EVIE KEPT HER head down as she barrelled through the Bullpen so as not to get stuck chatting games or algorithms with any of the boys.
And they were boys. Boys who lived on pizza and hamburgers, who she knew would live in places any right-minded landlord would condemn.
Growing up with her granddad and his friends, she’d known men who could roof a house, cook a decent meal and talk about everything from historical Russian literature to modern-day Russian politics.
She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed being around actual grown-ups until she’d met Armand. For he was serious. Experienced. Despite his stubborn determination not to enter the electronic age he was the most intelligent man she had ever met.
And there was no running away from the fact her feelings for Armand had well and truly tipped from playful crush to “it’s complicated”.
So much for not dating fellow employees. Not that they were dating. Ha! They could barely hold a civil conversation without disagreement or culture clash or retreating to their own corners to lick their wounds. Or holding one another. Looking deep into each other’s eyes. Kissing.
Evie was up the stairs and halfway down the hall when she pulled up to a dead stop.
There was only one thing for it. She had to ask to be put onto another project. For she couldn’t lose this job. Working for Jonathon Montrose was the pinnacle—being fired by Jonathon Montrose a career death knell. If it ever came to that she may as well hang up her shingle and go home.
She’d kept the farm after all—renting it out to cover rates repairs and not much more—in case her granddad ever wanted to return.
In that moment she realised how desperately she wanted to stay. This city had got under her skin. She wanted this. Melbourne was her dream. She was not a farm girl any more; she was already home.
She paced back to Jonathon’s door, raised her hand to knock. Stopped herself just in time.
He’d ask why. What could she possibly say? The truth? Her eyes slammed shut and she let out a sob.
“Evie?”
Evie flinched and opened her eyes to find Jonathon standing beside her, coffee mug in hand, Imogen peeling off to her office.
“Hi, Mr Montrose. Good morning.”
“Did you want to see me? Everything okay?”
No. Everything’s not okay. The man you’ve lumped me with is like a dormant volcano and I can’t be sure if I’m in lust with him or so burnt by my last twisted working relationship I’m building castles in the sky.
“Everything’s great!”
“Glad to hear it. How’s the project coming along? Any chance it’ll be wrapped up soon?”
Evie thought of the knot she’d tripped over in the programming the night before. The one that had had her staying late in the first place. Until the little carpet picnic with Armand had scrambled her brain.
“I’m getting close. I can smell it.”
“Just you?”
“I mean we. We’re getting close.”
Real close. His lips touched mine and I saw stars.
“Close to finding the problem, I mean.”
Her boss’s eyes narrowed, though she could have sworn his mouth twitched with a smile. “Excellent. And the other things we spoke about?”
Despite the fact she wasn’t feeling all that delighted with the man right now, she still wasn’t about to turn on him with Jonathon.
“I can handle him.” Evie backed away, then turned on her heel and fled.
Thankful her thumbprint now opened the lock on the first try, she ducked inside and shut the door.
After inhaling a few deep breaths she darted over to her desk, dumped her backpack, hung up her beanie and opened up the program, determined to have good news for Jonathon soon. For the sooner this project was over and done with, the sooner she and Armand would no longer be stuck in a tiny room together. She’d have hopefully impressed Jonathon enough to keep her on. And Armand could get on with his life of international intrigue.
Armand arrived on cue. He lurked darkly in the doorway. All scruffy hair and intense energy.
Evie turned up the music in her headphones and got scrolling, still hyperaware of the man as he dropped his briefcase to the floor with a thud, picked up the phone and proceeded to bark down the line in French.
She didn’t bother trying to translate. Instead she did what she should have been doing the whole time and got to work.
She managed another minute and a half before Jonathon’s voice suddenly filled the room. “Evie. Armand.”
“Jeez!” Evie cried, tearing off her headphones, gaze darting about the room. “What the heck was that?”
Armand glanced at his phone, pressed a button that had lit up red and said, “Is this the great and powerful Oz?”
A beat went by before the disembodied voice once more boomed into the room. “You know damn well who this is, funny guy. You both need to clear your schedules tomorrow evening. Cancel plans. Postpone any dates.”
Evie couldn’t help herself. She glanced towards Armand, only to find him determinedly not looking her way.
“Anyone with eyes can see that the two of you are still butting heads.”
Well, that was one way to put it.
“You two need to find a way to be in the same room together without it ending in tears.”
Oh, God, was that what he thought? “Jonathon, we’re getting along just great. At the very least, Armand has never made me cry.”
