The Secret

Eight

The party is fizzing with the spirit of laughter and bourbon whiskey. Joy is omnipresent – corporate managers and various businessmen of high rank joke around with each other and stylish wives huddle together on tan suede lounges smoking cigarettes and discussing their relationships with international celebrities.

The room’s high ceiling is accented with soft, warm light. On the right side, a bar is situated, decked out with the similar colourful liquids in marvelous bottles I remember seeing in the limousine. On the other side of the room is an expansive, luxurious balcony with a glass railing and 180-degree view of Oslo’s skyline. The air stinks of sickeningly sweet perfume and cigarette smoke, a bitter contrast to the warm smell of spices and a crackling fireplace from long ago. However, the smells share a common ancestor of winter chill, once again blowing upon my bare shoulders and awakening me from my reminiscence. It reminds me of my duty; my mission – to seduce the UN president in order to provide E3 Corps with detailed information regarding his suicidal behaviour.

Speak of the devil.

Straight ahead of me is the same man I saw on television earlier: sleek, gelled, jet-black hair, lined olive skin and cold grey eyes – Mr Ambriossi, the UN president. He smoothes out his emerald green tie as several swooning women make small talk with him and giggle, and the smile on his lips are distant from the sentiment in his eyes: repugnance. He excuses himself from the gaggle of squealing women and strides outside onto the balcony; the women are left with sheepish expressions.

In contrast, several wolf whistles roll up to me from the other end of the room, however I am oblivious as I make my way through the adults and towards the balcony. They have no idea that the young woman before them is an ex-criminal-turned-spy.

Mr Ambriossi is leaning against the glass railing, the soft breeze slightly lifting up the curls of his hair. There are few people on the balcony; most are inside where it is warm and animated. Out here is a stark contrast to inside.

Away from the flashes of the media, the famous man takes on a calm, serene, almost blank expression over his face. The flashing taillights of a helicopter buzzing past reflect in his slate-grey irises, which are distant, detached from the present. He looks almost as if he is in a trance; sucked into an endless void, indifferent and lacklustre.

I clear my throat in an attempt to grasp his attention, but he remains oblivious to his surroundings. I try once again, and he blinks – once, then twice, then his face turns my way. Immediately I feel self-conscious as he looks me up and down, and then finally meets my eye.

My heart skips a beat, but there is no time for emotion. I must get this over and done with. “Mr Ambriossi,” I manage to bring to my lips. “How wonderful it is to see you.”

It almost seems like recognition fleets over his face for a second before settling back into its usual impassive state. A smile breaks upon his mouth, different, somewhat, to the smile he shared with the women inside. Rather, it is sly; sneaky; almost malicious, and it scares me a little. He steps closer towards me, and holds his hand out as a sign of welcoming. “Why, hello there. I didn’t see you inside. How couldn’t I have?”

There is something in the tone of his voice that strikes an unexpected chord through me, which I can’t quite put my finger on. However, I continue the game. “Same goes for you, Mr Ambriossi. What are you doing out here?”

He sighs, a long, stale blow from his lips, and turns away from me. “The party is too rich, too bright. I needed a break.”

Hint, Nadia. He’s giving you the hint that he’s depressed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my hand resting upon his shoulder like that of a wife of many decades.

He goes quiet for a moment, and I feel his shoulder tense all of a sudden beneath my touch. “Why should I tell you? You’re just someone I’ve happened to meet on the balcony at my party. I don’t even know who you are. Who are you?”

I’m a criminal, I think, turned spy. “I, um… you invited me to this party. Of course you’d know me.”

He raises a jet black eyebrow, creating a ripple of small lines across his skin, undoubtedly familiar to me. “It’s just... Sometimes life gives you the cold shoulder, y’know?” he sighs.

Finally he’s spilling it. Time to play. “But then you turn the heat up,” I smirk, fiddling with his tie.

He turns around and faces me. “What are you doing after the party tonight?”

“Well,” I say playfully. “I was going to spend the night in with my boyfriend but he has a meeting on so I’ll just be alone.”

“You have a boyfriend?” he raises an eyebrow suspiciously.            

Yes! I got his attention.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know about you.”

Nice, Nadia.

“Well, he’ll just have to be more careful next time won’t he?” he leers, gripping my waist. My automatic response involves my fingers immediately knotting into his carefully styled hair, bringing him closer.

Oh, there won’t be a next time, Boyfriend. Thoughts of Sven and his ragged, muscular figure pierce my thoughts, but I push them away, ignorant as a child.

But it feels strange. Of course it does. I am about to have my first sexual encounter with a stranger. What on earth am I doing?

I hesitate, causing an awkward motion within the sensual embrace. He persists, thrusting me up against his cold, hard body. “Hey hey!” I force out a laugh, slapping his face away playfully. “Easy tiger. I think it’d be best that we find some peace and quiet from these – err... people.”

His hands gently ease off the tight grip he had on my waist. I take his hand and lead him back into the party room, crushing through the crowd of now delirious and intoxicated people.

“Hey sir! Where’re you going?”

“Baby, we still hanging out after the party? Who’s that girl you got?”

“Mr Ambriossi! I have some documents for you to sign for me man! When are you gonna be ready?”

My hand reaches up behind my right ear, fingers stroking the cool titanium tracker. I feel a small, raised button, suspecting it is used to deliver a message to the board of spies tracking my mission. I hold it down. “Mr Ambriossi has successfully been seduced-”

I stop dead in my tracks. What comes after the seduction? I was told I was expected to seduce the UN president but I never thought I would actually succeed. I don’t think Sven would have expected me to have either. Sven.

But it is too late. I’ve cooked my goose and now I must lie in it.

The man I am pulling through the crowd waves off his colleagues and admirers with an arrogant flick of the wrist. “Busy,” is the only word he manages to mumble as we eventually push past the security guard and out of the room. The guard sees the president, and immediate admiration passes over his features. Mr Ambriossi, however, is oblivious and pushes my body up against a nearby hotel room door, desperately scrambling for his pass card in his pocket whilst softly blowing warm breath over my face. He is so close I can see every pore on his skin, every vein in the corners of his eyes.

Geez. This guy is barely managing to keep his dick in his pants.

The scanner beeps green and the sliding door opens, our bodies pressed together as he pushes me into the room. The sliding door closes.

There’s no going back.