"How's the reading?" I ask Jennifer, who has just come out of the courtroom. She's so tense and scared that she screams at the top of her lungs. The police officers guarding her are instantly triggered and point their guns at me.
"Hey... hey... take it easy," I say to them while raising both my hands.
"Jesus Christ! Why did you surprise me like that?!" Jennifer scolds me. Then she says to the officers, "It's okay, gentlemen. I know him. He's a friend."
"You're so tense," I remark with a grin.
"Imagine being the one targeted for murder—tell me, can you really stay relaxed?" she grumbles.
"Relax... you're no longer in danger," I assure her. She squints her eyes.
"What are you talking about?" she asks, confused.
"The reading is over, right? His time is up," I reply.
"So, if his time is up, he won't come after me anymore? I'm afraid he'll become even more obsessed," she says, clearly not trusting me.
"Just... trust me on this, okay?" I assure her.
"How can you be so sure?" she asks, interrogatively.
"He's an assassin. He kills because someone pays him. His work has a deadline. Once his time is up, he won't go after you because he won't get paid—even if he manages to kill you."
"How do you know so much about assassins?" she asks, growing even more curious. I shrug.
"I learned it from movies." My answer makes her roll her eyes. Even though she doesn't let her guard down until they reach the police car, I manage to relax her a bit.
"Do you mind if we have dinner?" she suddenly asks once inside the car. I raise an eyebrow. "I mean, to properly show my gratitude for your help," she continues. "Belladrick is guilty as charged, and that wouldn't have happened without your help."
I shrug again. "Sure," I reply.
"Great," she responds, then hands me a name card. "Please contact me so we can arrange a time and place." Then she closes the door, and the car drives away.
-
The dinner is set for two days later. She chooses a luxurious restaurant where, no matter how rich you are, you won't be admitted unless you're properly dressed. So, I have to wear my formal suit—and I hate wearing suits.
When I arrive, she's already there, wearing a formal yet simple black dress. The dress features a Sabrina neckline with spaghetti straps. Her neck is adorned with a diamond necklace, and her hair is styled up.
"You look good in a suit," she compliments me.
"You look beautiful as well," I reply politely.
The dinner starts off awkwardly, but it improves after her third glass of wine. The wine loosens her up, and she begins to talk a lot—mostly about her work and some law jokes that, honestly, I have trouble understanding.
"So, what do you do, Bennet?" she asks.
"I'm a freelancer," I lie with a straight face—I've told that lie more than a thousand times already.
"Interesting," she says, taking the bill offered by a waiter and simply signing it—seemingly a member of the restaurant. She then sips her last glass of wine. "What kind of projects do you usually do?" she asks more intently.
"Nothing special... just eliminating people," I answer casually. As expected, her eyes bulge, but when she sees me laughing, she giggles. "I just do random stuff... things that people can't do on their own," I add.
"You can't be good at everything," she says in disbelief.
"I'm not, of course. I have a team—we're each good at our own skills," I reply.
"What are you good at?" she asks again.
"Sex," I answer plainly. She laughs.
"You're funny, Bennet," she says between laughs. I simply smirk.
I stand and pull out her chair as she begins to rise. "Thank you. That's so nice of you," she says with a softened glare.
I walk her to her car. The view of her from behind is very alluring. Her simple black dress isn't so simple after all—it features a very low back cut that only covers from her waist down, showcasing her back to the fullest. She has a sexy back.
"It's been a nice dinner," I say—a signal that it's time to say goodbye as we arrive at her car.
"It really has," she responds, staring at me in a daze.
"Are you sure you can drive?" I ask.
"Sure... sure," she says, then walks to the car door. She tries to open it, but fails—the door won't open. She attempts again, only to trigger the car alarm. I sigh.
"Let me drive you home," I say, taking the key from her hand. I press the button to disable the alarm and unlock the car. I then help her into the passenger seat before settling myself behind the wheel.
She sleeps throughout the entire journey to her home. Fortunately, her address is saved in the car's GPS. To my surprise, she lives in an elite apartment building. Her family must be rich—there's no way her salary as a D.A. could afford such a place.
In the parking basement, I wake her up. She invites me in for coffee, and I agree, entering her apartment.
-
"Wow, this coffee is really great," I compliment as I sip.
"I told you I have the best coffee," she says, then sits beside me on the couch, sipping her own mug.
"So... I won't see Jeanny again after this, huh?" I ask after a while, raising one corner of my lips. She nods.
