The way Villeneuve treated me sat heavy in my gut all morning. I was tasked with the impossible: figuring out how to control my gift. It wasn't like it was some kind of Google search. It was much more complex than that. Yet here I was, wasting federal money doing just that.

The office was starting to filter out. I looked at the time on my computer and saw it was noon. I pushed my chair away from my desk, feeling like I'd just wasted three hours of my life. No, I had wasted more than three hours. I had wasted twenty weeks and three hours so far. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. I had thought it was the fact that I knew five languages fluently and another three well enough to hold my own that had drawn them to me or that I graduated from university at the top of my class. That I was intelligent. That I didn't let people walk all over me.

Then it hit me. I had. I didn't say a word to Villeneuve as he yelled at me like a petulant child. Now I was furious. Instead of marching out and drowning my anger in a piece of chocolate cake or some kind of fancy patisserie that only Clerteaux had to offer, I marched right through the glass door with the large black letters that read: Adam Villeneuve, Special Agent in Charge.

On the other side, I was shocked not to see him. Instead, I saw a young woman typing on a computer. Her floral head scarf went beautifully with her cute yellow shift dress. Her bright red lips were both playful and professional at the same time. A part of me wondered if Villeneuve had picked her because she was cute.

"Is he in there?" I pointed to the closed door.

The woman furrowed her brows. "Special Agent Villeneuve?"

Was this woman serious?

"Yes."

She got a thoughtful expression. "Hm, no."

"Where. Is. He?" I didn't want to take my anger out on her, but she was somewhat infuriating in her own right.

"The gym," she answered. "He goes there every day at lunch."

"Great. Where is it?"

"The first floor, but I wouldn't go."

I crossed my arms. "And why not?"

"Because no one uses the gym at lunch."

"I thought he does."

"Exactly."

I clicked my tongue. "Well, I guess someone else is now."

I turned and began to walk away.

"Wait!" the woman called after me.

I could hear her flats hitting the floor as she walked.

I turned. "What?"

"I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm Chloé, Agent Villeneuve's executive assistant. You must be the new Special Agent Merchant."

"I'm still a trainee, so not a special agent yet," I corrected her.

"Oh, right. True," she agreed. "Well, still, I don't want us not to get along. If you haven't noticed, you're one of the few women in this building."

"To be expected."

The RBI was skewed more males than females.

"I just think we could be friends." I felt a pit grow in my stomach. "As your new friend, I feel like I should warn you. For your own mental well-being, don't go down to that gym. I don't know if anyone's told you, but Agent Villeneuve's nickname is The Beast. That gym is where he really turns into it."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, two things. One, I'm not scared of him. Two, I have a contract with the RBI, and I'm gone as soon as I'm done. I don't need friends."

Chloé pressed her lips together as she looked at me with disbelief.

"What?"

She shrugged. "Even if you're only here for one month, wouldn't that month be better with a friend?'

I considered her words. It was true; it was a new city and a stark contrast to my life in Rosnes.

I shook my head. "You're kind, but I must focus on my tasks and overall goal to return home. I'm not sure I'll have time for friendship."

Chloé giggled. "Oh, you'll find the time."

I sighed. "If that's what you think. I'm going to go now."

"Please heed my advice about the gym." Her eyes were wide with worry. "I'd hate for you to see the worst of him. He really is a brilliant man and SAC."

I felt my mouth twitch. "Of course." I didn't think he could get much worse than I'd already seen.

I left Chloé's office, but I certainly didn't heed anything.

The gym was easy enough to find, though Chloé was right. It was absolutely a ghost town in there, which was weird. I know she said he was the only one who worked out there, but how could one man stave off an entire building from coming in?

I heard grunting and knew that it must be him. I followed the noise, turning a corner to see the most defined back muscles I'd ever seen sparring with a punching bag.

"Holy sh–" I slapped my hand over my mouth.

"Who the fuck is in the gym?" He was angry.

He spun around, his face red, though I wasn't sure if it was from the activity or anger.

"I–"

An amused smile danced across his lips. "Merchant. You're certainly not dressed for this."

I looked down at my outfit. I hadn't even considered bringing a change of clothes outside of tac pants and a t-shirt. I hated the pants and would never wear them for a workout that didn't involve some kind of training.

Villeneuve grabbed his towel and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"If you're going to stay, I expect you to work as hard as me. You obviously didn't get the memo that this is a closed gym at noon."

He walked over to a weight machine, grabbed the pin, and moved it. He sat down, placed his hands where they were supposed to go, and then pressed inward. His biceps and chest flexed impressively with each rep, and I could not look away.

"If you take a picture, it'll last longer."

My mouth dropped open, but again, no words seemed to come out. Villeneuve continued his reps with small grunts that shot sensation down my spine to my, well... wait! No! No, no, no. He was not going to get in my head like that.

When we finished with his weights, he once again toweled off.

"Come along then." He looked me up and down. "That outfit looks really uncomfortable, but let's hit the treadmills."

He walked off before I had a chance to protest. I followed him around another corner where a wide array of cardio equipment sat in neat rows. Villeneuve took one dead center and turned it on. I stood behind him and crossed my arms.

"You joining?" he asked.

