SCARLET

"You can't be fucking serious right now." I blast the horn for what seems like the millionth time, but of course the owner of the car is nowhere near their damned car.

I take a deep breath and run my hands through my hair. Okay. Scarlet, calm down, or you'll crash into the car.

I clutch the steering wheel and stare into the Porsche parking in my government-reserved spot beside Grey's car. I'm seriously debating crashing into their car; I have more than enough money to pay for the damages that'll happen to my car, and by the looks of it, they do too.

Crashing into their car will cause both of us damage, but I work in the pentagon and I have all the access to the camera footage of this damned owner getting out of their car, and I might or might not make their life a living hell so they follow rules next time. Grey would be proud.

Mr. Santiago wants to "see" me, and for some deliberate reason, I don't believe him for a second. First of all, he called me. That is just....not something the chairman does. He either sends me an email or tells Grey to inform me. But calling me? That's a first. And second of all, he said it was urgent while laughing, which, for someone who's known the chairman for way too many years to my liking, causes concern.

If it's urgent, the chairman would've requested that me and Greyson be at his office that second, but calling yesterday after I sent my report to tell me he wants to see me in his office in the morning? No, just no.

After a long walk from the parking lot to the pentagon, I finally reach my office. The old man wanted to see me at eight hundred hours, which is eight o'clock for us normal people. So I have a few minutes before I'm struck with dad jokes said in slow motion with a wrinkly wink.

I slumped on my desk, opening my laptop. The first thing that comes up is the file I made for Ninja Ballerina. And yes, I did register his name as that in the file; it was only so perfectly fitting for him.

There's really nothing in the file other than my theories on why he can't be a normal civilian and his description. Which, in my case, doesn't do him justice, but it's only because I can't write "too gorgeous for his own sake" in the file. With his bright green eyes, symmetrical face, and thick eyebrows, he looks...well, gorgeous. Not to say that if I wrote his description the way I thought it, it would've taken more space than the theories. Totally unprofessional of me, I know.

But there's no way on earth that Ninja Ballerina is just a normal civilian. It's practically impossible for anyone to trace anything back to me, let alone find out what my next mission is and the timing of it. And the option of following me is out of the window; there are a million routes that lead to my home, and I take a different one each time, and the government assigns guards under my house, so if he did manage to follow me, he would be questioned right now.

Which only leaves me two options, one of which is that he got help from someone on the inside, which is going to be a very big problem in addition to the new detective, Adeline, snooping around everywhere. Or the other option, which is that he is someone on the inside. It's not impossible, but the files I get about my missions have intel about every government agent within a two-block radius, and that information missing someone is going to cause big trouble for some people who work here.

So now, both options I have blame someone on the inside. I don't like blaming people without pre-thought, but that mistake would have cost me my life or the agent's.

I breathe in and get up, the clock striking five to eight. Better be five minutes early than late.

I say good morning to Grey on my way, and he only responds with a confused frown, seemingly drowning in papers. That detective has him worked up more than ever, hiding files and classifying unimportant information just to get on her nerves and put her on the wrong tracks.

I reach the old man's office and get in. And it's...empty.

This has to be some kind of sick joke. I want my bed; I want my house with a movie and a cozy morning on my couch, but instead I get called to an empty office. Ugh, men. I lean on his desk, waiting, because in his defense, I'm the one who's five minutes early.

A few minutes pass by, and as I'm about to leave, I hear sounds of chatter approaching the other end of the door. Now I see that he was absorbed in conversation and forgot about his way too early urgent meeting with me.

"Oh, good morning, Scarlet! Early like a bird, aren't you?" Mr. Santiago walks in with a warm smile, but he opens the door, so his companion walks in, and he does. Green eyes, dark hair, and the same symmetrical face.

"You," I grit out. My hand goes to my gun, and within seconds, I have him at gunpoint. He looks...confused. Is this some kind of set-up? What the hell is going on? What is he doing here?

"Woah, woah! Steady there, Scarlet. Don't shoot," the chairman pleads, but my gun stays in place. My eyes go from the chairman to him; this is a set-up.

"What's he doing here? I told you I'd kill him if I saw him again." My gun stays leveled at his face, but my eyes are on the chairman.

"Well, this is way more intense than I thought." Mr. Santiago laughs nervously. "Scarlet, this is agent Matheo; Matheo is one of us. Please lower the gun and let's talk, shall we?" he pleads.

I was right; Matheo is someone on the inside. That's how he knew where I would be. His silence says two things: he's either as confused as I am and got dragged to this setup too, or he knew who I was and tried to kill me anyway. And failing miserably.

I lower the gun, but I don't put it in its sheath yet. My eyes go to Matheo, black dress pants, and a black shirt. If I hadn't paid attention, I would've missed the sliver of the bandage on his bicep. It looks like the bullet didn't go far off track.

