Chapter 260. Leon’s Slip

The problem with planning a clandestine operation with civilians, Anton was discovering, was their complete lack of operational discipline.

The venue was secured: a private dining room at The Ivy, booked under a shell company Sabatine wouldn’t think to monitor. The ring was polished and waiting in the safe. The speech was written, memorised, and rewritten seven times on cream-laid paper now hidden in a volume of Rilke’s poetry in his study. He had coordinated with Jessica to ensure Sabatine’s schedule was clear, and even arranged for a discreet security detail to be a block away, ensuring their privacy without her knowing her own team was involved.

Everything was set for Friday. A perfect, elegant, understated proposal. No grand gestures, just an intimate dinner and a question that would change everything.

All that remained was to ensure the one other person who had to be there didn’t inadvertently blow the whole mission.

Leon, Sabatine’s deputy and de facto head of her field team, was a mountain of a man with a hacker’s mind and the subtlety of a wrecking ball. He was fiercely loyal, terrifyingly competent, and possessed the poker face of an excitable golden retriever. Anton needed him there as both a witness and, more importantly, as Sabatine’s chosen family. He’d sworn Leon to secrecy with a solemnity usually reserved for state secrets.

And for three days, Leon had performed admirably. He nodded, his expression grave, and said, “Got it, sir. Vault. Silent as the grave.” Anton had been cautiously optimistic.

That optimism shattered on Thursday afternoon in the new Security Command Centre—the Stalker-Wing. Anton had gone down under the pretext of reviewing the final schematics for the biometric locks on the server farm. Sabatine was at her central console, a constellation of live feeds glowing around her, speaking quietly into her headset. Leon was looming behind her, pointing at a map of data traffic from the Dubai cluster.

“—and the packet flow is definitely mirroring the pattern we saw pre-Geneva,” Leon was saying, his voice a low rumble. “It’s cautious, but it’s a probe. We should…”

He trailed off as Anton entered. Something in Leon’s posture changed—a stiffening, an almost imperceptible shift from relaxed professional to mannequin. His eyes flicked to Anton, wide with a sudden, panicked recognition.

“Sir!” Leon boomed, the word too loud in the hushed room. Several analysts glanced up. “Hello! Welcome! To the Command Centre! That you… frequent!”

Sabatine swivelled in her chair, her gaze sliding from Leon’s suddenly beet-red face to Anton’s carefully composed one. A single, elegant eyebrow arched.

“Leon,” Anton said, keeping his voice even. “Carry on. Don’t let me interrupt.”

“Right!Yes! Carry on! We were just… carrying on.” Leon turned back to the screen, his massive shoulders hunched. “Probes. Dubai. Very probe-y.”

Sabatine’s lips twitched. She turned back to her console, but Anton could see the new awareness in the line of her shoulders. She was listening now with a different kind of focus.

“So, as I was saying,” Leon continued, his voice now an octave higher, “we should probably… have a… routine… non-specific… meeting about it. Tomorrow. Or not! Not tomorrow. Friday is… a bad day. A very busy, bad day for meetings. Full of… other things. Prior engagements. For some people.” He was sweating visibly.

Anton closed his eyes for a brief second, sending a silent plea to any deity that might be listening.

“Prior engagements?” Sabatine asked, her voice light, innocent. She didn’t turn around. “On a Friday evening? Do tell, Leon. Has one of your obscure Nordic black metal bands finally made it to London?”

“No! No, not me. I’m free. Completely free. A blank slate. A void of availability.” Leon was digging the grave deeper with a backhoe. “It’s just… I heard… The restaurant scene is very booked. On Fridays. In general. Not any specific restaurant. Just… the concept of restaurants. On Fridays.”

The room had gone utterly silent. Every analyst was now pretending furiously to type, their ears practically vibrating.

Anton knew he had to intervene before Leon spontaneously combusted or revealed the exact GPS coordinates of The Ivy. “I’m sure Ms. Stalker’s calendar is her own concern, Leon,” he said, a hint of steel in his tone. “Perhaps you could compile the probe data into a report? A written report.”

It was a dismissal. Leon looked profoundly grateful. “Yes! Report. Writing. Words on paper. Silent words.” He practically fled the raised platform of the command console, his bulk weaving between desks with surprising speed.

Sabatine slowly removed her headset and swivelled back to face Anton. She leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. The smirk was back, a knowing, delicious curve of her lips that made his heart do a funny little flip-flop of dread and anticipation.

“Well,” she said, her voice a low purr. “That was illuminating.”

“Leon is…passionate about firewalls,” Anton offered weakly.

“Mmm.And apparently about the general concept of restaurant bookings on Fridays.” She stood, coming around the console to stand before him. She reached up and pretended to adjust his already-perfect tie. “You know, for a man who runs a global empire, you have a surprisingly terrible poker face when it comes to your co-conspirators.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He held her gaze, trying to project innocent bafflement.

She laughed, a soft, warm sound. “My love, Leon just performed a dramatic reading of ‘The Man Who Knew Too Much and Was About to Spill It.’ If he were any more transparent, he’d be a window.” She smoothed his lapel, her eyes dancing. “So. Friday. A prior engagement. At a restaurant. That is generally booked. And Leon is invited, which means it’s not just a romantic dinner. Which means…”

She let the sentence hang, her smirk deepening. She knew. Of course she knew. She’d known since the paperclips. But now she had confirmation, and from the most hapless source imaginable.

Anton sighed, the tension draining out of him, replaced by a wry acceptance. The perfect, secret surprise was thoroughly, hilariously compromised. And yet, looking at her amused, glowing face, he found he didn’t mind at all. The secrecy had been a burden. This shared, unspoken knowledge was a delight.

“It would seem,” he said quietly, for her ears only, “that my operatives lack your formidable discretion.”

“Your operative is a brilliant oaf who I love dearly,”she corrected. “And you, Anton Rogers, are a hopeless romantic who is planning something. Something that involves dinner, Leon, and makes you look like you’re about to pass a kidney stone from stress.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Perhaps.”

She stepped closer,her voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,”he lied automatically.

She just looked at him,her expression softening into something unbearably fond. “Liar.” She rose on her toes and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “But it’s sweet. And I promise, I’ll act suitably surprised when the time comes. I’ll even gasp. A very convincing, ladylike gasp.”

He caught her hand as she pulled away, holding it tight. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Absolutely,”she said, her eyes sparkling. “It’s not every day I get to see the master strategist outmanoeuvred by his own good intentions. And by Leon.” She squeezed his hand. “Friday, then?”

He nodded, defeated and utterly, completely happy. “Friday.”

She gave him one last,radiant smile, then turned back to her console, slipping her headset on. As he walked away, he heard her say, her voice laced with undisguised glee, “Alright, team, where were we? Right, the probe. Let’s probe the hell out of it. We’ve all got prior engagements tomorrow to get to.”

A chorus of muffled chuckles followed him out.

The slip was catastrophic. The secret was blown. And yet, as Anton rode the elevator back to his office, a strange peace settled over him. The weight of orchestrating the perfect, surprise-filled moment was gone. What remained was the pure, joyful anticipation of the question itself, and the absolute certainty of the answer, now mirrored in the knowing, loving smirk of the woman who waited for him. Leon’s blunder hadn’t ruined a thing. It had, in its own clumsy way, made it all perfectly, wonderfully theirs.

----