"Do whatever it takes."

That was the direct order, and you never, ever disobey direct orders. And if you do...well, you've never had the pleasure of meeting someone that's done it. You figure they don't get to live to tell the tale.

A stunning dress that was designed specifically to be taken off. Hair styled flawlessly, makeup done just enough. All eyes are on you, greedy, wanting. Devil in a red dress, they'll think. You look positively drop dead gorgeous. Of course, there's also the loaded gun at your disposal and a sharp knife. Deadly in the right hands. Your hands.

It's almost too easy at first. The mysterious woman with the blonde hair and a pair of eyes that hold countless secrets, an air of confidence and seriousness about her, telling everyone with the brains to look, that she's here for anything but a casual drink with half drunk businessmen. You've been trained to spot your targets from a mile away.

You glance at the bartender through a mirror. He gives you a look to let you know that it's her. Confirmation you didn't need.

She approaches the bar. Takes a seat not far from your own. You know who she's waiting for. He's dead. Police reports will say heart attack due to high cholesterol levels. The autopsy will confirm just that. But that's none of your concern right now. You have one target. One chance. Will you make it out alive. Dead. Alive. Dead. It's just like flipping a coin. The simple fact that you don't have any backup doesn't even tip the scale that much. If you're discovered, not even Superman can save you. It's why you wanted to do this in the first place.

There's none of the curt nods or the subtle signals seen in Hollywood movies. You know, like the back of your hand, to the exact minute, what's going to happen tonight. You know for a fact that the woman won't drink, she doesn't like to mix business with pleasure, neither do you.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

She turns and looks at you. Her face shows the tiniest hint of confusion that doesn't go by unnoticed by you. It's not your job to let things pass.

"Sorry, I'm meeting someone here."

"Annie's not going to show up, I'm afraid."

You can easily tell she's surprised. You're not him. You're standing in a spot not intended for you.

"Yet here you are." She calls for the bartender's attention. "I'll have a vodka martini, please."

It's water she just ordered.

"James Bond's drink," you comment casually, before asking for one yourself.

"I'm a big fan."

"What a coincidence, as am I."

Strangely enough, you're telling the truth. You watch as she takes a sip, her lipstick leaving an imprint on the rim of the glass.

You glance at your designer wrist watch, the time is not a second off. You turn your eyes back to the bar, seemingly looking at the expansive collection of wines, spirits and other alcohol they have here, pondering what lies ahead for you both in the next few hours of the night.

It doesn't even require special training to know she's staring intently at you. Not out of suspicion, but something else entirely. There's a spark in her eyes. It wasn't water she was served not five minutes ago.

You turn back to her and produce an object out of your purse, sliding it over to her.

"Let's go."

You tilt your head to the side quickly, gesturing for her to take the lead.

The two of you ride up to the very top floor. The enclosed space, you, the drink. It's getting to her. You can tell.

Everything is going exactly as planned.

The elevator pings, and she steps out quickly, taking a breath to steady herself. You successfully hide your smirk. You're not there yet. Not even close.

The top floor is quiet, the only sounds in the air are created by your breathing. There are no doubt thousand dollar paintings hug up on the walls, but you don't have time to appreciate the art.

You reach a door, and she pulls out a keycard that's not quite the same as those made to open every other room or suite in this hotel.

"Shall we?"

You both enter. The space is massive. The window is overlooking the magnificent view of the city down below. Innocent people, passing by, going on about their daily lives, oblivious to what's happening up above.

You steal a moment to take what could possibly your last look at the world. It's a nanosecond too long when you turn back around.

There's a gun pointed directly at your head.