I finish it really quickly, and as I put my pen down on the desk there’s a knock at the door.
“For Christ’s sake,” I mutter under my breath as Luca waltzes into the room, flanked by a tall, dark-skinned, black-haired man who clearly works with them.
“Excuse me, I need to speak with Lila Miller immediately,” Luca says to the examiner, showing her his badge.
“She’s right over there,” she says, pointing in my direction. Luca sighs and comes over to me.
“Move it, Lila. This isn’t a joke, you’re in danger,” he whispers urgently.
“No way,” I tell him.
“Don’t make me drag you,” he warns me. He would, too.
“Fine,” I mutter, grabbing my bag and following him outside where Shayne is waiting for us.
“Take a ride with Shayne,” he tells me.
I stop short. “Absolutely not.”
“Lila, stop making this difficult,” he groans.
“We both know I can make this a whole lot more difficult,” I say, squeezing my fists up.
“Calm down, for God’s sake,” he says, putting his hand on my shoulder, a look of sympathy in his eyes. “Why don’t you want to go with Shayne?”
“He doesn’t like me,” I whisper. Luca chuckles quietly, a laugh that says he thinks he knows better.
“Yes, he does,” he assures me.
“He scares me,” I admit quietly.
“He scares you? You? The toughest kid in the city?” He just looks amused now.
“He always stares at me. And he’s always, well, there. Everywhere I go.”
“It’s his job to be there,” he tells me. “Something’s going on and I told him to stick to you like glue for the past two months.”
“Two months? He’s been stuck to me like glue for five years!”
Luca chuckles. “Alright, ride with me.”
“Now there’s an idea.” I grin at his ride: A cherry red Aston Martin vanquish.
“Hop in,” he says, and I climb into the passenger seat. Shayne frowns, crosses his arms and stomps off to his own car. “Don’t mind him. He’s just likes you too much,” Luca shrugs.
“The guy hates me,” I say.
“No, the guy’s in love with you,” he corrects me.
“Don’t be stupid,” I mumble, even though it does make sense.
He senses my embarrassment and changes the subject. “You know, we’re not actually MI6.”
“You’re not?” I can feel my eyes widen.
“Nope. We’re so high that we’re not MI anything. If we were, we’d be MI50 or something,” he tells me smugly.
“What’s your agency called?”
“We don’t have a name. Name’s attract attention.”
“Right. Where are we going?”
“To get you kitted out.”
“For what?”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that you’re a secret agent now?”
“Uh, yeah, you did.”
“Sorry, must’ve slipped my mind.”
“I’ll make a really crap secret agent.”
“No, you won’t,” he says gently.
“I’ll shoot anyone who bugs me!” I protests.
“I won’t let you,” he assures me.
“I’ll make a crap agent.” I tell him again.
“Lila. You’re incredibly smart you get on with everyone, you can fight better than any seventeen year old I’ve ever met and you have awesome instincts. You’re going to make a great agent, I swear to you.” He squeezes my knee as we drive into town and he parks in the middle of the street: an advantage of being a secret agent.
“Where are we going?” I ask warily as he pulls me down a dark alley.
