“When did you know it was me?” the Operator asked, brushing my hair. While it was strange that she enjoyed this, it was wild that I did too. Plus, it helped she was really good at it.
“It was just a hunch,” I admitted truthfully. “And you weren't detached. In fact, you seemed too invested. But when you said you were sorry, I think that's when I knew. Because you didn't expect us to survive and I heard the mourning in your voice.”
“I cried for hours,” she said softly. “And for the first time ever, regretted what I had done. To both of you, and all of them.”
“It worked out,” I said casually, not wanting to dwell on the past.
“Finn,” she said, pausing mid stroke. “Had anything happened to either of you, I was shutting it all down. And I need you to know that I always believed you two would survive.”
Fact: without the Operator, I wouldn't have Nix. So instead of replaying what if, I told her, “Thanks for giving Phoenix that number.”
Kissing the top of my head she whispered, “Thanks for giving Phoenix your heart.”
For the last two days we've been at the Aloft's hotel working on intel for an upcoming meeting.
A meeting where Operator was specific in her instruction that no one dies. Which is fine since I happen to be amazing at mediating. So much so that people in the know have actually been requesting me.
Yes, that appeased my competitive nature.
Being back here was amazing and every second we weren't working, Nix and I were in bed.
Only nookie had to wait because I had just hit a glitch.
We were all suited up and ready to go when Operator called to say I was sitting this one out.
At her insistence, Nix and the boys were doing tonight's job alone. I was making it known that I refused to be left behind as I was literally fighting for my spot in the van when 'she' showed up.
She being the enemy. And my boss.
“Girl time!” she squeals throwing an arm over my shoulder and thrusting a bottle of wine in my hand.
“I don't like you, remember?”
“I didn't forget,” she smiles uncaring of my wrath. “ – -That you love me.”
And damn her, I kinda did.
Because the more I got to know her, the more I admired what she's done. And because she had, how she changed my life for the better. How could I not love her for bringing Nix to me?
When the second bottle was empty, I noticed her checking her phone often so I took it.
“Give that back,” she says, falling off the couch.
“What's the password?”
“I don't negotiate with terrorists,” she slurs.
“You're a horrible drunk,” I snicker.
“And you make it impossible to keep a secret!”
Stilling, I cock my head asking, “What secret?”
“I didn't say secret,” she hedges.
“Yeah you did, Janet.”
“Don't call me that!” she shrieks. “Unless you're singing to me!”
“Where is he?” I ask, then look out of the window and down to the street to notice he, “Stole my fucking car again!”
“The word is commandeered,” she adds helpfully.
And knowing how she felt about speed, I literally drug her out of the hotel, through the side exit and motioned, “Get on.”
“Uh nope,” she pales. “There's a reason I'm the Operator, Finn. I don't do fast, you do.”
“You're going to do fast or I'm kicking your ass and roping you to the back,” I threaten. “Get on that bike and direct me to Nix.”
“It's not your bike,” she snaps. “And we don't steal.”
“You don't steal,” I snap right back. “And like you said, I'm commandeering it.”
“No one likes a smart ass,” she says backing away.
“Take me to Nix and my team, woman.”
“I promised I wouldn't until he said it was time.”
“You're stalling.”
“Damn right, I am,” she huffs. “You're crazy enough on a bicycle and that,” she points. “Has an engine.”
“Last time,” I warn. “Tell me where he is.”
“Fine,” she says stomping her foot. “But only because I bruise easily and because you're going to regret it.”
I wasn't lying, Operator really didn't do speed. If her screaming, clutching, and panicking were anything to go by.
So I went faster, wove in and out of traffic and when she begged me to stop, I gunned it harder.
It didn't take long to realize she was having me drive in circles. So when we pulled back in front of the hotel, she jumped off to puke on the sidewalk when I demanded to know, “What the hell is going on?”
“I'm never eating Funyons again,” she says spitting.
“Janet...”
“Whatever happens next is your fault,” she says waving me to follow. Hot on her heels, I walk into the lobby and doing as I'm told, sit at the bar.
“Order a drink,” she suggests. “You'll need it.”
Doing as she said, I was lifting my glass for a sip when the air shifted.