“You—are the person they sent over?” He looked her up and down. She looked—normal. Brown hair, brown eyes, clean black slacks, a nice button down shirt. He might have passed her twice on the way into the office. He already anxious about this whole ordeal, his first foray out of ‘Morally Questionable’ into ‘Down Right Illegal.’ And with her not being what he had imagined—it was not easing his nerves. “They said they were sending the best.”
“I am the best,” she answered easily. “On an interpersonal level, I read people well, and I can make almost anyone believe me. And on a paperwork level, my covers always hold together the best.”
“Why is that?” Maybe it was a faux pau to question these kinds of things, but she was costing him an awful lot of money. If she didn’t like it, she could leave—and maybe he would take that as his sign that he shouldn’t be doing this in the first place.
“Well, for reasons that are none of your business, I technically don’t exist.” She gave a little shrug. “I don’t have a legal presence, so it’s easy to give me a role. I can be anyone at any time. They just tell me—and I get it done.”
“You aren’t—um, forgive me for saying so, but you aren’t what I’d picture when I thought about a spy.” He added quietly.
“What? You mean the Hollywood starlet, perfect figure type spies? Someone who looks more like Scarlett Johansson?” She laughed as he nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, a spy isn’t supposed to be noticed. Seduction is a tool used very sparingly. And girls who look like that–they are noticed. Girls like me—not as much.”
“I would have noticed you,” He said quickly, as if he had to defend the male population as a whole.
She gave him a patronizing smile, and he suddenly wondered if he had walked right passed her without noticing. And if he had—how many times? “Sure. You would have.” Her tone switched from almost pitying to business like. “But that’s not what is important right now. I’m not here to date you or listen to you attempt to stroke my ego. You want someone who will get done what you need to get done, and walk away without being noticed. That’s me. That’s what I do.”
“Right.” He sat up a little bit straighter. It was his job. He had to remember that. He was her boss.
He was so in over his head.
She sighed, holding out a hand. “Give me the job. Give me the fee you agreed on with my employer. The job will get done and it’s officially out of your hands.”
“Oh, thank god,” He scrambled to pull out the folder with all the details he had collected, as well as the check from the unattached account that the agency he called suggested he use.
“It’s taken care of,” she informed him kindly, before leaving out the same way she came. He hoped never to see her again, but then again, he imagined that even if he did he might not notice.