At this point in my life, there are a few things that I’m ready to admit about myself.

One of those things is that I don’t enjoy spending hours in an art museum or a gallery. Being super quiet and wandering slowly, staring at everything on the walls—it’s just not for me.

There are many pieces of art I like, appreciate, or even love individually, but I had never connected with the whole gallery scene.

Not until this afternoon.

“Antonio, you’ve finally done it. Today, I am a believer in the art gallery experience. Thank you for opening my eyes.”

“That is a sentence I’ve always longed to hear.”

Antonio’s contemplating me with sincerity. He’s really happy to have someone to share this stuff with.

“You really did, Antonio. I’m going to get a membership to the Met, check all the gallery listings from now on.”

Antonio’s earnest expression doesn’t change, but I’m pretty sure he can tell I’m not being completely serious.

“I must’ve really opened your eyes, then.”

We smile mildly at each other, but our smiles are brimming with subtext as one of the paintings surrounding us.

As long as Antonio’s here with me, I could stay here all day—and all night.

But his smile starts to drop. I’d like to think that something deep and contemplative is brewing, some deep insight that maybe he’d like to share with me.

“I must go, Sofia.”

Huh. I’m usually pretty good at being able to deduce this shit—but Antonio’s one step ahead of me right now.

“What do you mean, Antonio? You have something to do now?”

My voice is getting intense—I’m feeling less in control of myself than usual, so I need to watch the fuck out.

“I mean, I understand completely if you do, but would you mind telling me what it is?”

“Just work, Sofia, like I do all the time. Are you okay to return to the mansion on your own?”

The only thing I should be doing right now is pressing Antonio on what work he’s doing exactly and subtly try to get some answers from him.

But I’m not saying a word. I’m just trying to keep my poker face from faltering. That’s a struggle I’ve never had on the job before—but this is the first time I’ve had to hide disappointment while working.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you later, Antonio.” I mean for my voice to come out chipper, as if I’m completely fine with him just leaving after that.

“Either Marco or Franco will be there when you get back home. I hope that makes you feel better, Sofia.”

It seems as though I’m not hiding my disappointment that well after all. But that does help me feel better.

And did he really just say, ‘When you get back home’?

“Really, it’s okay,” I respond, smiling, trying to keep up the act.

Not looking convinced, Antonio plants a delicate kiss on my lips before swiftly leaving the room.

Standing alone in the gallery, I take a few minutes to collect myself and try to expel the residual emotions I’m feeling from that encounter.

I’m a professional. Apparently, that’s something I have to remind myself of now.

Enjoying myself on the job is one thing, especially if it helps me remain convincing. But growing personally attached to anyone along the way is one of the worst things I can do. It’s clearly past time for me to cut that shit out.

A fresh burst of resolve propels through me as I leave the gallery. When I see the limo waiting for me outside, I realize that I wasn’t even thinking about how the hell I was going to get back to the mansion.

That’s a big fucking detail to have a blank in my mind. I’m not looking forward to seeing how I might screw up next, but if I start now, I might be able to have the concentration and discipline to get back on target.

The limo driver takes off as soon as I get in. The privacy of the soundproof section of the vehicle where I’m riding would make the perfect spot to check in with the voicemails that would be too sensitive to listen anywhere else.

Looking at my phone, there are a fuck-ton of notifications, all from the Senator.

They must be from his office or something. Someone in his position would be too busy to call me multiple times a day—even for a matter like this.

After tapping on the first notification for a voicemail, I turn my phone’s volume down and listen carefully.

“Sofia, I’m just checking in to make sure you’ve got what you need and to make sure you’re actually on the job out there.”

It was the Senator himself, and the message weirdly ends after that.

“Sofia!” The next message starts automatically, and I have to turn the volume down even more for this one. “Don’t you realize how important communication is on a job like this? I thought you were supposed to be a professional. Your lack of contact with me and your lack of results are inexcusable—do you know what that means?”

The message ends, and I stop the next voicemail just as it begins.

This is something else I’ve never dealt with before. Up until now, everyone I’ve worked with had some kind of understanding of these jobs and way more patience.

Does the Senator really not know that by calling my number and screaming at my voicemail, he’s putting the operation in way more risk than me not getting back to him right away?

Apparently, fucking not.

My plan is to not even listen to the third and last voicemail, but when the limo is within two minutes of arriving, I decide to listen while I have the chance—just in case there’s something actually important he needs to tell me.

“This is unbelievable!” The senator’s voice rips through my phone the instant I hit play. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing out there—I don’t know what you’re thinking or doing at all. You need to contact me immediately!”

The limo’s pulling into the mansion’s driveway now, and if this senator thinks I’m contacting him anytime soon, he’s just going to have to keep waiting.

And, apparently, stressing the fuck out.

Fuck, he’s calling me now. I need to answer and get this over with.

“Yeah, this is DiCosta,” I say quietly into the phone.

“Sofia!” The senator’s still in his heightened rage—great. “Do you even know how to operate at this level? This isn’t a game. What are you doing out there?”

“Senator, you’re the one who described this as deep cover. You should know what my success rate is—I will get you results, just not in a day. You realize it’s only been a day, right?”

Marco’s walking out the front door to greet me, and I need to end the call before he gets much closer.

“Look, Senator...”

“You look, Sofia! I don’t care what excuses you have to throw at me. You’re in a whole new world now, and I hope you understand what I mean when I tell you that if you don’t deliver results, you are finished. Think about tha—”

I hang up the phone as Marco gets ready to knock on the window. I will simply have to deal with the enraged senator later, much later, by the look on Marco’s face.