Page 12 of Demon Huntress
God forbid she would actually have to start working for these people.
“Come on, come on,” Cassandra said, standing hunched over the computer.
The files had nearly completed their download when the door was slammed open, and Cassandra shot up, removing the USB stick with lightning speed. She tucked it into her palm as she stood upright like a Stepford wife waiting for her next instructions.
“What are you doing in here?”
It was a young lab tech, just as she had envisioned, standing at the doorway with his tie loosened and hair set in permanent bedhead. She could have sworn she caught the gleam of his fly hanging open, but she couldn’t be sure.
Cassandra slipped into innocent mode, an easy mask for any woman to wear, and held up both her hands to her chest. The USB stick was tucked steadily beneath her thumb.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” she proclaimed, doing her best impression of Betty Boop.
She strode to him, her heels clicking against the ground like the very hooves of Satan. As her hands lowered, she discreetly concealed the USB stick into the hemline of her skirt while expertly loosening one button of her blouse with the other. It popped open in a flurry, as dramatic as any porn the young man had probably watched alone in his bedroom. She was wearing a lacy black bra that showcased her breasts like an offering to the gods.
“I was looking for the bathroom,” she said, voice still high and empty as air. “I came in here curious about the computers. They’re all so bright and shiny.”
She smiled at the young man, whose mouth hung open like a dumb dog waiting for its dinner. Cassandra knew she had covered her ass because he remained there, holding the door open and following her with wide, prepubescent eyes. She decided to add in one last spicy gesture for the theater and shits and giggles of it all.
She brought a finger to her plump lips, then bent over slightly, enough so that her cleavage was in full view. He looked down without hiding it, like a deer gazing at the headlights of an oncoming train.
“I hope this can be our little secret,” she said in her best sultry voice. “I don’t want to lose my job over this.”
She turned her lip downward like an overly sexualized Jessica Rabbit. The man nodded, gulping multiple times to find his voice.
“Of course, no problem, no problem.”
She thanked him profusely, then headed back down the hallway to meet her group, making sure to swing her hips like a pendulum for added effect.
The rest of Cassandra’s day remained as tedious as the morning. She tried on multiple occasions to slip into a lab, but she thought getting caught again would be too risky. No amount of cleavage or animated features would save her a second time.
When she left for the day, she was greeted by the most delicious sight, one that sent a blush all the way through her chest and loins.
Flash, wearing jeans and a tight red T-shirt, leaned against a cherry-red Porsche convertible. Beyond the amusing thought that he had matched his clothing with the car, Cassandra was speechless and found herself fingering the button of her blouse.
“And what have I done to deserve this?” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Flash stood and removed his Ray-Bans, revealing his dark and stormy gaze.
“I want to take you out for dinner,” he grunted. “To apologize for my … behavior yesterday.”
Cassandra had slung her purse over her shoulder and held the thick orientation stack of paper pressed against her chest. She was glad he wouldn’t see the way she was heaving nor the way that the buttons on her shirt wanted to burst open for him.
“To apologize?” she said, smirking.
He blew out his lips impatiently.
“Slade told me that he informed you of my … past,” he said, not meeting her gaze. “It has made me more rough-around-the-edges than usual. That kind of shit really fucked me up.”
Cassandra got the inclination that the man standing in front of her wasn’t used to asking out pretty ladies, nor was he practiced in the art of truly being sorry. But she sympathized with the way he couldn’t look at her when he spoke about the trauma, indicating things far worse than she could imagine.
She stepped toward him, feeling the urge to touch his arm for comfort, but thought better of it.
“I understand,” she said. “Well, I don’t have much to report, but I can debrief you over a good plate of dinner if that’s what you want.”
He was finally able to slide his eyes to hers, making Cassandra weak in the knees.
“I would love for you todebriefme,” he nearly snarled.
