"So, are you like a secret agent?" she suddenly blurted out. He burst out laughing and he wasn't sure who was more shocked, him or her. He finally gestured for her to take a seat and she sat down.
"Not really. I used to be, though," he replied. Both her eyebrows went up.
"Really!?" she asked, and he laughed again.
"No. I mean, I did work for the FBI for a long time. Agent Carmello, at your service," he told her, and she smiled broadly.
"That's so cool! What did you do?" she asked, and he smiled as well. No one ever really asked about his time with the Bureau.
"I specialized in hostage situations, but I worked all kinds of stuff. Undercover stuff, narcotics stuff. I was sort of a jack-of-all-trades, if you will," he said. She looked impressed.
"Wow. So what are you doing here in Seattle, of all places? Shouldn't you be in DC or something?" she pressed, scooting her chair forward to get closer to his desk.
"They have offices all over the country - I spent most of my time at the San Francisco headquarters. But I finally had enough almost two years ago and resigned. Decided I wanted to be my own boss, moved up here and started this security business. We provide private security for people and locations. Took a while, but I've got a lot of other former agents working here, as well as some former marines and cops, all amazing at what they do," he told her.
"So you're kinda like the secret service, but for hire," she put it in to simple terms. He smiled and leaned back in his chair.
"Sure, you could say that. So, Ms. Carrington, what exactly do you do? Former CIA?" he joked, and she laughed again. It did something to his heart.
"Hardly. I've never even held a gun. I work at Benaroya Hall," she said.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Benaroya Hall? That gorgeous auditorium downtown? I work there, that's why I was wearing that stupid uniform yesterday," she said, and he chuckled.
"I've never been there, but I've been working non-stop for most of the time I've been here. Haven't really seen any of the sites," Mark explained.
"Oh, you must have. Pike's Market? The EMP Museum? Space Needle?" she asked, rolling her hand with each name. He shook his head.
"Nope. I've driven past the Space Needle," he offered. Her jaw dropped open.
"You haven't even been to the Space Needle. I can't believe it. That's it. What are you doing right now?" she demanded, jumping to her feet. He was caught off guard again.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
"You're clearly not busy if you have time to shoot the breeze with me. Get up, we're going to the Space Needle," she informed him.
Normally he would argue with anyone who ordered him to do something, but he found himself climbing to his feet. This tiny girl had a way of making him forget what was going on and what he was doing. He opened his mouth to ask a question but she whirled away, hanging his newly cleaned shirt on a coat rack.
"Wait. What are we doing?" he asked. She looked over her shoulder as she pulled open his door.
"We're going to go site seeing, it'll be fun. I'll be your tour guide. Don't you wanna go?" Pen asked.
She was still looking over her shoulder, her hair cascading down her back, curling at the ends. She had one leg bent, popping her hip out at an angle. His eyes traveled from her curvy backside down to her tan thighs, all the way to her strappy wedge sandals. When he finally looked back up at her face, her smile was gone. She almost looked a little nervous. Like she was looking at the big bad wolf. He cleared his throat and walked around his desk.
"Yes. Yes I do."