After two years at the Agency, Annie's job hadn't gotten any better (or worse). Sure, it had it's downsides - namely, being shot at (or being shot), but the biggest one had to be the Agency parking lot.
She could never, ever find a parking spot
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Today was all going according to plan until he heard that unmistakable sound of his rear bumper coming into contact with someone else's front bumper.
When he got out of the car to see who it was he was not happy.
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Her smile was enough to infuriate him but he assumed that was going to just get what she wanted out of him, a reaction.
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Thankfully, she'd been driving the Golf and she still had the Corvette in reserve.
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She also wasn't wrong about the loaners either.
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He was sure she could, and it would allow him to side step a sexual harassment complaint that could be filed.
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She couldn't help but glance over the front of his slacks, her smile as tiny as she could make it. "It'll be the stuff of dreams for at least week."
With that out of her system, she pulled the door open and slid into her car.
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He wasn't planning on drawing attention to anything other than the accident. Everything else was just something that happened, nothing worth mentioning, so he thought right now.
Annie was his type though, at least physically. Younger than him and blonde.
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She hung up with no good news and sighed as she walked into the Agency. Bad day was worse and so she headed to the coffee stand. Ugh.
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Three hours, three dead informants, and a phone call to his insurance company later, he headed down to the Agency Starbucks. More coffee, that wasn't the swill they brewed on his floor was needed.
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Standing behind two other women who were the chatty type, she folded her arms across her chest and pretended to be focused on something other than whatever they were saying. There was no way she was getting dragged into the latest office gossip, no matter what it was. Even if they were talking about someone hitting Deputy Director Webb's half-million dollar car.
She groaned inwardly and took a step forward as one of them was forced to order.
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Instead, once Annie got to the front, he signaled to his favorite barista that he'd take care of the price of her coffee.
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However, when the barista handed over her cup without asking for payment, Annie held up her five dollar bill questioningly. The woman nodded to the man behind Annie and she turned, confused.
"That wasn't necessary," she said quietly, stuffing the five into the barista's tip jar. "But thank you."
She gave the barista a quick smile, then went to sit in her corner seat, quiet and away from everyone.
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He sat next to her, and said just that, followed by, "I don't plan on confirming any rumors about who hit my car."
The only thing that spread faster than news of a mole was good gossip and that car accident certainly qualified.
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Taking another, obviously very appreciated, drink of her coffee, she sighed and all flippancy and fight was gone. Her expression was entirely sincere when she spoke. "I really am sorry about your car. I've had kind of a bad morning, was running late and was cutting across the parking lot. I just wasn't looking where I was going."
She looked down at her cup. So much for not admitting guilt, but as far as she was concerned, taking that kind of responsibility was more important. And she was sorry. She gave a tiny snort of laughter as she raised the cup to take another drink. Catching his eye across the lid, she added, "Best defensive driving scores of all time at the Farm and I couldn't manage to miss someone backing out of a parking spot."
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His certainly hadn't, which is probably why he was less than careful when adjusting his parking. Three dead informants had a tendency to make a person distracted.
Annie's comment about her defensive driving scores made him chuckle, "It happens. It's why they call them accidents."
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