Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
My jaw dropped. That was what I was going to order, and I didn’t care a bit that convention dictated wine being the better pairing for steak.
“Seriously?” Paul asked with a chuckle.
“Coffee is my go-to beverage for everything,” I confessed sheepishly.
“That’s too adorable.” It was Pan who spoke, with his voice booming out from the chalkboard, and its tongue-in-cheek tone had me turning red and wanting to shrink in my seat. “All of your orders are a perfect match and you didn’t even plan it? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were a match made in Mt. Olympus.”
“Mr. P.!”
But Paul only laughed, asking in a good-natured tone, “Who knows?”
As Paul and the satyr discussed our options for dessert, I struggled to keep myself still while my mind went overboard. Who knows? What did he mean ‘who knows’? He was just...flirting, right?
“Blair?” I looked up to see Paul gazing questioningly at me as Mr. P disappeared from view, and the chalkboard turned back into a window display. “You look worried. Anything wrong?”
“Nothing much – except for Mr. P’s lack of subtlety.” It was excruciating to say the words, but it seemed stupid to pretend ignorance at this point.
“The old man means well,” he said gently.
Which meant exactly...what? I gazed at him with a touch of frustration, thinking that he turned being mysterious into an art form. He was just so good at it. He never seemed to be lying to me, but he never seemed to tell me anything he didn’t want me to know either.
“Have I made you mad?”
Paul’s softly spoken question startled me out of my thoughts, and I stammered, “E-excuse me?”
“You’ve been frowning at me for the past thirty seconds,” he informed me.
My face flamed. “I’m so sorry—-”
“Have I done something wrong?”
I shook my head emphatically. “No, of course not.”
“Then what were you thinking of?”
“Nothing really.”
“It was something about me, wasn’t it?”
I couldn’t help but fidget in my seat. How did he know these things?
“Blair?”
The low, persuasive note in his voice was undoing, and I said reluctantly, “I was just thinking about how mysterious you still seem to me.”
“Ah.” Paul leaned back against his seat. “Is that all?”
“Yes.” I felt like fidgeting even more now, with the way a half smile started to play on his lips.
“Ask me what you wish then,” he invited.
I gave him a wary glance. “I can ask you anything, really?”
“Anything.”
“Then—-” I took a deep breath. “What do you do for work? Are you CSI? CIA? NSA? How were you able to—-” I broke off when the smile playing on his lips turned into a smirk.
“I should’ve known you’d ask about that of all things.”
“You said I could ask you anything,” I said defensively. If he was expecting me to flirt, then he was doomed for disappointment.
“I did, didn’t I?” His fingers moved as he spoke, and I found myself gaping as he conjured a plain black card out of thin air. He offered it to me, and as soon as my fingers touched its surface, gold embossed letters randomly started to appear.
P R O N E L I T
MY BROWS FURROWED. “How do you read this? Prone Lit? PR One Lit?”
Humor gleamed in his eyes. “Tap it again.”
I did as asked, and a tiny gasp escaped me as the letters started rearranging itself.
I...N...T...
Oh.
My.
Goodness.
Paul was an INTERPOL agent?
Chapter Four
WHEN ONE SPOKE OF THE greatest conspiracies of all time, most people thought of JFK’s assassination and Elvis Presley’s death, Roswell and Roanoke, and more recently, the much talked about Illuminati. All of these, however, paled in comparison to the secret that the likes of Homer, Dante, and even Shakespeare carried to their graves: the immortals of Greek mythology were real, and Mt. Olympus was the gateway to Heaven.
While supernatural agencies like CIA and CSI were concerned about human protection, INTERPOL had another objective entirely, and that was to defend the home of Olympians. INTERPOL stood for the Interdisciplinary Phalanx of Olympus, and consisted of the most powerful immortals and supernaturals.
For Paul to be a part of such an organization...
“Now I know why you always look like a blond James Bond,” I exclaimed unthinkingly.
Paul threw his head back with a laugh, and my face flamed as I realized just how silly my first thought was.
Why, oh, why did I always end up acting like an idiot where this man was concerned?
Dinner should have been intensely awkward after that, but thankfully Mr. INTERPOL Detective was too skilled a conversationalist to let it happen. As we worked our way through Mr. P’s perfectly grilled steaks, Paul left me no chance to feel self-conscious as he swiftly engaged me in shoptalk. “Officially speaking, INTERPOL agents have been instructed to inform the public that Zeus is only having a temporary mood swing, and so it’s nothing to panic about.”