Double Crossed

Double Crossed

Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina

Emily

Buenos Aires at midnight was alive with temptation. Neon lights painted the streets in deep reds and blues, tangos played in smoky bars, and danger lingered in the air like the scent of strong espresso—rich, dark, and guaranteed to burn if you weren’t careful.

Emily Carter moved through the exclusive Cielo club with purpose, her fitted emerald dress hugging her in all the right places. The dress was a tool—like the knife strapped to her thigh, the poisoned lipstick in her clutch, and the charm she wielded like a loaded gun.

Tonight’s mission was simple: extract a flash drive from Raul Ortega, an Argentinian tech mogul with a fondness for gambling and a knack for selling military secrets to the highest bidder.

She had done more dangerous jobs. This would be easy.

Or at least, that’s what she thought—until she saw him. Tall, dark-haired, and built like trouble. He wore a tailored suit with just enough dishevelment to make it look effortless, his tie slightly loosened, his sleeves pushed up as if he had better things to do than play by the rules.

He leaned against the bar, whiskey in hand, exuding the kind of arrogant charm that made women weak in the knees.

Emily hated him immediately. Because she knew his type. And more importantly—she had no idea what he was doing here. Her instincts kicked in. Threat? Civilian? Interference?

As if sensing her scrutiny, the man turned his head slightly, his mouth curving into a slow, knowing smirk.

Emily quickly looked away, pretending he didn’t exist. She had work to do.

Jeffrey

She was a problem. A beautiful, confident, annoying problem.

Jeffrey Calloway didn’t believe in coincidences, and she was too sharp, too poised, too aware to be just another rich woman looking for entertainment.

He didn’t know what she was here for. But he intended to find out. The CIA had sent him to retrieve a flash drive from Raul Ortega before it fell into the wrong hands. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out job.

And then she walked in. Which meant one of two things. She was either in his way. Or she was after the same thing.

And he hated both of those options.

So when she made her way toward the VIP section, Jeffrey followed. Not obviously—he was a professional, after all—but he made sure he was close enough to observe. Just in time to see her slide into a seat next to Ortega.

Charm him. Touch his wrist. Get too close, too fast.

Jeffrey smirked. Oh, sweetheart. You picked the wrong night.

Emily

Getting to Ortega had been the easy part. Emily played her role well—the intrigued socialite, the woman who just so happened to be fascinated by powerful men with terrible personalities. Ortega lapped it up like a fool, his whiskey glass sloshing as he leaned in closer, already trying to impress her.

Her fingers inched toward his knee, her other hand casually slipping toward the briefcase beneath the table.

Then—

“Mind if I join?”

Emily stiffened. She didn’t need to turn around to know exactly who had spoken. It was him.

The bastard slid into the seat next to her, flashing Ortega an easy grin.

Ortega squinted. “Do I know you?”

“No,” he said, completely unfazed. “But I hear you’re the man to beat at poker.”

Ortega beamed, instantly pleased. “That, I am.”

Emily clenched her jaw. He shot her a look.

A knowing look.

No.

No way.

There was no way they were after the same thing.

Right?

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to read between the lines.

But he just smirked.

Damn him.

Jeffrey

She played the game well. But Jeffrey played it better.

She was quick, but he was watching. He saw the way her fingers inched toward the briefcase under the table, the way she pretended to be interested in Ortega while her real focus was elsewhere. And when Ortega got distracted by a new round of drinks, she made her move. A subtle shift. A delicate reach beneath the table.

Gotcha.

Jeffrey moved at the same time, catching her wrist before she could unlock the case.

Her eyes snapped up to his, furious.

Jeffrey grinned. “Looking for something, sweetheart?”

Her breath hitched slightly, but she recovered fast.

“I don’t know, darling,” she whispered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Are you?”

Her fingers flexed beneath his, soft but lethal. He knew that if she wanted, she could have a knife against his throat in seconds.

And yet—

She didn’t pull away.

She held his gaze, lips parted slightly, and in that dimly lit space beneath the poker table, the tension between them crackled.

Then—

Emily

She grabbed his tie. Yanked him forward. And kissed him.

It was meant to be a distraction—quick, sharp, enough to catch him off guard.

But the second their lips met, everything shifted.

Jeffrey made a sound, low and rough, and suddenly his hands were on her—one gripping her waist, the other sliding up her back. He kissed her back, deep and slow, like he was savoring it.

Like he wanted this. Like she did.

Heat coiled in her stomach.

She was supposed to use this against him.

Instead, she found herself falling into it.

Then—

She took the drive.

Pulled back with a smirk. He blinked.

Then grinned.

“You’re dangerous.”

Emily winked. “And you’re slow.”

Then she slipped away.

Two days later, Jeffrey walked into CIA headquarters in D.C., ready to debrief.

And froze.

Because she was there.

Sitting at the same debriefing table.

Their eyes met.

Silence.

Then—

“You have got to be kidding me,” Emily groaned.

Jeffrey stared. Then burst out laughing.

“I'm Jeffrey. The agency sent us on the same mission?”

Emily dragged a hand down her face. “Emily. A clerical error.”

Jeffrey smirked. “I knew I liked you.”

Emily narrowed her eyes. “This means I technically won.”

He leaned in, voice dark with promise. “I don’t know, sweetheart… I think we both won that night.”

She rolled her eyes.

Then, just as she was about to stand, Jeffrey casually asked, “Should we tell them we hooked up?”

Emily nearly choked.

“Absolutely not,” she hissed.

Jeffrey grinned. “Shame. Would’ve made the paperwork more interesting.”

And as she walked away, he found himself already looking forward to their next mission. And so did she.

Double Crossed