Femme Fetale

Three

"So you can actually read and write Arabic?" I ask, exasperated. Grant nods, his grin clearly seen behind the cup of coffee. I lean back and cross my arms.

"Well, yeah, I can read and write five different languages," He laughed. "I just wanted an excuse to talk to you." I know he's flirting with me, and I fidget, slightly uncomfortable. I was used to being flirted with during my missions, but being normal me? And having a guy hit on me? That I wasn't so used to. I tried to keep away from social situations as much as I could.

"Well, now you have a pretty good excuse," It came off more flirty than I would have liked, and I hoped he didn't take it the wrong way. I look out the window, watching the passerbys, wondering why the hell I'd decided to stay and actually talk to this guy. He's an assassin. He can't be trusted. Hell if I met me, I wouldn't trust me. So what does he gain from getting to know me like this? Will he get a better read on me? Understand my psychology more? But to what end? Does he mean to double cross me? I narrow my eyes and turn back to Grant. He's examining me with those unnerving eyes of his, and I feel nerves like a whirlwind of knives in my stomach. This relationship should stay professional. So if he's going to try to understand me, I'll do the same thing back.

"Did you know about this job, coming back from wherever it is you were?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"No, actually, I was going to take another plane to Atlanta when I got the call. Good thing I decided to spend a few days in New York," He says thoughtfully.

"You're from Atlanta then," I muse, watching his facial expressions. He smiles.

"Whatever you say, sweetcake," He replies, voice even and face revealing nothing. He has an effect on me, that I do not like one bit.

"Don't call me that," I frown, glaring at him slightly.

"Would you prefer sugarplum," He says, eyes twinkling. He's laughing at me.

"I'd prefer to be called Wisp, if you don't mind. My name," I retort, looking down at the empty space in front of my hands. Maybe I should have ordered a coffee, I could do with one. At least it would give me something to do with my hands. I just hadn't thought I'd be staying long. "Where were you before this?" I ask, trying to be sly and changing the subject away from the nickname. He meets my gaze, all joking aside.

"I was torturing a man for not paying his debts," He says, tone serious. "Yourself?" I had a feeling he was lying. He'd sidestepped my question of where with what he'd been doing instead.

"I put a bullet in a man's heart for asking me 'How much'," I smile, leaning my elbows on the table. "Men are very single minded aren't they?"

"Not all of us are, actually. Though sometimes the thought does consume us a little more than we'd like," He says, his eyes lingering on my bare neck. I untie my hair and let it drape down my shoulders to my waist. His gaze was making me exceptionally self conscience, and I never felt this way around anyone. Mainly because I was usually on a job. Maybe it was time to leave.

Because running always worked so well before, didn't it, Adrianna?

"It was nice getting to know you, Pyre. I look forward to working with you," I say formally, getting up and grabbing my purse. He holds his hand out.

"Please, let me walk you to your cab-"

"I'll find my own way. Don't be late tomorrow night," I say coolly, then turn away from his outstretched hand and walk out the door.

~

That evening goes by much like the last, but instead of eating ice cream over Doctor Sloan's dreamy eyes, I'm staring into a pair of chocolate puppy dog eyes, and a large white smile. I learn everything I can about Mr. Zane Casteel, from his favourite colour to his favourite ice cream flavour, which is Bubblegum, by the way. He adores his girlfriend, and if the rumours are true, he's planning on proposing. I smile to myself.