I couldn't tell which was louder: the beating of my heart or the clicking of the Secretary's typewriter. In fact that typewriter is the only proof that I wasn't in a psych ward. The walls are painted a soft white, the molding stained a cherry-wood red, and on the walls hung incredibly accurate copies of a Rembrandt portrait and Monet's "Water Lilies" painting.

The only interaction between me and the pretty secretary was a polite "how do you do?" and her asking me to take a seat because it would be a minute. I tried to make polite conversation but she just smiled that perfect white smile but didn't reply. Strange. I gave up on the conversation and decided to occupy my mind by focusing on the reason for even being here.

I thought I was just interviewing for a housekeeper position for a wealthy man. But with how many security measures I passed through I started to wonder what the position was. Maybe I would keep house for a former President! Doubt it. My life isn't that exciting.

My eyes focused back on Monet across from me. I'll admit that art wasn't my favorite subject in school, but something about the painting made me wonder if it really was a copy or even a forgery! I stood to get a closer look at the painting. The strokes were practically perfect, in fact they looked textured. I couldn't stop myself from reaching out, I felt the slight texture of dried paint. No way!

"Beautiful isn't it," I heard a husky voice ask. The voice scared me so badly that I as I turned I tripped over my own feet and found myself plummeting toward the floor. I barely registered the gasp of the secretary as I braced for impact with the shag carpet. That impact was thwarted by two strong arms. I looked up thinking that the man whose voice frightened me is the one that caught me, but there was two men besides the one working quickly to set me back on my feet.

"You alright, Miss," asked the gentleman whose hands were still on me. His voice sounded foreign, almost...Russian. I nodded to him and his hands dropped away. My hips, were they had been resting, felt chilly. Curious.

I turned to the other two and flash an embarrassed smile. "It is quite beautiful. It is one of my favorites that I remember from Art History in school." I took a deep breath and decided to bold. I've got nothing to lose now. "It's the original, isn't it?"

All three seemed astonished. The secretary smile at me brightly. I knew she was on my side for the moment. The first gentleman with the husky voice answered me. "That is quite right, my dear." The thick English accent told me that he was the man that I was here to see. "You have a good eye."

I smirked, "Now if I can just stay on my feet I'd be the perfect girl." A cheesy joke but at least I could make the joke. The three gentleman laughed with me out of politeness. The third, which had been standing in silence up till now, stepped forward.

"We can't judge your feet at the moment, you were startled." Finally an American! He flashed me a charming smirk as he picked up my hand to kiss the back of it. "Napoleon Solo," he introduced.

"You never cease to disappoint, Napoleon," the Russian called out. He too turned to me with a meek smile. "I am Illya Kuryakin."

"Yes, yes now that we are all good friends you gentlemen are going to have to leave. You have work to do." The Englishman ordered. The two men bowed slightly and left without objection. "They are two of my best workers but they can be easily distracted sometimes. Anyway, shall we get started, my dear?" He offered his arm and escorted me into the office. I took a quick look over our arms to get a quick look at the two men. The Russian had looked back to me too, but snapped forward when he saw that I'd caught him.