Page 34 of Trigger Happy Ending

“Ah,” he exclaims, clasping his hands together. “Good to see you two getting acquainted. Angel, as much as I know the Senator enjoys your company, there are some things we need to discuss in private.”

It wouldn’t happen to be a genetically modifying serum that turns people into superhumans, would it?

“Of course, gentlemen.” Slowly, I stand. “I hope I get to see you both again soon.”

“You can guarantee that, sweetheart.”

I swing my hips upon exiting, my ass looking like a goddamn peach in these booty shorts, neither one of them noticing the itty-bitty recording device I’d stuck to the bottom of the black drinks tray.

Those pricks can talk in private all they want; I’ll still hear everything.

Chapter 17

Raine

I’m itching to get back to the apartment, fire up the laptop, and listen in on the rest of the conversation Carson had with Senator Wilson, when Cherry’s loud Southern accent booms through the dressing room.

“So what do y’all do for fun?”

I glance sideways at Cherry to check if she’s talking to me. She totally is.

Closing my locker, I yank on my hoodie. “The usual.”

It’s one am, and all I want is to get back to the apartment, review the recording, send over my notes to Agent O, and fall the fuck asleep.

Cherry leans against the locker beside mine, applying fresh lip gloss to her plump lips. “Like what?”

I tug off my platinum blonde wig and stuff it into my duffel. “Like, chick stuff.”

“Chick stuff?”

I rake my fingers through my hair, pulling through some knots, and yawn. “It’s one in the morning, Cherry.”

“It’s early. Grab a drink with me?” she asks. “You seem cool. Not like the rest of these bitches.”

From across the room, Ava calls, “Fuck you, Cherry.”

“Except for y’all, Ava. You’re alright.” Cherry grins.

I slide on one Doc Marten, hiding a smirk. I like Cherry’s wit.

“C’mon. I know a bar a couple of blocks away. It’s chill. Good music. Real shit drinks.”

I shake my head automatically. I can’t risk it. I don’t need the distraction. “Not tonight.”

“One drink,” she nudges, playful but insistent.

I pause before sliding on my second boot. Not going could make me look antisocial and may raise a red flag. I am deep undercover, after all. It fits the Angel O’Leary profile to go and socialize. Besides, the recording will still be there when I get back. Smyth said it automatically uploads to the cloud.

I look at Cherry through my eyelashes. “Alright. One drink.”

***

The bar is small, but the atmosphere is big. Nineties grunge plays from an old-school jukebox. High tables and booths are the only two choices for seating, and the walls are adorned with vintage Rolling Stone magazine covers. Cool concept.

Cherry orders vodka sodas without asking. I don’t protest.

“So, what’s your story?” Cherry asks as we slide into a booth near the back, underneath the iconic Britney Spears cover where she’s lying on a bed in lingerie, surrounded by stuffed animals.