OOPS! I'M A SECRET AGENT (Romance) Read online

  Text copyright © 2012 by De-ann Black

  Cover Design & Illustration © 2012 by De-ann Black

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written consent of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Toffee Apple Publishing 2012

  Oops! I'm A Secret Agent

  Toffee Apple Publishing

  The Oops! series

  Oops! I'm The Paparazzi

  Oops! I'm Up To Mischief

  Oops! I'm A Secret Agent

  Oops! I'm A Hollywood Agent

  Contents

  1 - It Was All Rupert’s Fault

  2 - The Heart Of The City

  3 - Welcome To The Department

  4 - Shopping And Spies

  5 - Heading To The Party

  6 - The Christmas Tree

  7 - A Gift From Under The Tree

  8 - You Promised Me A Dance

  9 - It Was Snowing

  10 - Shadows And Snow

  11 - A Cosy Night

  12 - Christmas

  About De-ann Black

  I blame the whole fiasco on Rupert. Yes, it was definitely his fault that I was sitting in the heart of the department in London waiting to see if I’d made the cut and been shortlisted for the job. Not just any job. This was a secret agent’s job. Whatever that was. Come on, we’ve all seen the movie version of what spies do — all grit, glamour and fast–action camera angles. But what do they really do? This was my second interview and I was still none the wiser. I’d have made more of an effort if I’d thought I was a serious contender, but I didn’t think I had a chance.

  I’m a serial job loser. I’ve been made redundant from more jobs than I can remember. Truly. My CV has lots of gaps because even I can’t keep up with the trail of employment debris. ‘Jenny the Jinx’, that’s what Rupert calls me, even though my name is Neve. He feels sorry for anyone who gives me a job because within a year their business has flushed itself down the loo — and me with it. I’ve always been adamant that it’s not my fault. But weighed down with guilt, yet again, I’d told Rupert I was going to become self–employed. I mistakenly thought I had a knack for art and design. I was going to create funky t–shirts and sell them online. Demand would quadruple. I was sure of it. So sure, I invested the last thousand pounds I had to my name buying a hot–press printer and t–shirts in every colour imaginable.

  When I lost every penny of my investment in record time he’d snorted and sneered as I looked through the job pages in the newspaper while we ate a very economical beans on toast dinner. He’d insisted we had to budget. His salary was great, but he was protecting it so we could keep up the payments on the mortgage of our home. Actually it was my home but he’d moved in three years ago and it just seemed like he owned it.

  Anyway, there was an advertisement in the paper for people to work for the department, vaguely described as part of British Intelligence. Secret stuff. It hardly seemed genuine. I mean, it was secretive. Would they really stick an advert in the newspaper for everyone to read? It was situated between a vacancy for a poodle parlour assistant and a barperson with a sparkling personality. But it was real. I said to Rupert that I’d like to give it a go (the secret department stuff, not the poodle parlour or sparkly barperson).

  He almost choked on his toast, and the sneer he gave me became the impetus for what happened.

  So that’s basically why it’s Rupert’s fault. If he’d laughed lightly, gave a little grin, or perhaps humoured me that I could have a go at this type of work then I’d never have bothered applying. However, I emailed my patchwork CV. I didn’t even have to write a letter, which added to the spur of the moment madness. And get this — they had a website. How can that be? That’s not very secretive, is it?

  Rupert continued to smirk whenever I checked my email in the wildest hope that they’d replied. I’d set myself a target. All I needed was a message, an acknowledgment that some secret agent had read my application and turned it down personally. Then I’d show Rupert that I’d got a message from the department’s headquarters in London. I never dreamed they would though. Never ever…

  But life is full of surprises. They replied the following day and invited me to come in for an interview. I nearly chickened out. Then Rupert came to bolster my determination yet again with a look of sheer indignation. He thought they’d obviously mixed me up with someone else. I only went to the interview to…I hate to admit this, but I really only went there so I could thumb my nose at Rupert and say — see, I met them, and had tea and biscuits and they were very nice.

  Which weirdly turned out to be what happened. They didn’t even ask me lots of prying questions. We chatted informally. Then they asked me to come back for a second interview. So I went. Several other hopefuls were waiting in the long, polished corridor that looked just like you see in the movies. I was the only woman. None of us spoke or acknowledged each other. I found that very strange and was tempted to get up and say something to lighten the mood, but I could see from their frowns, lack of laughter lines around the eyes and steely–set jaws that any silly behaviour would ensure I’d be thrown out of the building.

  As I sat there waiting to hear who had effectively won the star prize, trying not to giggle at how bizarre the situation was, I heard voices coming from the vent beside my chair. I was sitting apart from the others, and the voices were so faint that I had to strain to eavesdrop. But I’ve got good hearing. Excellent in fact.

  ‘I think we can narrow it down to these three,’ said a man who had a very snippy voice.

  ‘I can narrow it to two,’ said another man.

  ‘Apart from that one there, their qualifications are excellent,’ said the first man.

  A third man with a lusciously sexy voice disagreed. ‘They’re over qualified for the job. They’ll become malcontent and end up moving on. We need someone who’ll be happy with what we have to offer.’

