600. Chapter 600

Maggie makes the way-too-attractive-for-her-own-good woman three blocks back.

She makes her because the woman is cocky, the woman is confident. Too confident.

Confident that Maggie won’t notice that she’s been following her, that she’s been stopping to look at her phone, leaning too-casually on lampposts, whenever Maggie stops to chat with the guys running the halal stands and newspaper stands.

So Maggie turns a block. She turns and she doesn’t keep walking. She waits.

She waits until the redhead – is her hair actually red? Maggie can’t quite tell – turns the corner, too.

And then Maggie deliberately bumps into her, spilling the contents of the purse that she hates carrying, but hey, burdens of the gig, of playing her part.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” she says, scrambling to pick up her things, her voice an octave higher than it would normally be, playing every bit the clumsy, innocent personal trainer on her way home from work.

“No, hey, you’re okay. Here,” the redhead offers, and sure enough, Maggie watches the woman’s eyes memorize everything on her splayed-open wallet.

Everything about her cover-story, that is.

“Maggie,” the woman smiles as she hands Maggie back her things.

Her first name. The one thing that’s the same. That’s hers.

She blushes, and her stomach lurches when she realizes it’s not an act. That it’s not because she’s trying to keep this woman who’s been following her off her guard; it’s not because she’s trying to throw this woman off track.

It’s because this woman’s eyes are the most beautiful she’s ever seen, and when she put her spilled wallet back into her hands, their fingers brushed, and Maggie suddenly wants to do more than brush fingers with this woman.

She swears internally. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to try to ascertain this woman’s motives, to get a better glimpse of her.

Because apparently, a better glimpse might be the death of her.

She locks her hair behind her ear and she giggles softly, irritated to find that the giggle, the blush, isn’t part of the job.

“My hero,” she grins.

“Hardly,” the woman answers, standing and offering a hand to pull Maggie back to her feet. Maggie accepts, and there’s that heat again. “I’m the one who barreled into you and made you drop everything.”

Maggie arches an eyebrow and tilts her head. She thinks the other woman is starting to blush, but she can’t be sure.

Good.

“You think it’s your fault?” she asks with a small smile. “Okay then. Make it up to me. I know a fantastic bar around the corner. But me a drink…”

“Alex. The name’s Alex.”

Maggie licks her lips and lets her eyes trail up and down Alex’s body.

She takes in a wealth of information; Alex is standing with more weight on her right foot than the other. Could mean she’s right-side dominant, but she picked up Maggie’s things with her left hand, so it could also mean that she’s sporting some kind of soreness or injury on her left leg. She’s taller than Maggie, but not enough to make a huge difference in a fight.

She’s gorgeous. She’d look incredible naked. Maggie would love to see her naked.

She chides herself.

Mission, mission, mission.

Find out as much as you can about this woman who’s been following you. Don’t let her find out anything real about you.

But god, the things you’d like her to find out about you.

Mission. Mission. Mission.

“Well, Alex. Wanna make it up to me then?”

“It’d be my honor,” Alex half-bows, offering an arm out for Maggie to take. She gulps and she takes it and she swears she can handle this.

She swears she knows what she’s doing.

But then Alex grins down at her, and suddenly she’s not quite so sure.