I smirk proudly; I aim even without trying. He catches me smirking and narrows his eyes, eyeing me up and down the same way I did him. I look different with my casual outfit of brown pants and a knit cropped sweater, a few shades lighter than I do in my badass suits, but who am I to judge?

"Who are you?" He repeats the same question he asked at the Senate building; my answer won't differ. I have many ways to say your infatuation, but this seems way more inappropriate now. So I just raise my eyebrow, knowing damn well that he heard the chairman call me by my name three times since they got in here.

"Matheo, this is Agent Azura, or just Scarlet; why don't you two sit? I have important things I need to discuss with you," the chairman introduces me for the fourth time. This Matheo needs a restart.

I cross my arms, the gun still in my hands, and make way for Matheo to sit. There's no way I'm sitting before he does. And to my surprise, he does, and he just stares up at me, a smirk forming on his lips.

Why is he smirking at me? I have absolutely no idea, so I just sit and stare at him openly, studying him. Still, he's even hotter than while he's fighting, either me or others.

He's very tall; that's one thing I noticed when he pinned me to the wall in the Senate building, towering over me while I'm in heels. I'm five-foot-nine, which is relatively taller than most women, so a man being that much taller than me is rare—rarer than I'd like. And his muscles flex under the thin fabric of his shirt. His hair is slicked back in dark waves of brown, with a strand falling on his forehead.

Okay, that's enough studying now. I bring my eyes to his, only to find him studying me back, his eyes moving slowly from the tips of my shoes to the top of my head, stopping for extra seconds on my face. I smirk and his eyes land on my lips. He's attracted to me, and now he knows I know it.

Mr. Santiago takes a file out of his drawer and puts it on his desk in front of us. "Now that we're past introductions, I have a mission for you, both of you."

Okay, now slow down. I can take him being another agent at the pentagon, but working with him? Hell no, I might as well suffocate and slip on bananas.

Matheo frowns, eyeing the file. "We believe the Russians have been planning another attack, we have an agent on the inside," he says, nodding to ninja ballerina, "but we need more, and that's where your job will come in scarlet. I need you to get on the inside and from there we can get the information, since Matheo is our spy, he'll be helping you with the information he has obtained throughout his past missions."

"So I have to infiltrate Russian quarters and get information?" I ask, not sure why am I on this mission if they already have a spy on the inside.

"Yes, you shaken up from a bunch of Russians? Last I heard you beat 4 of them on your own," the old man says with a chuckle. "Five actually. Why do I have to get in when he's already on the inside? Is the information not accessible for him?"

"Matheo here is trusted by the Russians, and in order to get the needed information he'll have to be in places he isn't supposed to be. We can't risk losing their trust for him. Greyson will inform you of further details, and this file has mostly everything we know," the chairman dismisses us both with his hand.

I snatch the file, and flip through it as I get out, not waiting for ninja–Matheo to join. It's going to be hard not to call him ninja ballerina.

"So you're just going to run away with the file like a kid?" Matheo says, Why is he even following me? Doesn't he have a damn office to go to?

"First of all," I say, turning around, "yes, I will. And second of all, you can always print yourself a copy." I give my sweetest smile and turn again, walking to Grey's office.

"I don't have an office," he informs me, falling a few steps behind with his large feet and giraffe legs. "Then go whine about it somewhere else." I open the door to Grey's office.

"So much for not worrying about him," I mock. At that, he looks up, his eyes landing on something above my head.

"Yes, it seems I have a talent for downplaying potentially disastrous situations," he says in the calmest voice. If only I had the choice of who to kill.

Matheo clears his throat from behind me; the urge to elbow him grows by the second, maybe a little high five will do, to the face, with an uppercut. I turn around to face him and give my best try at smiling.

"Matheo, was it? Why on earth am I still being subjected to your presence at this moment?" I try my best to maintain my smile and sound calm, but his smug smirk has my hands twitching.

"Color me intrigued by your conversation, but I'm still missing the file," he leans on the door frame, crossing his arms. He shouldn't have done that; he definitely shouldn't have done that. But he did, and he looks so... No scarlet; focus!

"And you're missing a spy etiquette 101: stairs edition, but who's counting?" I say, turning around; I don't have to pretend that he's not here when he isn't directly in my line of vision.

"Scarlet, Matheo is your assigned partner for this mission. Deal with it." Grey says getting back to his laptop. Is he really siding with this tall sack of blood and organs over his friend of five years? Why do I feel like this is a useless conversation?

"Yeah, and I work alone." I emphasize the word alone because that's what my work is about. "That explains the overwhelming sense of camaraderie." This Matheo needs to settle his ass down, or I'll knock him out.

"Listen, you two. I have half the mind to send you both on separate missions. Less headache for me," Grey threatens us. "But it seems the old man thinks you're a match made in spy heaven. You need to work together."

