I check my watch for the third time in thirty minutes. He's late. My client was supposed to pick me up from the hotel 45 minutes ago and is now not answering his phone.
Fuck this. I text him, via my encrypted texting / calling app that Tim designed, that the date is off and call Darren Bernard. Even though he's not my first choice, I didn't come all the way to DC to not make money. He picks up after two rings and I turn on the charm.
"Bonjour bébé," I say in a sultry voice. Darren is French and while he can speak English well, he much prefers for me to speak in his native tongue. "Tu m'as dit de t'appeler la prochaine fois que je serai dans ta ville et je suis tombé sur DC cette fin de semaine. Êtes-vous libre?"
(translation: "you told me to call you the next time I'm in your city and I happened to stumble into DC this weekend. You free?")
"Toujours pour toi," (always for you) God, even the sound of his voice makes my skin crawl, "how does dinner at Ocean Prime sound? I can meet you there in thirty."
"Perfect," I say sweetly. I'm relieved that he switched languages. The unspoken rule is that we speak French until he wants to switch. I mean, I might be fluent in French but that doesn't mean I want to speak it all night when I don't have to. "I can't wait to see you."
We hang up and I walk back towards the parking garage at the hotel, that's when I see the SUV. I roll my eyes, Dr. Reid is back at it again. It's been two weeks since Los Angeles and he has continued to follow me across the country. To his credit, he did try to be a bit more inconspicuous by switching the make and model of cars he stalked me in but I could always spot him. I'm tempted to acknowledge him, let him know his cover is blown yet again, but I have a client to get to and even messing with Spencer isn't worth losing a paycheck.
--
"And that's when I told her," Darren says with a mouth full of steak, "either you get me the hundred thousand dollars or your fucking fired."
He laughs and shoves more food in his mouth. I try my best to keep my composure and fake that I'm not disgusted by him. He continues to talk with his mouthful throughout the meal and I am relieved when his plate is clean. But I laugh at his bad jokes and drink the expensive wine he picked, always in character. Eventually, he settles the bill and we walk to the entrance.
"Je suis si contente que tu aies appelé, Sloane," (I'm so glad you called, Sloane) he hugs me and slides the cash into the lining of my coat, "let me know the next time you're in town."
"I will Darren," I kiss his cheek and walk away, trying my best not to vomit.
I walk to the Range Rover I rented and once I'm inside I count the cash, $600. I let out a sigh of relief, he didn't short me this time. Other than his disgusting eating and bathing habits, Darren was known for giving me up to $300 less than our agreed rate. He was desperate for companionship though since his wife left him a year ago and his son refuses to speak to him, which is the only reason I keep him on as a client.
I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and I reach in to grab it. I'm hoping it's a text from Tim telling me where we're drinking tonight. It's rare that I'm in DC, since I don't have too many clients here, and I miss hanging out with my friend. Plus, when we go out he always insists on paying so I get drunk for free.
As I unlock my phone, someone knocks on my window, causing me to jump. I look over to see none other than Dr. Spencer Reid.
I turn off the car and step out, "well this is a surprise." I close the door and lean against the car, "usually you prefer to lurk in the shadows until I approach you."
He smirks, "I guess I was getting tired of waiting. I mean, you did say that I had to find you in order to get another date."
"So, you want to take me on a date?"
My heart involuntarily flutters at the idea. I mean, he's hot and smart so I would be crazy not to jump on the opportunity. But then again, there is the little problem of him thinking I'm criminal.
"I thought the FBI would have some sort of policy against dating people you have on surveillance."
"I won't tell them if you don't," his hazel eyes meet mine and he seems sincere.
"Okay then," I say, opening my car door, "get in."
Surprisingly, he doesn't argue or hesitate to get in the passenger seat of my rental car. I pull out of the parking lot and start driving, "where would you like to go, Spencer?"
"There's actually a pretty cool coffee shop that's open 24 hours not too far from here," he says before he directs me there.
