Greetings from your new sort of overlord

Okay, so Frea decided tonight to randomly give me access to her blog and allow me to post. This is pretty much par for the course with her. I often feel like one of those crash test dummies you see in commercials, their necks snapping back at ridiculously high speeds, only not really, because they’re moving in slow motion. That’s what a conversation with Frea is like. I’m the dummy moving in slow motion and she’s the car. But at least I can hang out with Frank. Actually, Frank and I probably have a lot in common. We both wouldn’t mind getting beat by Sarah Walker. Especially if she did it in her workout clothes and got all sweaty while she did it.

So why am I posting? Well, besides the fact that Frea is a harsh mistress and I’m afraid she’ll break out the cat o’ nine tails if I disobey her, she gave me the great idea to do a little preview of the next chapter of Double Agent. Now, I don’t know how many of those of you who read her blog also read DA, but I’m posting my preview anyway. I know it’s no Fates, or an outtake from Fates, or a D&D-inspired rendering of the Ass Kicking at the Ass-end of Nowhere (Sarah got a great roll and got +2 to Badassery), or Frea’s grocery list, but hey, it’s something, right?

And besides, unlike Fates, where the next Ice Age will occur before Chuck and Sarah do what everyone has been waiting for them to do (if Jill, Ellie, or Casey don’t get there first), I actually know how to give the fans what they want. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Yeah, that’s right, folks, in the next chapter of DA, Chuck and Sarah totally play patty-cake.

So, as Geoffrey Chaucer once said in the greatest Rock-infused medieval jousting movie of all time: “like a wind from Guilderland he sweeps by, blown far from his homeland in search of glory and honor, we walk in the garden of his turbulence.” That’s right, baby, that’s me. Walk in the garden of my turbulence, and enjoy this preview!

Chapter 24: A Memento in Time

He was sitting at the bar, just like he was supposed to. He was dressed nice, again, just like he was supposed to: dark slacks, dark blue shirt that conformed to his body in ways that made her heart beat faster, and a slim, black tie. It was nice to see that when he had to, Chuck could follow orders. That would be handy knowledge in the future.

She debated with herself on how to proceed. She still couldn’t decide. Was she the ditzy blonde? The aloof temptress? The business traveler in search of a tension-releasing one-night stand? Which would be the most convincing to her Fulcrum overseers? More importantly, which would Chuck best respond to? So many questions and she was running out of time to find the answers.

God help her, but she was nervous. She was never nervous, had never been nervous, certainly not when it came to seduction or sex, and yet, as she walked slowly across the hotel’s lounge toward the bar, she felt like she could barely hold her nerves at bay. She was like some lovesick schoolgirl, going on her first date with her crush. Even though she knew the whole night was nothing more than an elaborate ruse, she couldn’t help but hope that Chuck approved of her, that he liked her and found her appealing, that he somehow missed all the massive flaws she knew were apparent to anyone and everyone who cared to spend even one second studying her.

Unable to decide on the best approach, she ultimately decided to play it by ear. She’d let Chuck dictate who she was going to be. She certainly couldn’t be herself, that’d be disastrous, and considering how nervous she was, it would also be a dead giveaway to those watching her that something about her was not on the level.
So she sat down at the bar, six stools away, and waited. She’d let him make the first move. Even though the bar was crowded, he knew she was supposed to be there. He’d come looking for her.

She realized five minutes later, after downing all but a tiny sliver of her gin and tonic, that that had been her first mistake. Chuck wasn’t the type to try and pick up a girl in a bar. Not even Charles Carmichael, aloof and smooth though he could be, was the kind of man who’d buy a girl a drink and then talk his way into her pants. She would have to approach him.

She sighed into her glass, tipped it back, and swallowed the last of her drink. She shook her head a bit, and locked away the last of her nervousness. Now was not the time, she could freak out later when they were safely in her hotel room and away from spying eyes.

This post brought to you by Fishy Joe’s: Ride the Walrus!

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