Down the hallway, Mindy was humming to herself, and the world felt, for a rare moment, normal. Still, James couldn't shake the irony. He'd spent years surviving covert factions, and now, even his assistant was a planted operative.
He poured a glass of water, staring into the reflection. "Welcome to the team, Agent Salt."
[Yes, Welcome (¬‿¬).]
He smirked faintly. "Relax, Cortana. We'll see who's really doing the investigating."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James weighed the CIA's position carefully. The things he might expose to them, deliberate or not. Though he had no intention of dismissing his new "assistant." She was far too competent—and far too easy on the eyes—to chase off. Let them think they were running the game.
Besides, no matter how sharp she was, there was no chance she'd pry anything meaningful out of him.
Within an hour, Mindy's suitcase was neatly packed and labeled. Evelyn had sorted through clothes with brisk efficiency, folding, organizing, and color-matching faster than Hannah could have. Mindy twirled once in front of the mirror and nodded in approval.
"Boss, anything else?" Evelyn asked, standing in the living room with her polite, perfect smile.
James leaned back on the couch. With the principle of not wasting good payroll, he intended to make her earn it. "This is the crew's number," he said, handing her a card. "I borrowed Stark's private jet. Call them and coordinate. Tomorrow we're flying to Disneyland—Los Angeles. You know what comes next."
"Yes, sir. Should I accompany you?"
"If you don't come, who's going to handle the logistics?" he asked dryly. "You're on full assignment for the summer. This"—he handed her a folded check—"is one million. Open a new account. You'll use it for expenses. Track everything. Monthly reports and receipts. Got it?"
"Understood, boss." She smiled, already pocketing the check. "I'll take care of it right away."
"Good. And don't worry about authorization—the crew knows me."
"Yes, sir." Evelyn grabbed her bag and headed out, heels clicking sharply on the hardwood.
When the door closed, James stretched and let out a quiet sigh of relief. "Finally free."
He wandered down the hall and tapped on Mindy's door. "All packed?"
"Yup! Come play a game!" she called.
He smiled faintly and stepped inside. "All right. One round before dinner."
Evelyn Salt hurried down the steps of the apartment building, the illusion of professionalism intact. Her car waited in the shade — an aging Ford sedan that looked borrowed from a teacher's parking lot. She got in, locked the doors, and took a long breath. Then, pulling out her encrypted phone, she dialed.
"Report," came the voice of her handler — male, possibly in mid-40s.
"I've successfully been accepted as his assistant," Evelyn said.
"Good. This is your first undercover assignment. You're embedded in proximity to the target, so proceed carefully. Do not rush for info. You build trust first, extraction later. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. For now, he seems relaxed. He's taking his sister on vacation—borrowing Tony Stark's private jet."
"Stark?" There was a pause. "Interesting company he keeps. Play the role. Personal assistants to men like him are their confidants. If he trusts you, the rest would be easy. Keep your cover—and stay safe. That's all."
"Yes, sir."
The line went dead. Evelyn lowered the phone, feeling her pulse ease. The easy part—her entry—was done. Now came the harder one: surviving proximity to someone far more dangerous than her file implied.
She started the car and merged into traffic. There was much to do before tomorrow.
By noon, she was at the bank. A new account, a card, and a small mountain of paperwork later, she left with the check cleared and balance confirmed. From there, she headed straight to the hangar.
At the private airfield, the jet gleamed under the sun. Evelyn climbed aboard, introducing herself to the crew as Mr. Stark's "temporary representative." They bought the explanation instantly. Stark's people were used to sudden changes and long lists of names. She moved through the aircraft, inspecting everything like a professional—fuel manifests, catering supply, and medical kits.
It all checked out.
She also noticed how casually everyone deferred to Stark's name. 'Power,' she thought, 'came with habit; when men like him moved, the world simply adjusted.'
After confirming that the maintenance team had already prepared the flight plan for Los Angeles, she asked about the payment arrangements.
"As always, Ms. Potts handles the billing," one of the crew said. "Same corporate account. Mr. Stark doesn't like to be bothered with details."
Evelyn smiled faintly. "Of course not."
Pepper Potts—efficient, sharp, and probably had Stark's entire empire in her calendar. Evelyn wondered if she'd ever meet her. Then she caught herself; thinking about Stark wasn't part of her assignment.
