Hot Chick for Hire Page 8

  The girl frowned. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her lately, but yeah, that assignment's over. Maybe she decided to take some time off.”

  Without her cell phone? And where she couldn't check her email? Not likely. Unless she was somewhere that her cell didn't work and she didn't have access to the internet. That theory didn't make me feel any better.

  “Mmm. Maybe.” I agreed while doubting every word I said.

  “So.” Like a cheerleader, the woman in front of me clapped her hands once and hopped up from her seat in one smooth move. “Let’s get you started on the paperwork. After you fill that out, we’ll contact you when we have an assignment you’d be right for.”

  My eyes widened. “I don’t have to interview with someone? Like the owner of the company or something?”

  Smiling, she strode forward, clipboard in hand. “Nope. We take applications from everyone who is a good fit and keep them in our files until the right assignment come along.”

  “And I’m a good fit, you think?” I asked.

  “Definitely.” She smiled.

  Meaning what? I was attractive enough? Or just crazy enough to want to work at an escort service? I probably didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

  All I knew was that I had to make sure nothing had happened to Morgan because when she left for a weekend assignment, she never said anything about disappearing for two weeks afterward without her cell phone.

  Glancing down at the form in my hand I saw it was extensive.

  The sunny actress-turned-escort-slash-receptionist made it seem so simple. A done deal. But considering the kind of clients I believed used Angel Escorts, I assumed my paperwork would be gone over with a fine-toothed comb.

  As she settled in the chair behind the reception desk, I took the opportunity to study my surroundings more closely.

  Maybe I had picked up some skills working for GAPS, because my gaze caught on the tiniest of holes in the corner of the room.

  I’d bet this week’s paycheck it was a camera and at that very moment I was being vetted by someone of more authority than the perky receptionist.

  When I finished the manifesto that made up the questionnaire in my lap and finally got out of here, I was so going to Google the shit out of hidden cameras and see if I was right.

  “Hello.” The sound of a smooth, male voice with a distinctly British accent had my head whipping up as my heart pounded.

  It took barely a second for me to see it wasn’t Tristan. It took me much longer to recover my breath and be able to answer, “Hello.”

  He extended his hand to me as I gave him the once over. Typical suit—both the man and his attire. Nothing about him stood out from the usual businessmen and politicians I came across.

  “I’m Mark Hargrove. The manager of this location.”

  I stood and shook his hand after juggling the clipboard out of the way. “Chelsea Bridges.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He sat in the chair opposite me in the seat the perky receptionist had vacated. “So, you’re interested in working with us?”

  I sat again as well. “Yes, very interested.”

  He nodded, looking pleasant enough on the outside while my instincts had me watching for a crack in the façade. “Excellent. In fact, I think we have something you’d be perfect for.”

  “Really?” I waited.

  “Are you available this week? Tonight actually.”

  My pulse raced. This was too fast. Too easy. Too . . . off.

  Something felt wrong. I should have done more research on this place. Shit. I should have begged Zane to let me use some of his resources to check out the company better.

  In spite of it all, and ignoring that my armpits were as wet as my mouth was dry, I said, “Yes. I’m available.”

  “Perfect.” His smile was broad . . . and it creeped me the fuck out. “Can you come with me now?”

  “Now?” My eyes widened. “I haven’t finished the paperwork. And I don’t have any other clothes with me . . .”

  He waved all my concerns away. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you. I’m surprised the friends who recommended us to you didn’t tell you that we supply anything you need.”

  His mention of Morgan and Sapphire's recommendation only proved I had been under surveillance the entire time I’d been in the office.

  I hesitated, but didn’t change my mind. I’d come here to get answers. Playing along might be the best way to get those.

  “In that case, okay.” I stood.

  “Excellent.” He smiled and a shiver ran through me.

  In spite of that, I followed him to a door in the back of the office, more determined than ever to get to the bottom of the mystery.

  I just hoped I lived to tell the tale and didn't end up in the role of Dead Escort Number Two in this surreal real life thriller I’d stumbled into.

  Read the conclusion of Chelsea’s high-action, scorching hot romance with her hot British spy Tristan Fairchild in

  Spy for Hire.

  SPY FOR HIRE

  It was more than just a one-night stand . . .

  Chelsea had been there to help me when I needed her. Now, she's in trouble and she's the one who needs the help. Luckily, I'm just the man for the job.

  MI6 and their orders be damned. She's worth going rogue for.

  One-click Spy for Hire

  EXCERPT

  “Two days ago, Zane stopped by my place in Alexandria and casually asked if I’d heard from his office manager Chelsea . . .”

  Brent’s mention of Chelsea had my head whipping up.

  He frowned at my reaction. “You know her?”

  “Yes, actually. We’ve met.”

  Met. Worked an assignment together. Spent the night together . . .

  I cleared that memory from my head and asked, “And why was Zane asking if you’d heard from Chelsea?”

