Ex's and Oh's

III. The Chase

(Special mention to yobshabob for translating a few things for me! Thank you! ❤️❤️❤️)

***

No freaking way.

My eyes pore over every detail they could on the file report I had in my hands. I couldn’t finish reading the whole thing, when a small shift in the air had made me freeze on my spot.  The door opened and loud chatter filled the room which soon stopped. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows reflected two people standing just a couple of steps behind me.

“Oh. Our Ghost is here?” I heard one of the two say.

If I hadn't seen these files beforehand, I'd be completely unaware who the voice belonged to.

“Didn't think you'd be this early…”

Whatever he had been about to say, I didn't get to hear the end of it, as I slowly twisted to my side and faced them as much as I could without showing my whole face.

Shit. Two overly familiar faces stared at me, both their heads tilting to side at almost the same time.

I could still withdraw from the mission. They have nine team members. They don't need me. Trying to rationalize these thoughts proved to be of no use to me right now. Not when I’d be facing the wrong people. Besides, I had already accepted, but I could always back out, right? Maybe, just maybe, I could request a—

“Wait. Clara, is that you?” The boy I had met in California a year ago spoke up. He still looked the same, except, of course, he looked urbane in his jet black tuxedo and matching skinny tie. Maybe even better than when we used to play with body paint on each other's half-naked bodies back in his small apartment which also doubled as his art studio.

“Oh! Pardonne moi. Je crois que je me suis trompé de chambre (Oh. Excuse me. I think I have the wrong room)” I hope they didn't speak French. Wanting to make a quick escape, I avoided eye contact while still moving graceful in my overly-priced dress.

“C'est vous? Vraiment? (It's you? Truly?)” A hand encircled my arm and gripped with just enough force to make me pause in my step, preventing my escape any further. “Tu ne m'auras pas, Clara. (You can't fool me, Clara)”

Dammit. When did he learn French? Should've spoken in Dutch instead.

“Vous me confondez avec quelqu'un d'autre. Je devrais y aller. (You have me confused for someone else. I should go.)” I carefully grabbed his wrist, wordlessly telling him to let me go.

“Clara, why did you leave me without a word?” For a second there, I thought I heard his voice tremble as he spoke of my undercover name—at least one from a dozen I had used.

This day was about to get worse. I knew he'd never let this go, not until he lost sight of me once again, so I thought I’d make this quick.

“Can you let go of my arm for one second? You're hurting me, Gabriel.” I spoke to him in a soft voice while eyeing his hand on me.

I wanted to talk to him about it, but not this moment when I know a few others would be here in a minute or so. As soon as he dropped his hand from my arm, I bolted out the door, through the hallway, and into the stairwell, in my high heels, one hand lifting the flowy dress skirt I had on.

It all happened so fast that at first it seemed like he just let me run away. Seconds later, his voice rang through the hallways, as loud as it could go.

“Fuuuck! Don't do this to me! Come back here, Trouble! You have some explaining to do! And don't run with those motherfucking killer heels! Your poor beautiful feet. Argh!”