Then she looked to Armand, who was staring at his desk as if trying to burn a hole in the top. She whispered, “Have I made you cry?”
Armand finally lifted his gaze to collide with hers. His eyes filled with humour and regret. Heat and sorrow. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do first—hug him or kiss him. Probably easiest to simply do both.
Jonathon went on. “I’ve organised a team-building exercise.”
Evie’s gaze shot to the phone as her entire body clenched in response. Not the horror of a grown-up “truth or dare” session. Or “two true things, one false thing”. And the trust fall? The thought of having to fall into Armand’s waiting arms in front of people was too disturbing for words.
“You can both wipe the grimaces from your faces,” said the voice.
Evie looked frantically around her, searching for hidden cameras. She’d been there, after all.
“Jonathon—” Armand began.
But Jonathon had the luxury of not being in the room and cut him off. “Imogen has sent you both the details. I look forward to hearing your effusive thanks next week.”
Armand’s finger slowly lifted from the phone. It was moments before his gaze finally lifted to connect with hers.
“We don’t really have to do this, do we?” Evie asked.
“I have found in life that we don’t have to do anything. Only that which we feel we should. Or that which we truly want.”
Evie swallowed, heat curling in her belly like a creeping vine in fast motion. No two guesses as to why she’d kissed Armand. Though she couldn’t be certain as to why he’d kissed her back.
Either way, now that she’d promised Jonathon they were close—close to finding the answer, that was—her position at Game Plan felt more precarious than ever.
“Maybe he has a point,” said Evie. “Maybe if we got to know each other more we could make more efficient use of our time.”
Even in the low light she could see Armand’s eyes narrow. Was he agreeing? Or was he imagining the same ways of “using their time” she was?
Evie broke eye contact by grabbing her phone. She scrolled through her mail till she found the team-building details. “There’s just an address. A time. And a dress code: comfortable for freedom of movement.”
No matter what Armand said, it was hardly as if she had a choice.
“I’m in if you are,” she said, wondering if everything she said from now on would feel like a double entendre.
Armand said, “So be it.”
At six o’clock the next evening, Armand found himself standing outside a corrugated iron door covered in graffiti reading “Escape Room Challenge”.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asked, not bothering to disguise the lack of enthusiasm towards the endeavour.
Evie’s big, dark eyes roved frenetically over the list of rules posted beside the door: “No one with heart conditions... No pregnant women... No children under sixteen years...”
This vision of energy and light had kissed him.
And he’d kissed her. He could still taste her on his lips, feel the way she had sunk into his body. Her body soft and pliable. Completely trusting.
He should have put a stop to it then. Knowing that their attraction couldn’t go anywhere. He’d seen too much darkness. Was bitter. Brittle. While Evie was endearing, charming, lovely from the inside out.
His time in Melbourne had been restorative. As if the smaller cracks were beginning to smooth over. Much of that was thanks to her. But some scars went so deep they leeched colour from a man’s soul.
He’d meant it when he’d told her to find someone who knew her worth. But that person was not him. Could not be him. He struggled to reconcile with the regrets of his past. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her.
“What the heck was Jonathon thinking?” she asked.
“I often wonder the same thing.”
“You do realise he’s merely moved us about to go from one small room to another.” Her hands moved to her hips, stretching the words “All My Friends Are Dead” over the dinosaur on her T-shirt tight across her curves. “Only this time we’ll be locked in.”
Evie looked up at him and he wondered if he looked as deeply put out as she did. But then she blinked, twice, and burst out laughing. The sound like birdsong. Like spring time.
He felt a kick at the corner of his mouth. Then another behind his ribs. Within a heartbeat he found himself back there again, deep in the memory of her kiss.
The surprise as her lips pressed against his—cool and soft. Then realisation that it was no surprise at all. Inevitable as the sunrise. Inescapable as breath.
Then her hand curling into his shirt, her knuckles sliding down his chest. Until he’d felt like bottled lightning.
After spending the past year of his life doing everything in his power not to feel anything at all he’d been unprepared, his neglected instincts reacting incongruously to his wishes, giving in wholly to sensation instead of dashing for cover.
A green light lit up over a door a couple of metres down the hall. It opened with a click and out sauntered Jamie, followed by three of his ilk.
Before he even knew he’d moved, Armand’s fingers curled into his palms, his feet shifting into position as if he had an enemy in his sights.
As the kid squinted despondently into the brightness, wiping sweat from his brow, Armand told himself to stand the hell down.
