Receptionist Under Cover

Good Lord. Was he serious?

“I can arrange for a limo to pick you up in an hour. Is that enough time?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He was silent for a bit, then said, “I thought we agreed I would go for the first available flight?”

“Yes. But—”

“As long as you have your credit card and your passport, you’ll be fine.”

Holy crap. Adrenaline surging, Nadine ran to the bathroom and checked her hair. It needed washing, but she would never have time to dry it properly. She tried to remember where she’d put her passport after her last international trip to…

She thought it had been Belize. But it might have been that shopping trip to Paris.

“You really don’t waste time, do you?” she said, switching the phone to Speaker so she could squeeze toothpaste on her brush.

“I figured the faster we got on this the better.”

Sure. But giving her one hour notice? She started thinking of all the things she would need. A trip to Canada meant warm coats, boots and bulky sweaters.

“Oh, and try to limit your luggage to carry-on. We have to make a connection in Toronto and the timing is kind of tight.”

Hell.

“I have everything organized. All I need from you is your address.”

So he could pick her up in the limo. Only, she couldn’t let him do that. Her Upper East Side address would be sure to lead to questions she didn’t want to answer.

“I need to get my files from the office. How about you pick me up there?”

Thinking of all she had to do, in one short hour, made Nadine’s stomach swirl.

Find her ID, pack her bag, cancel Sunday dinner with her parents, let the people at the office know she was going away for a few days….

Oh, boy. That was going to be the hardest. Maybe she should just phone the office number and leave a message. But that would give Lindsay and Nathan zero notice that she wasn’t going to be at work on Monday.

After a quick shower, Nadine dressed in airplane clothes—no metal zippers, or belts, shoes that slipped off easily, layers in case the plane was too hot or too cold.

Who should she call—Nathan or Lindsay? She would feel extra guilty lying to Nathan, he was such a straight arrow himself. But Lindsay would give her a grilling, and she didn’t have time to come up with a great cover story.

In the end, she dialed the number for Nathan’s cell phone, because she was certain that he would accept her “need to go away for a few days on a personal matter” without any questions.

As she waited for him to answer—or, better yet, to be diverted to his message service—she started searching through her underwear drawer for her passport.

While she was there, she might as well pack her underwear, too.

Suddenly she heard Lindsay speaking. “Fox here.”

“Oh, hi, Lindsay. I thought I was calling Nathan.”

“He’s in the shower. What’s up?”

Nadine drew a deep breath and stopped looking for the passport. She needed one hundred percent concentration now.

“I was just calling to let you know that I have to go out of town on a personal matter. I’m not going to be able to make it into work on Monday or Tuesday. Wednesday might be iffy, too.”

“Wow. That personal matter sure came up quickly. You didn’t say anything about this yesterday.”

“I’m very sorry for the late notice.”

“Not a problem. Actually, it’s a good time for you to take some holidays as you won’t get many opportunities once Kate is on maternity leave.”

“Right. Well, I guess I’d better get going…”

“Where?”

Nadine had been hoping to hang up, but Lindsay spoke too quickly. “It’s—nowhere special.”

“Your voice sounds strange.”

Oh, she’d known Lindsay would give her a grilling.

“Does this have something to do with that man you were texting at work the other day?”

Nadine almost laughed with relief. Finally a question she could answer without lying. “Yes.”

“Well. That’s moving fast, isn’t it?”

Nadine had to admit that it was.

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” Lindsay said. “But be careful. You can’t always take people at face value.”

As she was finally able to hang up the phone, Nadine thought that Lindsay didn’t know just how right she was.

NADINE WISHED HER FATHER could see how economically she’d packed for the trip to Canada. He would have been proud.

She’d limited herself to one jacket—the Versace convertible down ski jacket she’d worn on the family’s last trip to the Swiss Alps. She’d be wearing that on the plane, of course. In her leather carry-on she’d managed to compress black ski pants and trousers, several turtlenecks—which were warm but didn’t take up as much room as a sweater—and just one dress, which she could vary with an assortment of tights, scarves and jewelry.

In her briefcase she packed her laptop, phone, camera and the file of notes she’d accumulated so far. She was seriously tempted to also pack her copy of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Private Investigating. But that would be a dead giveaway if Patrick happened to see it.

Finally, she locked up her apartment and took a taxi across the park. She arrived at the office two minutes before the limo. Her father would probably have been more amazed than proud.

Patrick didn’t seem impressed with her accomplishment, though. She supposed he got ready for trips at a moment’s notice all the time. He gave her a casual hello as he climbed out of the backseat, then took her bag.

“Thanks. Be careful. It’s heavier than it looks.”

He raised one eyebrow at her, then picked it up as if it was filled with down feathers. He set it into the trunk next to his carry-on bag which looked beaten—if not tortured.