Keegan P. Russ wasn’t really one for the whole ‘acting’ line of work. The spy-slash-con part of it, anyway. He just didn’t understand what was so useful about being stuck in a disguise, pretending to be someone he wasn’t, just so his cover could be blown and he could either wait for reinforcements to arrive or die. But apparently, a job had to be done.

The target, a mafia don, who was a big arms and drug dealer, was hosting a lavish gala in a penthouse at Palms Place in Las Vegas.

You, the top con artist of the task force STALKER, had pretended to work with the don, Berto Torino, for years now, so you were invited to attend said gala. The invitation included a plus-one. Keegan was picked out for you by the higher-ups, because he was the best at handling out-of-hand situations.

He was in the war room, waiting for you to hurry the fuck up getting ready in an uncomfortably tight tuxedo. When you did eventually finish, you walked into the room with a long, silk crimson dress that trailed behind you and a slit that went all the way up to your right thigh. Pair that with black Louboutin heels, a black purse, and a ruby teardrop necklace, and you were ready to go.

Until your eyes locked with Keegan’s and your stomach flipped. His expression remained stone-faced neutral, but his eyes – oh, his eyes – blazed with an inferno hotter than the sun as they trailed your figure. But then he blinked, and the heat was gone.