  The others seemed to agree.

  ‘It’ll be far easier to train this one,’ Mr sexy voice added. ‘A clean slate.’

  I heard him stab his finger on the desk, presumably pointing to the applicant’s photograph. My photo was awful. I’d opened my mouth to ask if I should smile or not and they’d clicked the picture. I looked like I was pouting like a diva but without the stunning features to back it up. Not that I’m ugly. I’m pretty okay with a bit of effort. However I made a mental note not to pull my silky brown hair back into a chignon when I looked so pale, and if I wanted my blue eyes to look better I needed a second coat of mascara. And a slick of lip gloss wouldn’t have gone amiss. I’d worn a black suit and opted for a businesslike look though inside I was more of a high street fashion chick.

  There was some mumbling and a lot of humming and hawing, and then they all seemed to agree on one candidate.

  ‘This would be my choice,’ the snippy voice said firmly. ‘What do you think, Alexavier?’

  Alexavier? I’d read on the information sheet that he was the head guy of this particular department. His decision would be final. Apparently only those who passed muster got to meet him, so I’d yet to make his acquaintance. I glanced at the men who were waiting to see if they’d been selected, and was trying to guess which one they were talking about. Probably the studious looking chap in the brown suit. He didn’t look like a malcontent to me. The others were rather too sophisticated with qualifications up to their ears if their bulging portfol
ios were anything to go by. Mr Brown Suit had his resume stuffed in his jacket pocket. Yep, he was my bet.

  Alexavier mumbled something. I couldn’t make out what it was. I was too busy mentally matching the sexy voice to the man who was the head of the department. He wasn’t the head of the whole thing, just this niche. Then he said, ‘This is the one for me.’

  ‘Why would you choose this one, Alexavier?’ one of them asked.

  ‘Because she’s completely forgettable,’ said Alexavier. ‘No one will remember her and that’s exactly what we need.’

  She? Her? Oh jeez! It couldn’t possibly be me.

  ‘Look at her interests,’ said Alexavier. ‘Reading, she says she enjoys reading everything. Word search puzzles and timing herself to see how fast she can finish them. Keeping fit by dancing around her living room every day to fitness DVDs and by shopping.’

  ‘She keeps fit by shopping?’ one of them said. I heard the diss in his tone.

  ‘The mind boggles,’ said Alexavier. ‘But she passed the fitness tests. She’s extremely fit and outdid all the men.’

  So that’s why they’d put me on the treadmill for half an hour and told me to go for gold.

  ‘I must give up the gym and trying shopping,’ one of them joked.

  A light laughter rippled through to me.

  ‘Basically she’s a bookworm with an analytical mind. She wouldn’t be bored by all the documents and research data she’d have to read through, and she’s pretty damn fit if she was to be used out in the field,’ Alexavier summarised.

  The field? What field? No one mentioned the countryside to me.

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ snippy voice agreed.

  ‘She’d be ideal for deskbound duties,’ said Alexavier. ‘And fieldwork.’

  The door to the interview office clicked open and two men came out. One of them spoke.

  ‘Thank you for waiting. We’ve made our decision.’ He turned to me. ‘Neve, congratulations.’

  There was a low rumbling of seats as the male applicants got the message and started to leave. The looks they gave me could’ve curdled jelly.

  My stomach did a triple somersault.

  The man nodded to me and held the office door open.

  I picked up my bag and walked towards the office.

  This was crazy. Crazy brilliant. Then I remembered the reason I’d been chosen. I was completely forgettable. There had to be a compliment in there somewhere. I was still searching for it when the tall, dark and heartbreakingly handsome figure of Alexavier shook my hand and welcomed me to the department.

  Rupert didn’t take the news well. When I told him I started a week on Monday, he packed his bags and was gone by Tuesday. That was the last I saw of him. Apparently his ego was dented beyond repair. I was left with the feeling that I’d had a narrow escape. Rupert wasn’t the man I thought he was. Rupert was a weasel. In fact, when he did that snorting, disapproving thing with his nose, he looked like one too. I was also left with the full brunt of the mortgage to pay.

  I sat on the sofa and pondered my options. I’d never really had any true intention of working for the secret people. My silliness had gone too far. But I did need a job. I didn’t have any money left in the bank. Working as a poodle parlour assistant wasn’t an option. And as for the sparkly barperson…well, I’d tried bar work once. Only once. I couldn’t mix the cocktails, I messed up the money and unintentionally insulted two customers. The boss told me I should never come back. I never did.

  In my hands I had the contract for the department’s work. The money was tempting and I got the use of a car. I’d have been mad to say no, sorry, I was just kidding, and somehow run after Rupert and tell him I’d rattled back down the loser’s ladder to a rung he felt comfortable with.

  Working as a secret agent? I would have a go at that. They were promising to train me, teach me everything I needed to know.

  So that was it. Somehow I’d become a secret agent by default, by accident. Oops! I’m a secret agent. I was now officially employed by the department. Jenny the Jinx was on her way.

  ‘You’ll spend most of your time working in the burrows,’ my mentor, as they described him, informed me when I started working for them. His name was Jenkins.

