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Nina Hayes is many things. Go-getter. Thorn in her supervisor’s ribs—and the bane of her fellow mustard-suit-wearing agent. Stress-exercise enthusiast. Ezra Saxton’s public enemy numero uno, if such list exists or allow to go public. Pain in Ellis’ ass. Loyal partner, and still undecided whether she likes nopales or not. So, she’s been benched. She’s been told to sit quietly and let his superiors dictate which leads to hunt.
She’s also incredibly stubborn.
So, it’s to nobody’s surprise—and more Awan’s feigned shock—that she decides to go rogue. Not fully rogue. More like toying the line between potentially getting fired, and plausibly can chalk up an excuse that keeps her in the doghouse for a week or three.
Her partner blinks. Open-mouthed. “You want to seduce your way into the Saxton Empire?” Forehead wrinkling. He doesn’t need to ask how because he knows exactly what she plans to do. Because she’s been given this a lot of thought.
Nina nods. Fast. Too quick even. Her smile is a white mischievous slash. “How hard can that be? He’s got a son, right? Easy mark, if you ask me.”
Genesis Saxton is a goddess apparently.
She is much, much, much beautiful in person. Curves like an expensive hourglass. Curly hair that bounces and shines under the light. Her dress—golden and sequenced—cling to her body, like a carefully-wrapped Christmas present. Eyelashes black and spidery and fluttery—Nina swallows, blinking.
Genesis gives her a one-over. Bottom of her edges to the tips of Nina’s afro.
Her gaze seems to linger at the hollows of Nina’s throat, before seemingly meets her eyes, with a slow spread of her lips into a lazy smile. “You’re new,” she starts, sultry. Cocks her head sideways, before shooting a quick look at the bartender, and adds, “Pick your poison.”
Nina blinks. “What?”
Genesis laughs. It’s a nicely sounding laugh. Like a melodic twinkle when wind passes through metallic wind chimes. “Vodka or bourbon.”
Nina splutters. “Uh, bourbon.” Her voice ends in a high pitch crack.
Genesis leans closer, batting her eyelashes. “I like you, Hayes. You’re a funny one.” Eyes the golden bourbon in Nina’s glass, swishing as Nina gulps it all in one go, and giggles when Nina splutters. “But cute. Cute in my book can get you far,” she purrs.
Goosepimples spreading on Nina’s arms. “Are you flirting with me?”
Genesis traces a tapered ringed finger around the rim of her martini glass. “Maybe. You don’t swing—”
She shrugs. “I never experimented,” she leaves the sentence hanging.
Genesis grins. So does Nina actually.