Page 51 of Mr. Match

“Yes,” I say.

“Progress?”

“Yes,” I say. “I have a meeting with them tomorrow.”

“Make sure you get what I need.”

“Yes. I’ll have what you need.”

The line goes dead and I stare at the phone for a moment before flipping it closed and tucking it away in the drawer once more.

I’m shaking again. All over this time. My legs, my arms, my hands, my whole body is nothing but fear.

Ellen Abraham is no threat to me. But the people on the other end of that phone are another breed of evil.

I walk around my condo, pacing back and forth down the hallway between the living room and the bedroom to avoid the cameras they have hidden in every single room. Fully immersed in my own thoughts.

And then the security phone next to the door rings.

I breathe in and out for a couple seconds, not allowing myself to fall apart even further. I walk to the door and pick up the handset. “Yes,” I say.

“Miss Kalashova, you have a visitor.” It’s the doorman.

“Who?” I ask, hoping it’s Oliver.

“Miss Ariel Shrike, ma’am.”

Hmm. This must be very important if she can’t wait until tomorrow.

“I’m afraid I’m just getting into the shower,” I say. “Can you ask her to come by another time?”

But also very dangerous.

“Yes, ma’am,” the doorman says. “Sorry to bother you.”

I hang up the handset and go to the window to try to catch a glimpse of Ariel. She works two doors down with Oliver. But there is no way for me to get over there without being seen.

I open the drawer that holds my sanctioned disposable phone and text.

A few minutes later it rings. “Yes?” I ask.

“Meet with her.”

Chapter Twenty-Three - OLIVER

Some time later—hours, probably—I hear footsteps on the stairs. And when I look up from my work they are all there.

Perfect, Romantic, Corporate, and Mysterious.

“What’s up?” I ask, looking back at my computer. There were two servers down this morning but they went back up without any interference from me. So I’ve been half-heartedly working on another delete file, while doing my best to come up with a plausible story to tell the Misters—because let’s face it, the one I told was pretty bad. And also compulsively checking Katya’s Hook-Me-Up profile for another video.

No luck, as usual.

“I think you know what’s up,” Nolan says.

“No, Nolan,” I say, exiting out of the admin page of Hook-Me-Up. “I really don’t.”

Mac comes and takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk. West takes the other one. Nolan stands behind them and Pax goes to the window, looking down on the city below like the suspicious motherfucker he is.