"𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑰𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒖𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒚,"
Rosalie Mai had dealt with the Red Room and its Widow's before and she thought that was that. She had no interest in seeing them - seeing her...
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THE MISSION WAS A success. Rosalie Mai had done it again. She celebrated on her own, at a small café in Paris, away from the CIA, away from Foster — paradise on Earth for the young spy. "Here you are," The waiter smiled as he placed her coffee in front of her.
Rosalie nodded silently, smiling gratefully. With her book open in one hand, she tenderly sipped the coffee and sighed. It was a luxury after the month-long undercover job. But her lot in life seemed to be never getting alone time. Her phone began buzzing rapidly in her pocket and as much as she tried to ignore it, Rosalie caved. "What?" She spat, picking up the call.
"Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today," The nasally voice of Wyatt Foster chuckled through the phone.
Rosalie groaned, shutting her book with a loud snap. A few other customers looked curiously over at her. "What do you want, Wyatt? I'm on vacation."
"Oh, Rosie," He sighed. Rosalie gritted her teeth at the nickname, the image of blonde hair crossing her mind. "Don't be like that, doll. I'm just calling to check up on you...that's all."
Rosalie scoffed. "What's the catch, Foster? You don't call me unless you want me to do some of your dirty work."
Wyatt sighed once again, deeper and longer. "Rosalie, Rosalie," She could see him shaking his head vividly. "Are you always this negative? I just have a small little job I hoped you'd be interested in."
"Nope. No way," She shook her head. "These jobs of yours usually end up with me getting tortured or worse. I'm not doing it."
"That's too bad," Wyatt shrugged. "Because it pays really, really well,"
"Curses..." Rosalie mumbled under her breath. Wyatt knew that would get her. "How much?"
Wyatt laughed boastfully. "Ninety-six thousand, give or take."
"What's the job?" She sighed.
"I'm glad you asked!" Wyatt proclaimed. "News travels fast and I've learned that the Red Room has fallen...or at least Dreykov has," He chuckled darkly. "His Widows have defected. I want you to track as many as you can down. Those girls would do wonders for the CIA."
A pit formed in Rosalie's stomach. The Red Room. The Widows. She remembered a time when she was tracking them down to kill them, but now the CIA wants to recruit them? It was crazy. She vowed to never get involved with those women again — with Yelena, but yet here she was, accepting a job that would lead her to them once again. "Okay..." She sighed. "Send me the information and I'll start tomorrow."