“Jamie?” Evie called.
When Jamie saw that they had an audience, he rallied admirably. Squaring himself, finding a grin. “Why, hello, old man. Evie, love.”
He sauntered up and slapped Armand on the back, hard enough to rock another man off his heels. But Armand was not any other man. He dropped a shoulder at the last second, leaving Jamie wincing and rubbing at his hand. It felt rather good.
Then the guy leaned over to kiss Evie on the cheek.
And Armand could have taken him down. A single jab to the throat with a sharp hand ought to do it. A crack to the jaw with a closed fist if he felt like going old-school. Of course, a knee to the balls was foolproof.
“How was it?” Evie asked.
“Brilliant,” Jamie said, as his cohorts muttered things along the lines of “impossible”.
“First time?” Evie asked.
Jamie answered, “I’ve done VR versions, of course. But in the flesh? Never.”
Armand scoffed.
“Problem?” Jamie asked.
“VR,” he muttered. “What a cop-out.”
There were gasps all around. Evie moved in closer, as if about to dive in front of him if the others attacked. Him. A man who could have the lot of them unconscious in seconds if he saw fit.
A strange sensation came over him. Warmth sliding through his insides as if he’d eaten hot soup too fast. He protected his own. It wasn’t often anyone thought to stand up for him. Or feed him. Or make sure he was okay.
Jamie said, “Wait till you get in there. You know it is not real, but it feels real. Gives you a great glimpse into how you react in a crisis.”
The kid poked a finger towards Armand’s chest and it took everything he had not to grab the kid’s fingers and twist.
“Jamie,” Evie said, sliding a hand into Armand’s elbow, “Armand has a better handle on that kind of thing than you realise.”
She glanced at Armand, looking for permission. His shrug was as good as.
“He was in the French Foreign Legion.”
“Whoa,” said a cohort. “You for real?”
“For real,” Armand deadpanned.
“Actual on-the-ground stuff?”
Armand nodded.
The cohorts oohed and ahhed. Said, “Man, that’s cool.”
While Jamie crossed his arms. “Sitting behind a desk pushing papers all day must feel like quite the departure.”
“A combatant is a combatant,” said Armand, eyes on Jamie.
Evie squeezed his arm. He looked down to find her face impassive. Then the edge of her mouth curved. Heat slid through him, only this time, like after jumping into a hot shower on a cold winter’s day, it ached.
Before he had the chance to unpack all that that might mean, the light above their door began to flash yellow, which—according to the rules—meant they had a minute to enter before the game began.
Evie gave him a tug. “Come on, then, partner. I’m a genius. You’re...you. Let’s show these monkeys how this is really done.”
For reasons he could feel guilty about later, Armand tucked a hand over hers and pulled her closer, smiling down at her and shooting Jamie and his friends an even bigger smile before opening the door to the Escape Room and closing it behind them.
It was dark, the lack of eyesight heightening his other senses. A sensation not new for him after his military training and years of organised insurrection.
Evie’s skills were to be found in other areas, so she turned and walked right into him.
He grabbed her by the shoulders. Steadied her. Breathed in the cherry scent of her hair. Sweet and ingenuous. Like her.
So much for “getting to know one another”. Their awareness had ratcheted up to eleven, making the air crackle and the walls close in.
“Sorry,” Evie breathed, her voice giving away the fact she was in the same state as he was. “I didn’t expect it to be this dark.”
“I believe that’s the point.”
Static crackled though a speaker and a TV flickered to life. Armand let Evie go and they both turned to watch a “news report” that set up the puzzle they had to work out. The name of their room was “Corporate Chaos” in which a thief embezzled from the International Monetary Fund, leaving the world broke and leading to World War III.
Images of the Wall Street stock market cut to shots of shredders and people crying and finally to men and women in combat gear climbing over the smoking rubble of a fallen city.
He was going to kill Jonathon. Using his bare hands. Nice and slow.
“You don’t have PTSD, do you?” Evie asked.
His experiences in the Legion had never been an issue. The parameters were clear—make a plan, follow the plan, stay alive. It was the civilised world he’d struggled with. The tug of duty, the lure of freedom, the ache of disappointment. And the mind-bending pain of loss.
“No,” Armand assured her. “Do you?”
“You’re hilarious,” she deadpanned.
And Armand felt himself smile.
Even in the deep darkness, the room lit only by the static now playing on the screen and a small green exit sign over the door, he saw Evie’s gaze drop to his mouth and stay.
