I was typing a letter into the computer that my boss had just dictated to me, when the phone on my desk rang. “Office of the Vice President for Product Development, Alexandra speaking.”

“Hey, it’s me,” said a female voice.

“Really,” I said. “And who is me, exactly?”

I could hear the eye roll.

“It’s Marlene,” said the voice, which clearly sounded impatient. “Did you get the text I just sent you?”

“Of course I did,” I said, speaking in a low voice so my boss wouldn’t hear. “And didn’t you get my reply?”

“Yes,” Marlene said. “That’s why I’m calling.”

“Well, get to the point, and make it fast,” I told her. “Some of us have to work.”

“I put that ad on the hackers’ forum,” she said. “And someone answered.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Really,” Marlene said. “This is our chance for the big one. You gonna be there with me?”

“When is this meeting supposed to happen?”

“This evening. I’ll text you the details,” Marlene replied. “And you asked for the dress code.”

“Yes, I did. And that is?”

“Be sure to wear your labels.”

A chance to wear my designer clothes? I’m down with that. 

At the moment, I was attired in standard office garb―champagne-colored silk blouse, black pencil skirt with a belt, and matching black patent-leather heels—not exactly casual, but not exactly the best I had, either. So any chance I had to get dressed in my fancy designer labels was considered a good chance.

“I have to go,” I said. “Text me. Don’t call me. I don’t care how important it is.”

“Okay, okay, I get the—”

I hung up on her and returned to my keyboard, getting back to work. 

But as I typed, I couldn’t help but think it must have been a big one for Marlene to have called instead of texting me. She understood, or she should have by now, that while I was at work, I couldn’t take personal calls!

Marlene was fixated on that one big score, the one that meant that neither of us would no longer have to work, or, in her case, depend on the kindness of strangers, mostly male. I had to admit she’d had her fair share of successes, and I’d made more money than I ever could have as an assistant. So far, at least, she hadn’t explained why she was after the big score.

So for her to call me, breaking my rule of no personal calls, it had to be big. A few moments later, I got two more texts from Marlene, giving me the where and when.

Looked like I was going out tonight.

*

Attired in a sleeveless, black, sequined jumpsuit with a plunging neckline putting my cleavage on display, a matching sequined clutch purse tucked under my arm, and my strawberry-blonde hair cascading down to the small of my back, I walked into the entrance foyer of the casino from the valet, my Louboutin sling-back open-toed stilettos clicking on the smooth marble floor in a rhythmic, self-assured manner.

“It’s about time you showed up.”

I turned to see my friend Marlene Lentini standing there, wearing a tight-fitting, knee-length, red slip dress and matching stilettos of her own, her brunette hair up in a tiny bun, looking elegant to the last thread.

“I told you I was coming,” I told her, my tone biting. “That should have been good enough for you, but it wasn’t, apparently.”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. After a moment, she pulled my arm and said, “Come on, girl. Let’s go find this man.”

“And just who is this man?” I asked.

“Well, these hackers don’t exactly send pictures,” she told me. “But he said he’d be the only man wearing a tux and sneakers.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I suppose that narrows it down a bit. Let’s go get a drink, shall we?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Marlene slipped her arm through mine, the gesture smacking of ownership.

*

A hotel of this size, with a casino on the ground floor, would have had not just one but several bars—in this case, more than half a dozen―scattered all across the casino. We’d scoped out four of them so far before we found someone that could have been him—five-ten, wearing a tux without a tie, just as Marlene had said he would have been, and well-groomed. His hair, which was going gray, was short and neatly trimmed,  and made him look distinguished in a way that nothing else could have. In fact, he looked like James Bond. I didn’t mind admitting I was instantly wet. It had been a long time since a man made me wet.

It took me a moment to look down and notice his sneakers—gray canvas, neatly tied. With a shock, I realized this was our boy. Not the usual look for a hacker. 

“It’s him,” I said.

“How do you—”

“Look at his shoes, silly,” I told her.

“Oh. Right,” she said, and went to take a step forward, but I stopped her. “What—”

“Let me make the first move,” I said.

“And why?”

“Because we both know I’m the better flirt,” I said. “You don’t like men, remember?”

Marlene rolled her eyes, but she said, “Yeah, go ahead. I’m not sure who else would be wearing a tux with sneakers, but go ahead.”

I said, “It’ll just take a minute. I promise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Marlene said impatiently. “Just do it already.”

So I walked up to the bar and waited for the bartender, who appeared quickly enough. “What can I get for you, ma’am?”

“I’ll have an apple martini, please,” I said. “With two olives.”