No strings attached / Leon s. Kennedy

Chapter 11

Amusing, I think to myself, fighting back a smirk. At this point, it’s almost pathetic, really. She’s clearly desperate, but she’s barking up the wrong tree. I barely keep anything here. I’d have to be an idiot to leave anything incriminating in my office.

I walk up to our desks, leaning against the edge of mine and crossing my arms. She still doesn’t notice me, so I clear my throat, loud enough to get her attention.

Amber freezes, and when she finally looks up, I raise an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted something from my desk, you could’ve just asked. Not that there’s anything interesting here.”

I roll my eyes, my tone teasing, even though there’s a part of me that’s irritated by the sheer boldness of her rummaging through my things. I don’t mind too much—there’s nothing for her to find—but still, a little respect for privacy would’ve been nice.

Amber straightens up, glaring at me with that same fire in her eyes. “I want my letter,” she snaps, not bothering with any pretense.

I raise an eyebrow, still leaning casually against my desk. “You’re looking in the wrong place,” I reply with a smirk. “And for the last time, Amber, I didn’t take it. How many times do I have to tell you? Leave me alone about it.”

She doesn’t back down, still scowling at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m lying. Honestly, part of me almost enjoys how worked up she gets—it’s amusing in a twisted way. But I don’t let her see that. Instead, I shrug, keeping my tone light and dismissive.

“You’re not gonna find anything here. Trust me. Now, can we get back to work, or do you want to keep wasting your time?”

Amber glares at me for a few more seconds, her eyes burning holes into me before she finally turns back to her own desk. “I sent you your work for the day,” she says coldly, her voice laced with annoyance.

I roll my eyes but sit down at my desk, not saying anything more. This whole "job" thing? Yeah, I hate it. Every single second of it. I wasn’t made to sit in an office, pushing papers and pretending to be some ordinary employee. I was made to be out in the field, where I can actually make a difference, where I can feel like I’m helping people, not stuck here pretending to care about research.

But here I am, feeling more trapped by the day, stuck in this endless routine of fake work and constant surveillance. I take a deep breath, reminding myself of the mission. This is part of the plan. Even if it makes me want to claw my way out of here, I need to play the part. For now.

I open the file she sent me, staring at the words without really reading them. This isn’t where I belong.

As Amber gathers her things, she glances at me one last time before leaving. “Try to behave, Leon. And don’t steal anything,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, clearly referring to that damn letter.

I grit my teeth, forcing a tight smile. “I’ll do my best,” I reply, though it’s taking every ounce of patience not to fire back with something snarkier.

The door clicks shut behind her, and I exhale slowly, the tension in my chest loosening now that she’s gone. But as much as I hate this, I know what I have to do. After work, I’ll have to go to her place again, swipe another letter, or maybe just find something—anything—that gives me a clue about her connection to Umbrella. I don’t have a choice anymore. Chris and HQ are putting the pressure on me, and Amber’s growing suspicion only makes it worse.

I hate the thought of it—invading her space, digging through her personal things again. But I need answers. I need to know what Umbrella’s hiding, and I need to know what role Amber plays in it all.

I breathe through the last hour of work, barely paying attention to the files in front of me. My mind is already focused on what’s coming next: showing up at Amber’s place again, knowing she’s pissed off, knowing she’s watching me like a hawk. It’s not something I’m looking forward to. Hell, I’m going to need some liquid courage to pull this off.

As soon as the clock hits quitting time, I don’t waste a second. I make my way straight to the bar across the street from the building. I’ve spent too many nights here recently, and I don’t even want to think about how much money I’ve thrown into these places. But right now, that’s the least of my concerns.

I shrug off the thought as I push open the door and head straight for the bar, the familiar smell of stale beer and whiskey filling the air. I take a seat at the counter, signaling the bartender. “Whiskey,” I say, my voice low and tired.

As always. I need something strong to settle the nerves before I deal with whatever mess tonight brings.

One drink turns into two, then a few more. Before I know it, I’m staring at an empty glass, feeling that familiar numbness creeping in. Perfect. Exactly what I needed. The emotional weight of the day, the pressure of what’s ahead—it’s all dulled now. The whiskey’s done its job, taking the edge off just enough for me to feel like I can handle this.

I stand up, steady enough but with that pleasant buzz coursing through me. It’s enough to keep me calm, enough to get this done without my nerves getting the best of me.

I pay the tab without thinking twice about it and head out the door, making my way toward Amber’s place.

I knock on Amber’s door, leaning casually against the doorframe as I wait. My mind’s still buzzing from the whiskey, giving me that false sense of calm I desperately need. When the door swings open, she’s standing there, staring at me with a look of pure disbelief. Her expression quickly shifts to anger, her eyes narrowing in frustration.

Before she can say anything, I flash my best smile, trying to do what Chris suggested: charm my way through this. I’ve never had a problem winning people over—especially women. Surely, I can sway Amber, too. At least enough to lower her guard.

“Hey,” I say, my voice smooth, playing it light. “I know I’m probably the last person you wanted to see tonight, but... thought maybe we could talk.”

She folds her arms, her expression unchanging, clearly not impressed. “What are you doing here, Leon?”

I take a step closer, keeping my tone easy, trying to defuse the tension. “I figured I’d stop by, clear the air. You’ve been pretty upset lately, and I get it. Thought maybe we could settle things.”

She raises an eyebrow, still not buying it, but I keep that confident smile plastered on my face, hoping I can break through that wall of hers.

Amber doesn’t budge, keeping me at arm’s length, her eyes cold and unforgiving. She crosses her arms, standing in the doorway, not letting me inside. “The only way we’re going to settle things,” she says, stepping closer, “is if you cough up that letter.” Her voice is sharp, and before I can react, she pokes a finger into my chest, pushing me back with each word.

Her finger presses harder as she steps even closer, her frustration pouring out. “I know you took it, Leon. So quit with the charm, stop acting like I’m going to fall for it, and give it back.”

The playful smirk I had been holding onto fades. She’s not giving me an inch. The whiskey in my system keeps me from getting flustered, but it’s clear that this isn’t going to be as easy as Chris had made it sound. Amber’s too smart for that.

I put my hand on her cheek, just like I did before, the way that made her knees buckle under her. I lean in slightly, my voice low and smooth. “Come on, Amber. We both know we can work this out. No need for all this tension, right?”

But before I can say anything more, she slaps my hand away, her eyes burning with anger. “You reek of alcohol, Leon. You think you can waltz in here, smelling like a bar, and charm your way out of this?” Her voice is sharp, cutting right through my attempt at playing it smooth. “Get lost.”

Without another word, she pushes me back, shoving me out of the doorway and slamming the door behind me. I stand there for a second, stunned. So much for charm.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. Well, that went well. Time to rethink the plan—because Amber isn’t falling for anything I throw at her.