Identical

Chapter 8 -The Encounter

A/N: Hello, lovely readers. I hope you're enjoying the story so far. I know it's a bit of a departure from most fan fics I write, and I promise Tom will return to the story soon and he won't be as superficial as in previous chapters.

Also, in case you're wondering, I've been imaging Robert as a younger, British RDJ. You may see others as well as the story progresses, only in an alternate reality.

Anywho, I love to see your comments on this. They're actually more important to me than votes!

Enjoy, and cheers!

🍸👩🏻

James' POV

Operation Vinegar did not go as planned. Though we were able to 'meet with' a few of our Chechen friends, our main contact, Mr. Z, was not to be found. By 'meet with', I mean that things got rather physical, but no gunplay took place. We were able to discover that Mr. Z is in London, but he's went to ground.

"How are your ribs?" Robert asks, holding out a drink to me. I adjust my position on the sofa and wince. "They'll do," I say, taking the drink. One of my friend-foes landed a pretty good hit, going for my kidney before I turned quickly to face him. He, on the other hand, soon found himself face down on the floor after I landed a punch to his throat. At least I'm not sporting a black eye like Robert.

"Dr. Patel is on call if you need to see him for that eye, Mate," I say.

"Naw...it's all good," Robert replies.

We're both lost in our own thoughts of the prior evening's activities when my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Hi. I hope you don't mind. I got your number from Emma.

I stare at the screen, trying to figure out to whom Emma had given my number, then it buzzes again.

It's Cory, btw.

I can't help the small smile that creeps on my lips.

"Something interesting?" Robert asks, lifting his head from the back of the sofa.

"Just another deal I'm working on," I say, placing the phone face down on the coffee table.

Cory's POV

There. I did it. I texted James. Now, we wait.

I couldn't help but smile when I woke this morning to see the peonies on my bedside table. They were so beautiful, with the soft glow of the light from my windows backlighting them. I quickly tied my hair into a messy bun and went to my studio to start painting them as I'd seen them when I woke. I'll call this piece Good Morning, though it won't be for sell. I'll make it part of the small private collection I keep for myself.

I painted for a hour or so until the foundation was complete and I knew I could pick up again with it later. As I walked to my kitchen to scrounge around for tea and a bit of bread and cheese, I looked at my phone, realizing that I don't have his number. I looked at the clock on my stove, seeing that it was just past 9:00 am, wondering if it's too early to call.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hi, Emma. It's Cory Mayer," I said.