"Hello?" God, even her greeting was a crisp warning. He set down his glass of bourbon—a proper glass, for once—on the coffee table. He figured he would do this in the living room, use the damn space once in a while.
"Kate. It's Agent Gibbs."
"How did you get this number?" He would have preferred a different response, but she was Secret Service. Ex-Secret Service.
"You think it's difficult for an investigator to get someone's number?"
"Touché." Her tone shifted into something with a little more pleasure in it, something that sparked down his spine. "So is this to make me a proper job offer?"
"Figured we could skip the actual proposal and just discuss the terms."
"You're an arrogant bastard." There was a breath of a laugh.
"So I've been told." He grinned.
"I'm sure. How many wives?" Strange question for someone he would otherwise swear was flirting with him. She was good, though. Even more of a catch than he had thought.
"What gave it away?"
"You're attractive enough to get a woman to fall for you, but difficult enough to drive them away after a while. And you don't strike me as the kind of guy to play around, or do things halfway."
"Are you a profiler, by any chance?"
"I've had some training." Her tone was almost coy. Almost.
"You don't just get some training in the Secret Service."
"Touché."
"Is that going to be your favorite response? I can't work with someone who just agrees with me all the time. That's not the kind of job this is."
"My response depends on what I hear. So far I haven't been hearing anything that would merit a different one."
This conversation was killing him.
"How about you come in to NCIS central offices tomorrow to sign the contracts? I'll leave your name at the gate."
"E-mail me them tonight. I'm sure you can find that piece of information, too. I'll take a look at them in advance."
"Initiative. I like to see that."
"You don't get where I am—was—without it." He heard her swallow. But he wouldn't coddle her and he would bet she didn't want it.
"You could go far in NCIS, with some training."
"I can go far anywhere I want to."
You don't have to prove yourself to me almost ran over his tongue, and then he ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth and thought the better of it.
"So do you make a habit of getting your current wife to pick you up from work? Nice car, by the way. I wasn't aware that was within investigative agents' pay grade."
"Wife? You want me to believe you didn't notice I wasn't wearing a ring?"
"I noticed." Her voice was slightly husky, and she cleared her throat.
Damn right she noticed, with some of the glances she had given him on the actual Air Force One when she thought he wasn't looking. On the Alpha Foxtrot 29000, too.
"She's not my girlfriend, either."
"You seemed to know each other well." Cautiously, lightly, an I might give a damn but you'll never know tone.
It wasn't really any of her business. "Not a girlfriend."
"Double-check, don't take someone's word for it. Wasn't that one of those things you tried to teach me?"
"I succeeded."
Her breathy half-laugh did things to his insides.
"I also told you, if you pulled that kind of crap at NCIS, I wouldn't give you a chance to resign." He needed the reminder.
"What—that's the only time I've ever done anything like that." She exhaled, sniffled, and he heard liquid being poured into a glass. "If you're going to hold that over me the entire time I'm there, I might as well not start."
He softened his tone, feeling like an ass. He was one, but he didn't often feel like it. "That's not what I meant, Kate. I'm sorry, about Major Kerry. And you won't hear about it again from me."
"Good. I'm not even at NCIS yet."
"That's the problem." She wasn't off-limits yet, but she should be, she would be when she started putting those instincts and balls and smarts to work for his team. He wanted her in so many different ways. And there he felt like an ass again. Her lover had just died.
"Pardon me?"
"I want you to work for me."
"There we go." She still sounded subdued.
"What?"
"Sometimes a woman likes to hear it put explicitly. With a little less of the assumption it's already a done deal."
"I have three ex-wives, Kate. Do you really think I'm that bad at propositioning a woman?"
She exhaled. He might have been flattering himself to think it was shaky, but he wanted to think he could affect her like that.
"Well, since they're ex-wives…" A challenge, a pause, and he heard her take a drink of something.
"But no, Gibbs, I don't think you're that bad at it, or that you would hesitate to go after what you want." It wasn't breathy, but it had a stilted rhythm that sent a heady warmth curling in his gut.
The bourbon's burn helped to clear his head, and while he was fishing in the silence for something to say—to figure out what would be wise to say—her voice muddled him up again. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"With or without a hangover?"
"Good question. I guess I'll be on the job the moment I sign that contract, won't I?" He heard her take another gulp, then the clink of a glass on some surface.
"You sure will be."
"Without, then."
"Good." The rules are there for a reason, Marine.
More silence, then a sigh. "Good night, Gibbs."
"Good night, Kate."
He set down his phone. The bourbon tasted like sawdust and missed opportunities.
Author's Note: So I was trying to write something else and this happened. No clue what it is. Yay for banter and a touch of angst?