The Man Who Knew Too Little

Marcus wasn't a spy. That was the first thing he'd told Elena when they met at the corporate retreat in Cancún. She'd laughed, tipping her cocktail toward him.

"You have that look," she'd said. "The way you watch everyone when they think you're not looking."

Now, three days later, they were swimming together in the infinity pool at midnight. The water was impossibly warm, like bathwater that had been sitting too long. Beyond the pool's edge, the Caribbean stretched dark and endless, a void that seemed ready to swallow them both.

Elena floated on her back, her hair spreading like dark ink. "You never told me what you actually do, Marcus."

He tread water beside her. "Competitive intelligence."

She laughed, water splashing her lips. "That's a fancy word for corporate spy."

"I gather information. legally. Ethically. There's a difference."

"Is there?" She turned onto her stomach, swimming closer. The pool lights made her skin glow. "You're still watching people. Waiting for them to make mistakes."

Marcus felt something tighten in his chest. "Sometimes I'm trying to protect them."

"From what?"

"Themselves."

She reached out, her palm against his cheek. Her touch was warm and soft and utterly devastating. "And what about you, Marcus? Who's watching you?"

The question hit harder than it should have. Maybe because he knew the answer.

Earlier that evening, he'd accessed her company's secure server. Found the emails she'd sent to his competitor. The resignation letter she'd drafted but never submitted. The transfer request to London, effective immediately after this conference.

She was leaving him before they'd really begun.

"Marcus?" Elena's voice softened. "You disappeared inside your head again."

He took her hand, interlacing their fingers. She was using him—that much was clear. Gathering intelligence on his firm's upcoming merger, planning her exit strategy. But as she pulled him closer in the dark water, her breath warm against his neck, Marcus found he didn't care.

Some things were worth being stolen for.

"I'm here," he said. "I'm right here."

And for tonight, beneath the Mexican moon, that lie was enough truth for both of them.