I notice that he's tapping his fingers against his thigh. He did it at the bar a couple weeks ago too, that must be his nervous tick. We drive for a few more miles before I turn into the parking lot of a small bookstore / coffee shop. We get out of the car and we walk into the shop. Spencer orders himself a black coffee with two teaspoons of sugar and a black tea with lemon.
"You remember how I take my tea?" I ask as we sit down at a table.
"I, uh, have an eidetic memory so it actually wasn't possible for me to forget," Spencer tells me.
"You know," I say, "you could have just said yes and it would have been a lot more flattering." I give him a soft smile so he knows I'm joking.
"I'm sorry," he starts to say with a nervous laugh, but the barista cuts him off by calling his name.
He goes to retrieve our drinks and I take the opportunity to take in my surroundings. They have floor to ceiling bookshelves lining three of the four walls and lots of live plants making the room even cozier. I read some of the titles that are next to me: Pride and Prejudice, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Jane Eyre are the ones that jump out to me right away. My fingers graze against the spine of the books, this place reminds me of the coffee houses I used to go to when I needed a break from studying. God, that feels like it was a lifetime ago when in reality it's only been a little over three years. But the girl I was back then was weak and submissive; she was someone put her trust in humanity, she was ignorant.
Spencer sits back down and places my tea in front of me, bringing me back to the present. I smile but I can't shake away the memories of my former self. I feel Spencer's eyes on me but I keep mine on my tea until I can pull it together.
"Hey," he reaches his hand over and places it on mine, "are you okay?"
"Yeah," I say shaking my head, "yeah, I'm fine. Um, this coffee shop just reminds me of some of the places I would go to when I was a student."
I look up and see, what I think, is genuine concern in his eyes, "are you sure that's the only thing?"
"Yep," I take a sip of my tea and regain my composure, "I really like this place though, they have some of my favorite novels."
"Mine too," he pulls Jane Eyre off the shelf, "you know that Jane Eyre was originally published under the name Currer Bell because the author Charlotte Bronte was afraid that the publisher wouldn't even read it if a woman's name was listed as the author?"
"That doesn't surprise me considering it was published in late 1847."
Spencer looks at me, surprised, "you know the year Jane Eyre was published?"
"I do," I say hesitantly, "why? Does that surprise you?"
"I just didn't know that you were into literature."
"Ah you underestimate me, yet again, Dr. Reid. You know, this is becoming an unflattering habit of yours."
I see the base of his neck turning red. He gets flustered so easily, it's actually kind of cute.
"I didn't mean..."
I giggle and place my hand on his arm, "I was kidding, Spencer."
"Oh," he looks relieved, "good."
We sit there in silence for a moment, both sipping on our drinks and looking around the room. The silence isn't uncomfortable though, it's actually kind of nice. It's rare that I'm ever this comfortable around a man. I scan his features and his hazel eyes remind me of my ex-boyfriend. I shake the thought of him away, I can't think about him right now.
"You okay?" Spencer asks for the second time tonight. Fuck, I really need to stop thinking about my past life, it makes me easier to read.
"Yeah, I am. Like I said, this place reminds me of memories from when I was a student."
"Are you sure that's it?" he asks, leaning in slightly, "you can tell me if there's something else."
I scoff, of course, "why? So you can put it in your little file about me? To prove that I did something I didn't do?"
"Sloane," he starts but I stand up and start walking away. Of course this is just about his stupid fucking case. Why would I expect anything less? He's a man and men always put their own agenda first. I'm almost to my car when I feel him grab my arm and forces me to turn around to face him.
"What do you want Spencer?" My voice is harsh, "To profile me? To find out more about me so you can build your case against me since you're so convinced I'm some sort of monster?"
"No, Sloane," he sighs out of frustration, "why is it so hard to believe that not everything is about a case? You seem upset so I asked about it, like any decent human would do on a date."
"You really think that I am that delusional that I believed this was a real date? Please, Spencer, I go on bullshit dates all the time for my work. I knew you had alternative motives for bringing me here and..."
I'm cut off by Spencer cupping my face and kissing me.