The room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. Little shocks tingled across his skin. He felt like a teen, stuck in a closet playing Five Minutes in Heaven.
Only they were grown-ups. In a locked room. On their own. And they had half an hour.
“What do you reckon, soldier boy? Shall we do this?”
For a second, he imagined she’d read his mind.
Then she turned about, looking up and down and all around. “What do we need first? A key? A clue? A code?”
“Light,” said Armand, watching the very same play over Evie’s hair, the curve of her shoulders, the sweet planes of her lovely face. “What we need is light.”
“That was amazing!”
Evie spun around, arms out to the side, revelling in the feel of the air-conditioning on her hot skin as they burst from the Escape Room twelve minutes and eighteen seconds after they’d entered.
For it had been ridiculously fun. Intense—for sure. Especially considering the size of the room—they couldn’t move without brushing up against one another. Leaving Evie hot and flushed and wired. But the thrill of the game had taken them over, and once they’d found their beat it had been like a dance.
Armand had a labyrinthine mind, clever and flexible, twisting and turning and unravelling the trickiest clues with frightening speed. Leaving Evie to do her thing, to follow the breadcrumbs which stood out to her like fireflies in the dark.
She stopped spinning, wiped her damp hair off her face and faced Armand.
While she felt as if her T-shirt was sticking to her back, he looked as if he’d stepped out of the pages of a catalogue; his idea of “comfortable” a red-checked button-down shirt, chinos and elegant chestnut-brown dress shoes.
Adrenaline still coursing through her veins, she took a big, bold step his way. He didn’t budge, though his chin lifted, and he slid his hands into the pockets of his chinos.
“Come on, Armand. Admit it. That was fun. You, Mr Grouchy Pants, had fun. With me. Because we make a great team.”
Nothing. Not a high five. Not even a nod.
“I think it has a lot to do with our motto,” she said.
A single eyebrow kicked north. “We have a motto?”
“Yes, we do.” She took another big step his way until she was close enough to nudge the toes of her polka-dot lace-ups against the toes of his fancy shoes. Then made a banner in the sky with her hand. “No man—or woman—left behind.”
“I think you’ll find that motto belongs to another. The American Army Rangers, I do believe.”
“Pfft. Sharers are carers.”
“You be sure and let them know that’s how you feel.”
Evie tipped a few millimetres closer. “For the last few years I’ve pretty much worked in a room all by myself. This kind of ‘squad goal’ moment is a rarity. And I plan to revel in it.”
Armand looked down into her eyes. All dark and French and achingly gorgeous. Then his toe nudged against hers. Deliberately. And it was one of the sexiest moments of her life.
“Hey.”
Evie glanced sideways to find Jamie and his cohorts rocking up to them, with a kid wearing an Escape Room Challenge T-shirt in tow. She leapt back a step. But it was too late. The look on Jamie’s face said it all.
She held her breath as she awaited his reaction. When he gave her a smile and a wink the relief was palpable.
“You guys rocked,” said the Escape Room kid, his voice breaking only a little. “That was totally a record, you know.”
“A record, you say?” Evie bumped Armand with an elbow. “Doesn’t that make us the best team that ever was?”
The kid said, “Um, yeah. I guess. Anyway, you win a certificate. A team laser-tag session.”
“Seriously? That’s awesome. Thanks!” She glanced up at Armand to find he was watching her, a small smile playing about his mouth. Not quite as big as the smile he’d smiled in the darkness of the Escape Room, but it made the butterflies kick up a notch all the same. “Hey, any chance we could use this now?”
The kid shrugged. “I guess. Next session starts in half an hour.”
“Armand, Jamie, guys, what do you say?” Evie tugged her hair back into a ponytail. “We eat. We hydrate. And then we shoot at one another with lasers.”
“We’re in,” said Jamie, bouncing about like a puppy. His crew concurred.
“Armand? Remember our motto.”
She knew there was a chance he’d make an excuse. That his instinct was to edge away from the group. Then she saw the way the others looked up to him. Realised it would have been that way his whole life. The burden of leadership. She wondered then if he’d lost men during his Foreign Legion years. The chances were high. It would make making friends harder. Make letting people close harder still.
Before she could stop herself she reached out and took his hand, curling her fingers into his and drawing him back into the group. Showing him he wasn’t alone in this.
He looked down at her, the bruise in his eyes gentling.
After a few long beats, he cricked his neck. “Let’s do this.”
“Woohoo!”