Corporate Espionage & Cat Food

Elena hated her job. That wasn't unusual, but the dossier on her desk made it worse. Her boss wanted her to spy on Marcus, the charming senior VP who'd been spotted at competitor headquarters. The request came with a thinly veiled threat: do it, or join the next round of layoffs.

She agreed to "volunteer" at the company charity padel tournament where Marcus would be playing. Spy work wasn't in her job description, but neither was unemployment.

The game was brutal. Marcus played with aggression that bordered on violence, his shirt soaked through by the third set. Elena, barely keeping up, caught him watching her with calculating eyes between points. He knew she was hiding something, but she couldn't tell if he suspected corporate espionage or just bad form.

"Your swing's all wrist," he said afterward, handing her a water bottle. "Want to grab dinner? I make a mean spinach and feta omelet."

His apartment smelled faintly of wet dog and expensive cologne. A golden retriever named Buster greeted her with enthusiasm while a sleek black cat watched from the top of the refrigerator. Marcus moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, the knife making rhythmic clicking sounds against the cutting board.

"So," he said, cracking eggs into a bowl, "who sent you?"

Elena's heart stalled. "What?"

"Corporate Security? HR? Or maybe one of the board members who thinks I'm stealing trade secrets?" He didn't look up from the spinach he was chopping. "Buster's a retired K-9 unit. He can smell surveillance from three blocks away. He alerted on you the moment you walked into the tournament."

Elena felt sick. "I'm not—"

"You're wearing a wire." He finally looked at her, something like disappointment in his eyes. "I checked in the locker room while you were showering. Two transmitters, one backup. Either you're the worst spy in history, or you didn't want this assignment."

The spinach sizzled in the pan. Buster whined softly, pressing his nose against her leg. The cat stretched, yawning.

"I have a mortgage," Elena whispered. "And student loans. And my mother's medical bills."

"I know." Marcus plated the omelet, slid it across the counter toward her. "I ran a background check this afternoon. You're good at your job, Elena. Loyal. Creative. That's why I chose you for my team."

"Your—what?"

"The new project. The one that's actually going to compete with our old company, not steal from it." He smiled, tired but genuine. "Eat. We start tomorrow."