Freddie Bianchi and Juliette Dupont are polar opposites.
She's hot, he's cold. She makes jokes, he takes them to heart. He's only an inch taller than her, and she makes fun of him ever chance she gets.
He calls her a dumb blonde, and albeit she's he...
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I stared at amber eyes. Amber eyes stared back at me. My hands were clasped around the steel make on top of my cane. My eyes skidded over my suit, deciding whether or not to go present or old school. I decided on present only because my favourite tie was in the laundry.
A dark curl swept over my half lidded eyes and I blew it away, but as I bent to pick up my phone and wallet from the dresser, it fell again and I decided it wasn't worth my time.
My front door clicked behind me and when I peered down, I noticed the white hair tie around my wrist and my heart skipped a trillion beats. It belonged to the blonde woman who had successfully captured my heart and locked it up in a very short period of time.
I used it to tie up my own hair.
I took the elevator down to the ground floor of my apartment building, giving Steele the key to my home for safe keeping. I pushed sunglasses onto my face, albeit the sun was going to be setting in a few strenuous hours.
The bike drive to the base was spent with me thinking of blue eyes, blonde hair, round hips and the sweetest laugh in the whole world.
Just sex, she agreed.
Just sex? It would never be just sex with Juliette Dupont. Fucking never.
But she wouldn't want a man like me, I knew that. After she found out who I really was, she'd fucking hate me. Loathe me, probably try to kill me. The thought left the burning taste of bile on my tongue.
I pulled up to the building, already in a foul mood and I hadn't even stepped foot into the place. I strolled it, flashing my badge at the secretary before she called me in for a pedestrian again. My shoes and cane clicked deafly and sharply on the polished tiles, the click demanding people to look at me, to see their maker.
The doors to the conference room were open, and at the end of the hall, I could see heads whipping in my direction, some of them looked away immediately, others were drowning in their jealousy and adoration.
Jonathan's head whipped in my direction once I stepped into the room, and with one last click of my cane between my feet, I had declared with no words that I was here, and that I was the best.
"Bianchi," Jonathan spoke my name with much disdain. It was funny as fuck to see him scramble up and tell the young agents the meeting was over. I stepped aside, letting them pass. The women looked at me like I was their older, handsome college professor they so wanted to get noticed by, and the men looked at me with the look that said, 'God, I wish I were you.'
"Sit," Jonathan ushered, but I held up a hand that told him to get on with it.
He inhaled deeply and tossed a file in my direction. I extended a leg, took it from the table and watched him with a pointed glare.
"There's a terrorist group that has volatile information on us. We need you to retrieve it or them. Do whatever you have to do. You will have a teammate-"
"Like fucking hell."
"MI6"
"Like fucking hell!"
Jonathan groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. "I know you hate them, all right? But this is highly sensitive, Fred. We need all hands on deck,"
"You mean all legs, Jonathan," I narrowed my gaze at him, and my boss swallowed hard and rose to his feet. "Yes. I do. You're a liability as it is, we can't have you fucking this mission up like the one with Hernandez. You almost got yourself killed, man,"
I stepped towards him and punched him in his jaw.
He spluttered blood onto the metal table and stumbled back, and he clutched his mouth, blood pouring through his teeth, dripping over his chin.
I took another step towards him, my eyes holding his gaze, my jaw clenched and between gritted teeth I said, "Does that feel like a fucking liability to you, Jonathan?"
Without waiting for a reply, I turned on my heel and stalked down the hallway. My hand was throbbing, wounds from a few days ago opened and dripping onto the tiles of the CIA building. I made my way out of the hell hole, leaving a trail of crimson blood behind me.
Tossing my cane into the car, I slammed the door closed and inhaled three deep breaths before I hit my steering wheel, something I was doing far more recently. Stress was gnawing at my shoulders, ripping through my muscles and making me lose sleep, lose fucking everything.
Except her.
With her perfect hands and her bright smile. I never felt a drop of stress around her, it was like I was free from the confines of the CIA, free from the obligations and ultimate hellfire that came with doing what I did.
I fell violently, frighteningly hard for Juliette Dupont.
Un-fucking-fortunately.
She was the dream I constantly wanted to dream, The woman I needed for Judith, the woman I needed for me. she was kind, and had a heart of pure fucking gold. She was a drug addicts muse, the woman who could set the world on fire yet douse the flames too.
She was life in the rawest form, and I would do fucking anything to keep her that way. To keep her smiling whenever I said fucking anything, to keep her crying at sad movies, to keep her reading at her window in the early mornings, to keep her smiling at me whenever I walked towards her.
I leaned my head back against the seat and lit a cigarette, flicking my lighter as I opened the file on the passenger seat.
There wasn't a picture of my supposed partner, but they were said to be the utmost best the MI6 had. I mentally prepared myself for the snobby, British agent I was going to be spending a very unnecessary amount of time with.
The slow rumbling of the engine below me allowed me to fill my thoughts with my woman as I drove home.