I leaned over, pulled my red heels off, and stepped onto the machine beside him. I turned it on and began a slow jog. Villeneuve turned up his machine. I did the same. He smirked, a gleam in his eyes. He did it again. I followed suit. It wasn't too bad; I could match his pace. Twenty weeks of training had obviously done wonders for my lungs, which couldn't run more than a kilometer before that. We held this pace for some time. I realized this was a bad idea as sweat formed under my arms. He would get a chance to shower and change his clothes while I wouldn't.

"It's the end of the workout," Villeneuve said. "Let's finish strong."

He ramped up his treadmill. My lungs were starting to burn, but I wasn't about to let him beat me, though I wasn't too sure what it was that he was winning. Nonetheless, he wasn't about to. I matched his speed.

Fuck, my lungs were on fire.

I looked over at Villeneuve. Sure, he was sweaty, but he didn't seem to struggle at all. On the other hand, I was desperately trying to look like this was a breeze. While I wanted to breathe heavily, I was forcing myself not to, making me dizzy.

"And time!" Villeneuve called out.

He stopped his machine and elegantly rolled off the back. With shaky legs, I turned mine off and stepped onto the floor. I held onto the machine, looking at my feet, hoping he had walked away and didn't see me half dying.

When I looked up, my red heels were at eye level. Moving my eyes up a little further, I saw that Villeneuve had his arm extended, and his index and middle fingers were what my shoes were hanging off.

"Next time, I recommend bringing gym clothes." I took my shoes from him, and he leaned in closer. "Although I'd prefer there was no next time."

With those words, he turned and walked away. I was still trying to collect my breath; at this point, I assumed my lungs would never feel normal again. I had likely ruined my new shirt, and for what purpose? I had come here not to compete with him in athletics but in intelligence.

After a solid ten minutes of catching my breath, I stormed in the direction he had left, heels in hand. I assumed he had gone to the locker room, so that's where I headed. I opened the door, and a sauna or steam room was straight ahead. I peered in but didn't see anyone. Turning the corner, I was nearly beyond shocked at the view.

It was more than Villeneuve's back that was toned. All of him was. I swallowed, trying to keep my thoughts straight. His hair was wet, clearly just out of the shower, and très nu. He was rubbing his arms dry with a white towel.

"I came here to talk to you." My voice squeaked embarrassingly.

His head came up, and then he slowly turned. I was now looking at all of Villeneuve. He chuckled and then wrapped the towel around his waist.

"This is the men's room."

"I know."

"A rather inappropriate place to talk, Débutante." He crossed his arms. "I could fire you."

"Go ahead. You'd be freeing me."

Villeneuve chuckled. "You act like this is the worst thing to ever happen to you. Last I checked, the RBI set you up with an incredible apartment with gorgeous city views. You get paid well, and we have the best dental insurance in Bourles."

"Because a pretty apartment, money, and free cleanings are all I could ever want or need."

Villeneuve shrugged. "I feel like you got the better end of the deal. Turns out I might not get what I was promised."

"You traded my father's life for mine."

"If you want to put it that way."

"It's what happened!" I declared loudly. "You practically stole me."

His expression changed.

I shifted my weight. "You may be able to fool everyone else into falling in line with your asinine behavior, but I am different. You need me."

He walked toward me. I stepped backward, quickening my pace as he did. My back hit the lockers, and I gasped. Villeneuve slammed his palms against the lockers on each side of me just above my head.

"Let's get something straight here." He was inches from my face, and water from his hair dripped onto my blouse. "You need me. Even if you don't, your father does. You walk away now, and I will pull every last bit of protection he has."

My chest was heaving up and down. "And without my gift?"

He leaned in closer, so close I could feel his breath on my lips.

"You have yet to demonstrate if your gift is worth what I've already given you and your family."

He leaned back. His eyes momentarily dropped to my lips but then rose back to my eyes. My breath caught. I was not often lost for words, but at this moment, I was.

"I'm sure I could get you on some kind of sexual harassment for this."

"You walked into the men's locker room where men often get naked," Adam said. "At no point did I force you to come in with me, Débutante."

I darted my eyes down and then back up. "What about the fact that you're hard right now?"

"A natural reaction to being near a beautiful woman." Did he just call me beautiful? "I bet if I stuck my finger between your legs, I'd find that you're wet." I wanted to protest, but the truth was that I was having a physical reaction to him. "Now, Merchant, I suggest you get out of this locker room before there is a sexual harassment case against you from other agents trying to use this space for its intended purpose." He pushed off the locker and began to back away.

"I won't let you bully me."

A mocking laugh. "Oh, trust me. If I were bullying you, you'd know it. Now get out of here. That's an order."

With my chin held high, I straightened my shirt and began to walk to the door.

"One more thing," Villeneuve said to my back.

I looked over my shoulder. "What?"

"Do you have a gown?"

I furrowed my brows. "A gown?"

"The annual cabaret is this weekend," he informed me. "Your attendance is not optional."

I squared my shoulders. "I'm sure I can come up with something, sir."

I turned my head forward and walked out of the changing room and back up to my desk, where my legs collapsed as their backs hit my chair.

Oh my God. What just happened?