  The offices were set deep below the streets of London, in the heart of the city, out of sight of everyone and yet right under their noses. One of the most secretive departments wasn’t hidden in some fenced off secure compound or disguised as an ordinary business on the outskirts of the city. No, they’d cleverly situated it in the main hub of everything, thereby making it blend into the cityscape. It was every building, no building, indefinable, where it began, what windows belonged to it, what offices it occupied was anyone’s guess. That’s if they even knew it existed, which few did. Only those who entered its unobtrusive entrance, a single door, plainly painted without embellishment, knew what a labyrinth of intrigue and intelligence thrived inside its bland exterior. Very clever, I thought, but of course they were.

  When I say, they, I refer to the several men whose acquaintance I was privy to. This included Alexavier. I hadn’t met him since our initial chat when they’d welcomed me to the department. But his handsomeness was burned into my psyche. And I’d seen photographs of him in my induction files. He was a stunning looking man. Well over six feet tall, as were most of them. I’m a petite five–four. His hair was light brown, straight, beautifully cut with sexy strands that emphasised his incredible blue eyes. Aqua blue, long dark lashes, and brows that swept up slightly and seemed to draw the line of his cheekbones with them. His jaw was strong but refined. He looked like money, with pale skin that I pictured would turn to sand gold if it saw a bit of sun. His hair certainly looked like it had lightened in the sun. Touches of blond were streaked through the brown. It was winter now, late November, and soon he’d have the blond trimmed out, the last remnants of a long, warm summer swept away.

  You can tell that I was totally taken by Alexavier’s looks. And that was his face. His physique made an equal impact. He’d worn a suit, even more beautifully cut than his hair. Bespoke tailored no doubt. Charcoal grey, white shirt, silk tie. But I noticed an air of fitness and strength about him. His suit covered his broad shoulders and his shirt was smooth against a flat stomach. He looked like he could run like the wind, probably with the strength and stamina to carry me over his shoulder at the same time.

  Yes…he was a looker. Just don’t touch. No one came within his personal space. The men in the office that day had been like satellites around him. Alexavier, as head of the department, a man in his mid thirties I estimated, had the power, and their behaviour appeared to acknowledge it.

  That didn’t stop me thinking about running my hands through that lovely hair of his, or how his lips, such sensual lips, would feel if he kissed me. He didn’t smile a lot. In fact, I only know for sure that his teeth are nice and white because I was watching his mouth as he looked down and spoke to me. I was fascinated with his lips. Very, very, kissable.

  It was just as well I hadn’t seen Alexavier since our first meeting because if he’d been telling me what to do, training me in whatever I needed to learn, my mind would’ve drifted to naughty thoughts and that was no use at all because I’d decided to give this job one hundred per cent. Secret agent? Bring it on. Why the change of attitude? Why not? I’d had time to ponder the possibilities. Maybe this was the chance I’d been needing? Perhaps I’d leave my Jenny the Jinx persona behind and become Jenny the…I don’t know. Perhaps not Jenny at all. Neve the secret agent. That sounded more like it.

  ‘…and so that’s what I’d like you to concentrate on this morning,’ said Jenkins.

  Damn! I hadn’t listened to what he’d said.

  Jenkins was a distinguished gentleman in his early fifties. He didn’t seem to resent that I was there, but I did sense that he’d sussed out my limitations and was working around them.

  ‘We’re all adept at some things, Neve,’ he said. If he’d found out what I was ad
ept at he’d been keeping quiet about it.

  I’d been given a desk in a part of the burrows off of one of the main corridors. There were plenty of those. I’d yet to find my desk first time. It took three different routes and a couple of pointing fingers to show me where it was.

  ‘Okay,’ Jenkins said patiently. ‘You’ve got no sense of direction, but what do you have?’

  I could hear the wheels grind trying to find something useful. Baking shortbread wouldn’t cut it here. Or being able to go for days on a few hours stolen sleep, or my ability to read the television guide and remember most of the programmes I wanted to watch for the next week, including repeats. That wouldn’t impress the likes of Jenkins. Did men like him, or Alexavier, even watch television? Did they? Or were they too busy sorting out the world behind the secret doors of power? Probably the latter.

  Jenkins waited on a response.

  ‘Well…’ I said. ‘I’m great at finding things, things that are lost, things that others can’t see.’

  This sounded so tame, but it was all that I could come up with. He was lucky I hadn’t brought up about my knack for sensing when I’m being watched.

  ‘Hmm…’ Jenkins said, rubbing a thoughtful finger along his chin. ‘That could be very useful. What else?’

  My bag of assets was empty, so I offered the being watched thing.

  ‘How do you know when someone is watching you?’ he said.

  ‘It’s…like a spider sense, a shiver up my back, a sense that someone’s eyes are on me.’

  He nodded.

  As if to prove that this was true, a warning stabbed right through me, and I turned around to see Alexavier standing further along the corridor watching us. Watching me. My office wasn’t enclosed. Instead it was alcoved, part of the niches inset within one of the main corridors.

  Jenkins laughed.

  Alexavier didn’t. I’d still to see those lips of his smile. He looked as sexy and handsome as when I’d first met him.