  “Because she’s missing—”

  For the second time Brent had gotten my complete attention. “What do you mean missing?”

  Get Spy for Hire

  Also in the For Hire Series

  BILLIONAIRE FOR HIRE

  a For Hire Standalone

  "I owe you one."

  I didn’t realize when I said that to my Navy SEAL buddy he’d actually collect on the debt. Or that it could cost me my life.

  I'm Brent Hearst, for God's sake. A member of the one percent. As in old family money. Yet somehow I'm standing here, smiling while there’s a gun strapped to my leg ruining the line of my Italian suit.

  But my real issue isn’t with that gun. Oh, no. It’s my other weapon I can’t control when I’m around the sexy-as-sin brunette who might or might not be a spy. It seems I don’t care which while I’ve got her against the wall with my hand fisted in her hair.

  Oh, and while I figure out if I’ve been sleeping with the enemy, I’ve also got to keep us both from being killed by a couple of gun-toting Russians.

  No problem.

  One-click Billionaire for Hire today!

  Billionaire for Hire is a standalone, full-length romance novel with an HEA and NO cliffhanger, and it features appearances by Tristan and Zane! Billionaire for Hire is part of the Hot SEALs spin-off, the For Hire series, but you do not need to read any of the books in either series to enjoy this one.

  EXCERPT

  I remained inside the elevator. Turning away from the open door and the yawning cavern of darkness it had revealed, I faced her. “Where are we?”

  “The theater level.”

  The space looked completely deserted, dark except for a few scattered security lights that cast an eerie red glow.

  Ignoring everything that told me we shouldn’t be here, Alex exited the elevator, leaving me still standing inside wondering what to do next.

  She reached back and pulled me by the hand. “Come on.”

  Nothing about this felt right.

  Maybe if I didn’t suspect her, then yeah, fine, I’d be all over doing the nasty in the deserted theat
er while the party goers continued unaware floors above us.

  But given what I knew from Zane, this felt more like a good place to be murdered than a place for getting naughty.

  Zane.

  I realized I wasn’t alone. I could tell him where I was if the comm worked all the way down here. Did it?

  I decided to find out. “This T-Level you brought us down to is pretty deep underground. I mean we’re two floors beneath the main lobby level. I wonder if there’s even any cell signal all the way down here.”

  I threw as many hints in Zane’s direction as I thought I could get away with.

  “I copy.” For once, Zane’s voice in my ear was welcome, until Alex narrowed her eyes and glared at me.

  She held out her hand palm up. “You can just hand over that comm right now.”

  My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  What the hell? How did she know? And who the hell was she that she was talking more like one of Zane’s covert operatives than a college student or a volunteer?

  “That communicator in your ear. I figure you got it from your friend Zane Alexander. It looks like something a SEAL turned mercenary would use.”

  “Fu—why does everyone think I’m a fucking mercenary?” Zane’s voice came through loud and annoyed.

  He was bothered by that?

  How about the fact I was alone and in a very precarious situation with a woman who was starting to scare me and was now about to take my communicator so I’d be cut off from my only support?

  “Zane’s just a friend. We went to school together . . . and he’s not a mercenary.” I threw him that bone, hoping he’d be satisfied and concentrate on getting me out of this situation instead of obsessing over semantics.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But that still leaves the question of who you are and who you’re working for.” Apparently tired of waiting for me to turn over the comm, Alex took a step closer. “Give it or I’ll take it.”

  I was starting to get pissed.

  Who could blame me? This was turning into the worst date of my life.

  I’d probably end up dead and buried beneath the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Sculpture Garden if the hate-filled glare Alex had leveled on me was any indication, but I didn’t give in.

  Folding my arms across my chest, I said, “No.”

  “Fine, have it your way.”

  A step, a reach, a twist and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me, gasping for breath as Alex straddled me.

  She poked a finger into my ear none too gently. With satisfaction she held up the comm, peering at it by the glow of the exit sign.

  “It is a nice piece of equipment, I’ll admit. Too bad I have to do this.”

  Still sitting on me, she took off one shoe, put the comm on the floor and smashed it.

  I watched in shock, unable to stop her. “What are you doing?”

  “Disabling your means of communication with your friend.” With the deadly looking heel still clutched in her hand and poised above my eye, she said, “Tell me who you work for and what your assignment is.”

  She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. Could she? Kill me with a high heel?

  Was it even possible? Even if I didn’t die, I had no doubt she could blind me with that thing.

  Did her wielding the heel at me mean she didn’t have another weapon? Did she not have a gun on her?

  That thought made me brave and I said, “How about you tell me who you work for.”

  She lifted a brow and I wondered if my bravado had impressed her or if she was just thinking I was an idiot who deserved to die.

  The sound of the elevator rumbling to a stop and the door opening sent both of our heads swiveling in that direction.

  I didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried when a man stepped off the elevator, gun first.

  “Another one?” She sighed. “Who the fuck are you?”