She walked back to her car, glancing over her shoulder once before leaving the airport. So far, her cover was perfect. But maintaining it meant more than showing up on time. She had to live it.
The CIA dossier said James Gibson was unpredictable, eccentric, and reclusive despite his wealth. He ran League Games like an invisible empire—hands-on in technology but detached in lifestyle. He was rich but didn't flaunt it. That part would make infiltration harder; modest men noticed details others ignored.
She pulled over and opened her laptop, muttering to herself. "All right. Step one, learn the job."
She typed a query into Google: how to organize a billionaire's vacation itinerary.
The search engine obliged with thousands of articles. Evelyn scrolled through them, reading aloud under her breath.
"Book high-end suites… arrange transport… confirm local attractions…"
Her eyes narrowed. "Residence. Right. He might have a property in L.A. I should confirm that."
She hesitated. Too much knowledge could backfire; spies who seemed omniscient didn't last long around professionals.
"No," she said softly. "Ask him. Let him tell me."
She dialed his number.
The line rang, and Mindy's excited voice burst through before James could answer.
"Brother! I'm under attack! Come save me!"
A moment later came James's muffled reply: "Cover the left flank, I'm teleporting!" followed by the unmistakable sound of digital gunfire. Evelyn blinked. 'Was he gaming in the middle of the afternoon?'
After a few minutes, James's calm voice came through the phone. "Sorry, we were in the middle of a match. What's up?"
"I wanted to ask—do you own any property in Los Angeles?"
"No. Just the place I live now. No extra real estate. Only car I got is the sports model in the garage. Why?"
"Just confirming lodging."
"Book one pet friendly presidential suite for the four of us. Mindy's too young to stay alone. Make sure it's comfortable. Nothing flashy."
"Understood, sir."
Evelyn hung up and stared at the phone for a long moment. "Nothing flashy," she repeated. Then she sighed. "What kind of billionaire only owns one house and one car?"
It didn't matter. She opened a new tab and searched for hotels. A five-star property near Anaheim looked ideal. Presidential suite—booked. She rented a luxury sedan through the hotel concierge, confirming pickup for their arrival time. Then she opened a second window, studying Los Angeles maps and writing notes in a small spiral-bound pad.
'Restaurants. Shopping Malls. Parks. Entertainment Centers. She jotted it all down meticulously.
For an agent raised on fieldwork simulations, this was almost comical. CIA training had included small arms, infiltration, and dead drops—not meal planning for a child and her brother. But this, too, was part of the cover. If she wanted Gibson to trust her, she had to inhabit the role perfectly.
Hours passed. By the time she looked up, the sunlight had faded. Her eyes burned from the glow of the laptop screen. She leaned back, stretching her arms.
"He's… strange," she admitted aloud. "Not like the others I've read about. Doesn't flaunt money. Plays video games with his sister. He's… almost like a normal average guy."
Almost.
That made him dangerous.
She closed her notebook, packed her laptop, and finally lay down for a few hours of rest. Tomorrow would be her first full day shadowing him.
The next morning, she arrived on time — suitcase in hand, hair tied neatly, smile flawless.
James met her at the door, motioning her in. "Everyone, this is Evelyn Salt, my assistant. Mostly an everyday life assistant— from logistics, scheduling, and personal errands."
Carlos gave a friendly nod, Hannah offered a polite smile, and Mindy waved enthusiastically.
Evelyn was unshakable even under scrutiny. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."
"Want breakfast?" James offered. "We're leaving soon. And Tony's plane is waiting."
"Thank you, sir."
Within an hour, Carlos drove them to the airfield — in his now battered pickup from daily use.
Evelyn sat in the back seat, trying not to look confused. She'd spent the night studying protocols for billionaire travel, and not one guide mentioned showing up to a private jet in a work truck.
[Observation: Elevated confusion in subject Salt.]
James glanced sideways. "Hey Evelyn, since you just started, you got any questions?"
"No, sir."
"Good. I might not be what you expect someone like me to be, but you'll get used to it."
The corner of his mouth lifted faintly. He could almost feel her recalibrating expectations. She was trained for opulence, not contradictions. He found that strangely entertaining.
The truck rolled to a stop beside the gleaming aircraft. Mindy jumped out first, Anny tucked in her carrier. James followed, eyes on the horizon.
Evelyn hesitated for a second, then smiled to herself. "You really are different," she murmured. "This might actually be interesting."