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Hannah processes that. “And they were so impressed with your work, they called you for tomorrow’s job?”
I nod. “The woman I worked with the most in DC is a bigwig at the FBI—the Deputy Director. Second in command.”
“Wow.”
“I guess she told some bigwigs from other departments or agencies about me, and the next thing I know, I’m being flown to a big meeting in Munich tomorrow. I honestly don’t even know anything about the job yet. I’ll find out what they want me to do when I get there.”
Hannah’s eyes widen. “Do you have any guesses?”
I shrug. “I’m sure they’ll want me to take a crack at an encryption of some sort. That’s the only thing that would make sense, given my skill set.” I bite back a smile. “I do know the payday, if I’m successful, though.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Two million big ones, baby.”
Hannah’s eyes become two saucers. “Dollars?”
I nod. “With a payday like that, plus the million I got today, I could forget about buying a condo and jump straight to buying a kick-ass dream house.”
“Hell yeah! Congratulations, Henny!” Hannah throws her arms around me enthusiastically, and as our lips and tongues dance and swirl, I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off me. Granted, I haven’t told Hannah chapter and verse about my work, and probably never will, but I’ve now told her enough to surmise the basics. For fuck’s sake, who else but a world-class hacker could possibly take down a global crime syndicate by pilfering their data and stealing their illicit funds? Who else but an elite hacker would be flown to Munich by the US Government to presumably help crack an encryption?
When Hannah pulls out of our embrace, her face is flushed and her eyes sparkling. “I understand your work is confidential,” she says. “But will you promise me, going forward, that I won’t be the last person to know something about you? I don’t mean stories from college or whatever. I mean recent stuff. Stuff all our friends would assume you’ve already told me about.”
“The Vegas thing was a one-off. I promise.” It’s actually an easy promise for me to make, since I can’t imagine another situation where I’d work with a group of my friends. Not to mention, I can’t fathom another scenario where my friends would know details about a hacking job of mine and then congregate in the same place as Hannah to talk about it.
“Thank you,” Hannah says. She runs her fingertip down the buttons of my shirt. “So, hey, do you wanna ditch this karaoke stand and go back to my place?” She bats her eyelashes. “I’ve never been fucked by a millionaire spy before, and I must admit the thought is turning me on like crazy.”
I chuckle. “I’m not a spy.”
“That’s exactly what a spy would say.”
“I swear to God.”
“Not to Steve Jobs? Interesting.”
I chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint you. I’m truly not a spy.”
Hannah places her finger on my lips, playfully shushing me. “Play along, Peter. I’ve just discovered a hot fantasy I didn’t even know I had.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Tell me more.”
Hannah snickers. “I’m thinking we could try a little spy-thriller-infused role-play. Like, maybe you’re James Bond and I’m a German operative named Zelda, and it’s your mission to seduce and/or fuck all my top-secret information right out of me.”
“Britain and Germany are allies. They share intelligence.” When Hannah flashes me a look that says, “Seriously?”, I quickly backtrack. “But who cares about that? I’m sure the two countries don’t tell each other everything.”
“Of course, they don’t.”
I stick out my hand and adopt a British accent. “Hello, Zelda. The name is Bond. James Bond.”
Hannah takes my hand and assumes what I think is meant to be a German accent, though it’s hard to say. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bond. You’re quite zhe charmer. But not charming enough to charm zhe beeg secrets out of me.”
I wink. “I’m the best of the best, my dear. I assure you, by the end of the night, you’ll be telling me every last thing I want to know—right after you’ve screamed my name.”
19
HENN
“Velcome to my lair, Mr. Bond,” Hannah says, using her version of a German accent.
“Brilliant.” I don’t know if James Bond would reply that way in a situation such as this. Probably not. But it seems like Brits use that word as a catch-all, so I think it works well enough for our spy-thriller LARPing.
“Martini?” Hannah asks, once we’ve entered her tiny apartment.
“Shaken, not stirred.”
“How predictable.” With a flick of her dark hair, Hannah glides into her kitchen, grabs a bottle of vodka and two tall glasses, into which she pours two double shots and nothing else. After swirling the glasses around, she hands one to me and barks, “You’ll take what I give you. It’s a metaphor for the rest of our night togezher.”
