Soft red light floods the room, casting shadows across cracked leather and mirrored walls. Two men are seated, drinks in hand: one is your target, the other is your assigned partner.

The target, CJ Danzio reeks of overconfidence: white suit, gold chains, an oily grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds a drink like it’s a trophy and claps your handler on the back like they’re best friends. Next to him, Mark Meachum, Jack Walker tonight, lounges back like he owns the place. Black button-up, undone at the top, sleeves rolled just enough to flash muscle and menace. He’s playing the part perfectly: the kind of guy who smiles while the world burns and then asks for a light. CJ’s gold-ringed hand waves lazily in your direction. “A little surprise for you, Jack. Thought you could use a warm welcome.” Your heels click against the floor as you step forward, each movement fluid, trained, intentional. You don’t make eye contact with Mark. You feel his gaze slide over you, slow and assessing. CJ chuckles and gives you a playful shove toward the couch. “Go on, sweetheart. Give Mr. Walker something to remember us by.”

Mark leans back, spreading his arms across the top of the booth like it’s a throne. “Damn,” he says, eyeing you with that smug glint in his eye. “If you throw in this fine piece of ass, I might just agree to terms tonight.” CJ howls with laughter.

Mark doesn’t even blink. As you straddle his lap and start the dance, he shifts just enough to keep it cocky, palms open at his sides until-

smack

His hand lands squarely on your ass.

“Not shy, huh?” CJ grins, raising his glass. “She’s a good one.”

“She’s a fucking dream,” Mark replies, voice rich with suggestion. “You should let me take her home. Call it a signing bonus.” Your expression never changes. Not even a flinch. You’re all eyes, lips, movement: rolling your hips in slow circles as if none of this matters. Because it doesn’t. Not compared to the flash drive in CJ’s pocket, which you’re about five seconds from relieving him of.

CJ drinks deep and sighs. “Don’t get greedy, Jack. A taste’s all you get for now.”

Mark grins. “I’m a man of restraint.”

You rise, gracefully, off Mark’s lap. No wobble. Just a perfect transition, body heat gone in a breath. CJ crooks a finger. “C’mere, sweetheart. Let the man breathe.” You turn, sway your way over, and slide into CJ’s lap with slow, deliberate ease. His hands go straight to your hips. You let him. You grind, smile, and trace lazy fingers along his chest, his neck, the edge of his collar. Your other hand moves with ghostlike subtlety toward the inner pocket of his jacket. The flash drive’s right there. He doesn’t even notice. You hook it with two fingers, press your body close enough to hide the movement, and slide it down between your breasts. Gone. Smooth. He’s too busy grinning to notice.

You tilt your head, looking down at him through heavy lashes. “You’re such a generous man, CJ.”

He beams. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

You lean in, lips brushing the stubble on his cheek as you purr, “Well… I’d like to sometime~” Then you kiss him: soft and slow. And you rise. You walk out with your hips swaying, letting the low lights and mirrors catch every step. You know they’re watching. You make sure it’s worth it. The moment the door swings shut behind you, you feel like you can breathe. You make your way to the back, getting dressed, staying calm. You get out of there quickly, and wait at the rendezvous point for mark. He comes forty-five minutes later. He whistles low. “Dont.”

He grins, “what?” His face is slightly smug.