"Yeah, Jeanny has done her duty," she says, nodding again.
"To be honest," I say, pausing to sip my coffee, "I hope you don't take offense, but I like Jennifer's appearance a lot more than Jeanny's."
"Thank you," she replies softly.
"Yeah... but I like Jeanny's personality more," I add, glancing at her for a reaction. She doesn't seem angry or insulted. I sip my coffee again.
"Tell me... how can you be so natural playing Jeanny? I mean, both of you are bold, but Jeanny is so aggressive, wild, and... flirty," I ask.
Jennifer turns to me. "Would you believe me if I told you that Jeanny is actually the real me?" she asks. I don't respond—inside, I don't believe it.
"The legal world is a man's world. A woman is considered too weak and emotional, so I learned to act more like them—logical, cold, ruthless," she explains, then sighs. "I guess... I got carried away."
"Actually, men think more with their dicks than with their brains," I remark, chuckling.
"I'm surprised you admit that," she says amusedly. I shrug.
"You've already proven it," I remind her of that shameful night. She laughs.
She continues laughing as she runs her hand through her hair. "You're so funny, Bennet," she says.
"You don't even say sorry," I pout theatrically.
"Do you still want your compensation?" she asks. My eyes light up for a moment as I notice her blushing cheeks. I reach for her cheek, softly tugging a few strands of hair near her ear.
"Nah... dinner is enough," I tell her afterward. She looks at me in surprise, perhaps a little hurt by my rejection. I glance at my watch. "It's late—I have work tomorrow," I continue before finishing my coffee. "Thanks for the coffee. It really is delicious."
I stand and walk to the front door. Just as I'm about to open it, something—well, someone—pushes me toward the door. I turn, and at that very moment, a pair of lips attacks mine
Both of her hands cradle my face as her lips crush into mine—hungry, insistent. She's still in her heels, making her nearly eye-level with me. We kiss like we're trying to drown in each other.
Clothes come off in a clumsy blur. My jacket hits the floor. Her fingers tug my shirt open while I unzip her dress. Her skin is warm under my palms. She gasps as I kiss along her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone.
She turns me around, pressing me against the door, racing to strip faster. I don't intend to lose. More clothes drop. We're both half-naked, tangled together, breathless.
I lift her up. She wraps around me. "Bed?" I ask.
"Left," she says between kisses. "No—my left."
I chuckle and carry her to the bedroom. We fall into the bed, lips still locked, hands still exploring.
She gasps when I trail lower, every inch of her reacting to my touch. She closes her eyes, chest rising fast.
Then, just before I go further, she murmurs, "Please… be gentle."
"I can't promise that," I reply, half-teasing.
"I… I'm still a virgin."
I freeze.
"You're serious?"
She nods, cheeks flushed. "I was raised Catholic. I thought I'd wait. But I'm already in my late twenties... and I just wanted to let it go."
I let out a breath and sit up.
"What's wrong ?" She asks.
"I don't do virgin," I say, trying hard to hide my disappointment
No matter how much my body wants this, I already know how it ends.
Without a word, I start dressing.
She doesn't stop me.
Later that night, I slump onto my couch, still in a daze. I left my motorbike at the restaurant, but I couldn't care less.
Part of me regrets walking away. She was incredible. The heat still lingers in my blood.
But then I remind myself—I've been here before.
Twice, I slept with virgins who swore it meant nothing. Said they just wanted to get it over with. We agreed on a one-night thing. Then came the calls. The tears. The "Why aren't you texting back?" messages. Jealousy over other women. Guilt-tripping. Emotional landmines.
They said they were ready. But they weren't. And I ended up being the bad guy.
That's why I made myself a rule: No virgins. Too much baggage.
And Jennifer? She's not someone I can ghost or shut out. She's smart. She matters. And that's exactly why I had to stop.
Still, the tension in my body refuses to leave.
I grab a cold beer from the fridge, switch on the TV, and open a private browser tab. An old playlist plays—a standard escape. I hit play on a familiar video, lean back, and slide my hand down.
But as the scene starts, I feel my focus slip. My eyes close.
And just like that, her face appears.
Not the actress on screen—Jennifer.
Her voice, her scent, the way she kissed me like the world was ending. Her lips. Her skin.
I try to shake her image off, but it's useless. She's burned into my brain.
But even so, I don't stop.
A few minutes later, I'm done. And the couch is a mess.
I wipe myself off, toss the tissue, and let out a sigh.
Whatever. Tomorrow's another night.