t let that be who I think it is.
I’m scared for the first time since these goons grabbed me.
“Say something,” Pete directs at me, and I clear my throat.
I really, really don’t want to do this.
“Say something!” Pete demands.
Fine. Ugh.
“I’m here,” I say.
“Dragonfly?” the voice replies. “Is that you? It’s Alan.”
Of course it is. Roy must be nursing his wounds from his Range of War loss.
“Yes, it’s… um, Dragonfly,” I say.
I can’t look at the others. This is so freaking embarrassing.
“If it’s really you, what’s the code?”
“The code?” I ask, leaning forward.
“Yes! The code! What’s the code?”
I squint at the phone, wracking my brain. The code… the code… oh, wait.
“You mean the pumpkin shit?”
“Yes!” Fake Alan says.
Right. So the door code is the same as the hostage code. I suppose it is easier to keep track if there’s only one code for everything.
“Do I have to?” I groan.
“Only if you want to be rescued,” he says.
Pretty sure this rescue is worse than the kidnapping. Can we please go back to that?
“The pumpkin flies at midnight,” I mutter.
“What? I couldn’t hear that.”
“The pumpkin flies at midnight!” I force out.
Now they’re really staring at me. I offer a shrug and wave a don’t worry about it.
“Nash! It is you!”
“Yep. It’s me.”
“Are you okay? They didn’t sever anything?”
“Sever anything?”
“Like a tongue or ear or whatever?”
What’s with Chad and my missing body parts?
“No. Nothing’s been severed. I guess my head hurts a little from the desk lamp.”
“You animals!” Chad cries. “I swear, if you hurt him…”
He doesn’t finish the cliched threat, but I suppose that’s also consistent with every spy movie I’ve seen.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll grab a pain reliever later. Can we just get this negotiation underway? I’m kind of hungry and would love to get out of here in time for dinner.”
“Right,” Chad says. At least he’s not using an indiscriminate accent anymore. So much for that disguise. “We know you have our guy. What do you want in return?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious,” Pete says, reading whatever Grant is typing on his phone.
