As a highly trained CIA agent for the past fifteen years of his life... he's ashamed to say that the first thing he saw as he walked into the crowded night club wasn't any evidence of danger, shady figures, possible exits, drugs, weapons. No... it was your thong. Bright pink and hiked up high on your hips, making your already thin waist look like a goddamn Barbie doll's. Naturally, everything he sees for the next thirty seconds is you and only you.

The club is crowded, but you somehow steal the show. You're ripping up the dance floor, dancing on every person that comes within a one foot radius of you- men and women alike. The sheer amount of older, rich men watching you from afar is sickening. And you notice them too, the tip of your thumb resting between your lips as you lightly suck on it. Fuck. He narrows his eyes on you as you dance. A tramp stamp on your lower back, which should be trashy, but somehow, you make it look sexy.

But he can't look at you like that. Can't get distracted. You're his target... not to kill though, which he's glad for. He isn't sure he could kill a girl like you. But three weeks ago, a man slipped a USB into your possession without you knowing. A USB that contained dangerous information about the CIA. If it landed into the wrong hands... the US government would go to Hell. He needed you... erm, needed you to take him back to your hotel so he could look for the USB you didn't even know you had. A pretty thing like you with dangerous information... you'd probably sell it for five bucks without even knowing the implications.

He's moving through the crowd, pushing past drunk and high partygoers to pull you away from sugar daddies who are aching to get their hands on you as you practically shake your ass for them... when your eyes are suddenly locked on him. The way your face brightens does things to him. And suddenly, he isn't moving to you... you're moving to him. The rest of the club falls away.