"More like a match made in my worst nightmare," Matheo adds his unnecessary commentary from behind me. I am on the verge of slamming the door while he's standing there, possibly breaking his nose for the second time.

⇔

It's almost seven pm when I make my way to my car. After one long day with insufferable people, I really need my bed now. I can see Grey's car coming into view, I'm almost there.

I get there, and fucking hell. I totally forgot that there's a car in my parking spot, and that car is not my car. My car is all the way over in the public parking lot.

I stand directly in front of the car. I took enough deep breaths today, it's time for some collateral damage antonyms.

I get out my phone and dial Liam, the security guard who's on shift now. It rings twice before he picks up. "Miss Young, how can I help you?" he says in his cheery voice.

"Hello Liam, how is work going?" I ask, preparing for what I'm about to ask for nicely. "Quite good, just starting," he sounds like he's smiling, and I hope what I'm about to do won't cost him his job.

"That's great. Umm do you have the footage of my parking space before eight am?" Liam memorizes all the designated parking spaces, mine and Grey's included.

"Ah yes, let me check it for you," I can hear the sound of his keyboard as he searches for the footage. I need to make sure this car isn't owned by someone important. Wouldn't want to be caught doing that accidentally to one of the chairman's cars, would I?

"There it is," he answers. "That's great, can you send me the footage?"

"Of course, the footage is coming your way. Is that all?" I thanked him and ended the call. I watch the footage zooming in on the person coming out of the car almost a million times.

Brown hair, gray trench coat, black dress pants. Well well well, if it isn't the ballerina himself. How lucky can I be today?

All hesitation is gone, this man is going to pay for what he did to me. I take out my keys, and my lipstick. I'm about to make this car as pretty as its owner's face.

A smile spreads out on my face as I do what could possibly be the reason I get jail time. I lipstick his car, making sure to draw some pretty lips and putting lipstick in the handles so when he thinks he saw the end of it, oops, he hasn't. God, I'm so evil. I love it.

I put my now ruined red lipstick back in my bag and hold my keys tight as I key the sides of his car, lapping around the car multiple lines.

I walk back and admire my work, taking a picture with a wide grin on my face. The car has Ninja Ballerina written on the hood in bright red, with multiple kisses I took the time to add myself.

I walk happily to my car now, with adrenaline pumping in my veins from illegal activities. I get in and put my bag in the passenger seat, a tiny laugh escaping when I imagine his reaction. Then a brilliant idea comes to mind, why imagine when I can see it in real life?

I smile a villainous smile as I drive to the aisle behind the car, so he won't see me. I text Grey the picture I took and make sure I tell him to delete the footage of me keying the car.

He answers almost immediately, sending many laughing emojis. Then the phone rings, oh shit, here comes the scolding. "What have you done to the poor man's car?!" he laughs, and i can't help but giggle. This is so fun, no wonder all ex girlfriends do it.

"He parked in my spot! It's his fault!" I defend myself. It is honestly a very reasonable reason and no one can convince me otherwise. Grey laughs, and I just know he's shaking his head in disappointment, but it's just too funny not to laugh.

The car looks like a wrapped up present, with the imprint of my lips in red all over it, i swear it even looks better than the basic black.

"So you keyed his car?!"

"You would've done the same!"

"Invalid, i would've given him a penalty worth a couple thousand,"

"That's literally the same, he'll pay these thousands in getting it back to normal. But he'll have to drive around with it looking like this first," i explain the genius behind my reasoning. I could've done exactly what Grey would do, but where's the fun and humiliation in that?

"I'm in the parking aisle behind the car, I'm not missing his reaction for my life. Delete that footage if you can, byee!" I end the call just as Matheo gets out of the pentagon.

He walks to his car all nonchalant, cool and mysterious, blissfully unaware of the damage I just inflicted. Then he sees it, and he freezes.

He walks closer, irritation written all over his face. His eyes widen when he sees the sides of the car. Mhm mhm, I keyed it too, that's what you get for messing with me.

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, he swipes his finger on the hood and examines it. Then realizes it's lipstick, and like the old fashioned man he is, he takes a tissue out of his pocket and wipes his finger clean.

He looks irritated, very irritated, and very mad. This is even more satisfying than completing a mission. Just wait till he tries to go into the car.

He traces the sides of the car with his finger, as if he's hoping the scratches are from his imagination.

I can feel a wicked grin spread across my face as he looks around. I think I made it quite clear that it was me, but not everyone is as smart as we'd hope they are.

He clenched his fists, his face contorting with anger as I reveled in watching him lose his all so precious control.

I hold my breath as he reaches for the door handles. The moment his hand clenched around the handle his face changed from anger to disgust and confusion.

He removes his hand, and looks at it in utter disgust. Even from far away I can see his jaw clench as anger takes over his features.

I startup my car and drive away with a huge grin. I've seen what I wanted to see, I don't want to be seen in return.