  It was my turn to wonder if she was brave or stupid. After all, she was the one bringing a shoe to a gunfight.

  “I do fancy hearing a naughty word from the lips of a beautiful female now and again. Don’t you, Brent?”

  The man with the accent that made him sound like British royalty knew my name?

  “Yes. Usually.” I answered his question, though chances were good it had been purely rhetorical.

  He had to be my backup, but where the hell had Zane found this guy?

  In an obviously bespoke suit that fit him like a glove and with a face that was made for modeling, he looked more like he’d stepped out of GQ Magazine than the GI ranks . . .Well, except for the gun, of course.

  I didn’t know who he was but boy was I glad to see him and his gun.

  “MI6?” Alex asked.

  I frowned at her question to the man. MI6? Like James Bond?

  The stranger smiled. “That obvious?”

  “Sorry to blow up your delusions, but yeah. It is.” She shrugged.

  How come I seemed to be the only one in the dark here? Feeling clueless was getting annoying. And how was Alex so calm with a gun pointed at her?

  “Now, let me guess what you are, Alexandra. I’d put money on KGB, if I were a betting man.”

  “KGB?” To my horror, my voice squeaked.

  She laughed still looking at him while sitting on me. “Your age is showing. The KGB was replaced by the FSB in 1991.”

  I noted she never denied his accusation. But she also didn’t confirm it. How stupid was I that her omission gave me hope?

  “What can I say? I’m old school.” The stranger shrugged. “How about you stand up and put your shoe back on—it’s lovely by the way. Louboutin?”

  “Good eye,” she replied.

  Her fucking shoes were Christian Louboutin? I knew enough to know that with what those things cost, there was no way she was a struggling college student living off her parents. Not that there could be any doubt left in my mind about that now.

  Meanwhile the surreal banter between the British spy and the possible Russian one continued, as if I weren’t even here.

  “Thank you.” The man nodded. “Now, why don’t you get off my friend there?”

  Finally, someone remembered my existence.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She shook her head. “And I wouldn’t worry about my deadly shoe, if I were you.”

  “Because of the gun in your leg holster?” he asked. “Don’t look so surprised, Alexandra. I can see the bulge through your pants from here. That fabric is much too thin to hide a weapon. You must choose better.”

  “MI6 training you guys in fashion nowadays?” she asked.

  “Just a hobby. Beautiful women in beautiful clothes are a passion of mine.”

  This conversation would have been entertaining on the big screen accompanied by hot buttered movie popcorn. But from my position on the floor of MoMA’s underground theater, I didn’t find it amusing.

  On top of it all, I was getting pretty damn tired of being bested physically by a woman. Call me chauvinistic. In light of this newest turn of events I didn’t care.

  This woman was supposed to be my civic-minded, college student girlfriend. Instead she was some jujitsu expert who’d taken me down with one move and was threatening me with a shoe that cost more than the rent on that apartment she supposedly shares in Queens.

  And now I was being rescued by a Bond wannabe.

  The whole night had been humiliating and I was tired of it.

  I’d wrestled in middle school. I was pretty good at it too, until my growth spurt hit and I got too tall for the wrestling team and started playing basketball instead. But I’d bet I still had some moves.

  I counted down from three in my head, then gripped Alex’s arms and flipped her over so she was on her back and I was on top of her.

  My new dominant position felt much better.

  True, I was still confused. I didn’t know if I wanted to fuck her or turn her over to the police—possibly both, but being in control was an enormous improvement.
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  “All right. All this witty spy banter is over. You, Mr. GQ. You first. You got a name?” I asked.

  “I do.” His lips twitched with a smile. “Tristan Fairchild, at your service.”

  “I’m assuming Zane sent you.”

  “He did. I owed him one.”

  I laughed out loud at the irony of that. “Don’t we all.”

  One-click Billionaire for Hire

  Catch up with Zane and his teammates in the

  HOT SEALS SERIES

  Night with a SEAL *FREE* (Jon)

  Saved by a SEAL (Zane)

  SEALed at Midnight (Thom)

  Kissed by a SEAL (Chris)

  Protected by a SEAL (Rick)

  Loved by a SEAL (Brody)

  Tempted by a SEAL (Mack)

  Wed by a SEAL (Rocky)

  Romanced by a SEAL (Jon & Ali)

  Rescued by a SEAL (Grant)

  Betting on a Hot SEAL (Craig)

  Escape with a Hot SEAL (Thom & Ginny)

  Matched with a Hot SEAL (Will)

  SEAL the Deal (Zane & Missy)

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  ABOUT CAT JOHNSON

  A top 10 New York Times bestselling author, Cat Johnson writes the USA Today bestselling Hot SEALs series, as well as contemporary romance featuring sexy alpha heroes who often wear cowboy or combat boots. Known for her creative marketing, Cat has sponsored bull riding cowboys, used bologna to promote her romance novels, and owns a collection of camo and cowboy boots for book signings. She writes both full length and shorter works.

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