His Spy at Night (Spy Games Book 3) by Paula Altenburg

morning, he called her into his office. She looked tired and he wondered what she’d been up to all weekend. Irritation over the list of possibilities assaulting his imagination made him abrupt. Whatever it was, it must have been fun.
    “I’m taking you to dinner,” he said. “There are a few things we need to discuss about your performance.” That was the code they’d established for anything important they didn’t want overheard in the office.
    Her blue eyes lit up like those of a cat ready to pounce. She had zero respect for him or his position, especially when they were alone, and he’d learned to be wary of that particular glint in her eye.
    She tucked a short, bouncy blond ringlet behind her ear. The diamond studs twinkled. “I’ll run home at five o’clock to change and then meet you back here.”
    He saw no need for her to change. Her plan to do so further triggered alarms. She wore gray leggings and a black-and-gray striped tunic paired with wine-colored leather boots and clunky silver bracelets on both slender wrists. “What you have on is fine.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding. My father would have a heart attack if I went out for a business dinner dressed like this.”
    Whenever she brought up the fictitious father he knew he was in trouble. Yet in spite of it he was intrigued, curious to see where she was headed. “I thought we’d go somewhere casual.”
    “I don’t believe you know what that word means.” She perched on the corner of his desk, making herself comfortable and him infinitely less so. “Tell you what. If you come by my flat around seven, I’ll cook dinner for you instead.”
    Harry wasn’t especially great at witty repartee, but this one had been handed to him. “You can cook?”
    She shrugged, a light lifting of one shoulder. “How hard can it be?” He had no quick comeback for that and she laughed. “Relax, Harry. Yes, I can cook. We’re having steaks. You can bring a bottle of wine if you like. I won’t have anything that’s up to your standards.”
    Dinner in private with a beautiful woman who worked for him would be inappropriate, and under normal circumstances he’d never suggest it. But, considering the conversation they needed to have, it might be for the best. Still, letting her get her own way entirely wasn’t a safe thing to do.
    “I’m not a wine snob.” He wasn’t a snob at all, or at least he liked to believe that he wasn’t, and it annoyed him that she was constantly alluding to it with these little digs. “I wasn’t born into money, Lies. I worked for this position.” He got in a dig of his own. “The same, I’m sure, as you worked for yours.” Since she was currently pretending to be someone whose father had earned her this position, she could hardly rebut.
    Lies patted the desk. “In that case, there’s no need for you to bother with wine. I have a lovely bottle I picked up at the market.” Her lips curved into a bright smile as she stood. “See you at seven.”
    And with that, Harry decided as the door closed behind her, he’d just lost any advantage he might have held. He drummed his fingertips on his thigh.
    He was taking that bottle of wine.

Chapter Four

    Things were finally progressing with Vanderloord. No matter how hard she pushed, nothing else would have made Harry agree to come to her place for dinner.
    Lies was relieved. The embassy was dull as dirt. She wasn’t meant to work in an office day in and day out. Life was too short.
    She stopped at the market on her way home to purchase the steaks she’d promised Harry, as well as ready-made salad and a few pastries to go with their post-dinner coffee. Food in the Netherlands was reasonably priced, fresh, and much of it already prepared for convenience. She loaded her purchases into the basket on her bicycle, unlocked it from the bike rack outside of the store, and pedaled home, where she stowed the bicycle in the garage on the main level of her building and took the lift to