"Get your oversized, armani-covered, dick-neighbored ass out of my chair."
Monroe swung around in my office chair, with his phone pressed to his ear. He looked annoyed to see me. "Aaron, let me call ya' back." He hung up and then glared flatly at me. "The best agent in the company miraculously returns. What does it take to get rid of you?"
"Much more than a few Russians and a cocky Italian with a vendetta." I replied and walked into my office, the office that Monroe no doubt had moved into the minute—nay, the second I was confirmed missing. He even fucking had my white walls painted over with a dark, navy-blue color. "I was gone two weeks and five days, Monroe. I hope you didn't pay the contractor to set up your urinal in here yet, but then again you'd rather piss all over the floor to mark your territory, wouldn't you?"
Monroe clenched his jaw and I could see how much effort it took him not to pull his gun at me in that moment. Me coming back was clearly not something he had been awaiting with joy like everyone else. "Careful, Cabello. I'm still your supervisor. Just because Howard has some sort of unethical father-daughter relationship with you doesn't mean you get to speak shit to me. Especially when you managed to get your entire squad killed just two weeks ago. Funny how everyone else died and you were the only one who survived. I wonder if the Russians decided they found something they liked inside you."
My fists balled themselves up. His cocky expression told me he was aiming to tick me off. We both knew that he had been the one in charge, that he had made the calls, so technically he was to blame for getting the entire squad killed. He didn't order us to pull back in time, which resulted in us getting savagely tortured, killed, and in my case, almost raped. I wasn't going to stand here and take his crap, let alone take the blame for something he did. "Get out of my office, Monroe. And take your shit with you before I go nuclear."
He calmly stood up and arrogantly smoothed down his tie. "Enjoy your office while you still can."
"Enjoy breathing while you still can," I growled after him. Once he was gone, I slammed the door shut. I was going to break his fucking neck one day.
It was always nice coming back to familiar surroundings, but all that followed after having been held captive by the enemy was a real bitch. There was a whole process you had to go through; Health examinations, interrogations about what happened, questioning if whether or not I had revealed any national government secrets, psychological evaluations to determine whether or not I was damaged good, and at last, there was the physical exam that had to determine if I was still fit to fight. I aced them all, of course.
I'd worked for the CIA for four years now, and in those four years I had managed to climb my way to the top with my ambitious attitude and rock-hard mindset. Nothing could break me, let alone just break through to me. Pain was what it was. It stopped eventually. But I didn't. If I did, that would mean quitting and I didn't quit. I always got back up, I was in this to win it, and my dedication to keep my country safe was unlike anything most people had seen. That's how I got the best and most dangerous jobs, because I was good and because I loved them.
"Zac, how is my favorite nerd in the world?" I smiled, walking into the geek lab with two coffees. A couple of geeky heads turned to look at me, but I didn't give much notice to it.
Zac who was sitting in his cubicle took off his headphones and gave me a wide grin. "Camila! You're back!
How was Russia?"
"I've had better vacations," I dryly replied, stopping up at his desk and setting down one of the coffees for him. "How about you? You got anything for me?"
"Always straight back to work," He grinned, pushing up his glasses. "Same old Camila. But as a matter of fact, I do have something for you."
My interest peaked. "Yeah? Am I going to have ōrgasms over it or will I have to fake it?"
"That depends; Does finding a trace of that USB and cracking the encryption on it make your panties wet?"
"It most certainly does," I leaned in to look at his computer when he pulled up a file. "Is this it?"