One Night Was Supposed To Be One Night🪽
The first time you saw James Bond after Vietnam, you genuinely thought you were hallucinating.
It had been three weeks since the resort.
Three weeks since the infinity pool overlooking the South China Sea. Three weeks since discovering that the charming British billionaire tourist named St. John Smythe was actually an MI6 agent. Three weeks since both of you had nearly gotten each other killed while chasing the same target.
Three weeks since you had promised yourself it was over.
So naturally, you nearly dropped your coffee when you spotted him standing in a crowded hotel lobby in Singapore.
The expensive suit was different, the expression wasn’t. Neither was the way his gaze immediately found yours across hundreds of people.
For a moment neither of you moved.
Then James slowly lowered the champagne glass in his hand.
A nearby businessman accidentally walked directly into a decorative plant because he was too busy watching whatever strange silent argument was happening between the two of you.
“What are you doing here?” you asked when you finally reached him.
James looked entirely too calm for someone who had just appeared in your life again like a particularly handsome curse.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
The realization struck both of you simultaneously.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
James rubbed a hand across his face as he rolled his shoulders. "Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone is.”
The universe, apparently, had a twisted sense of humor.
The second time happened in Paris.
At that point you were starting to suspect someone upstairs hated both of you.
You had spent two days cultivating a source connected to an international weapons broker.
The source had finally agreed to meet.
Everything was going perfectly.
Then James Bond sat down in the empty chair beside yours.
You almost choked on your wine.
The source looked between the two of you in confusion.
James offered the man a polite smile before glancing at you.
The source’s eyebrows shot upward.
James remained completely serious.
You could have strangled him. Instead you forced a smile so sweet it nearly gave you cavities.
“Sweetheart,” you replied.
The source looked deeply uncomfortable, James looked amused.
You hated how attractive he was when he was being insufferable.
The meeting became a disaster.
The source spent the entire evening convinced you were a married couple in the middle of a divorce.
James somehow still obtained the information.
You still weren’t sure how, and it still pissed you off to no end.
Because Rome involved a gala.
And a very rich Italian count who spent the entire evening flirting with you.
You weren’t encouraging him but you weren’t discouraging him either.
Mostly because James was standing on the opposite side of the ballroom pretending not to watch.
You caught him glaring no less than six times.
The seventh time, you finally excused yourself and crossed the room.
James was holding a glass of whiskey with enough force to shatter it.
You looked at him innocently. “Everything alright?”
His jaw tightened. “Fine.”
You smiled.The kind of smile that always got you into trouble.
The muscle in his cheek jumped.
James looked away toward the elderly Italian aristocrat currently attempting to impress you.
“Oh, he’s charming.” You purred.
James took a very deliberate sip of whiskey.
The amusement bubbling inside you became almost impossible to contain.
His blue eyes finally landed on yours.The look he gave you was enough to make your stomach do something embarrassingly dramatic.
“You enjoy this far too much.”
You grinned. “Maybe a little.”
The fact that he almost smiled in return made your heart do something even more embarrassing.
No matter where you went, somehow James Bond appeared.
Sometimes by coincidence.
Sometimes because your agencies were working the same operation.
Sometimes because life seemed determined to keep throwing the two of you together.
The problem was that neither of you wanted to admit how much you enjoyed it.
Because somewhere between the arguments and the flirting and the near-death experiences, something had changed.
You found yourself looking for him in crowded rooms.
Looking for that familiar suit.
And judging by the way his eyes always searched for you first whenever he entered a room, the feeling wasn’t entirely one-sided.
It finally came to a head in New York.
The mission was over, the target was in custody and for once, nobody was actively trying to shoot either of you.
You found James standing alone on the rooftop terrace of a hotel overlooking Manhattan.
The city glittered beneath the night sky, a sea of lights stretching endlessly toward the horizon.
For a few moments neither of you spoke.
The silence felt comfortable.
James rested his forearms against the railing as the wind tugged at his suit jacket.
The city hummed below. A taxi horn echoed somewhere in the distance, someone yelled.
And suddenly you found yourself asking the question that had been lingering between you for months.
“At what point do we stop calling this a coincidence?”
James was quiet.Long enough that you thought he might not answer.Then he turned his head, the expression on his face was softer than you were accustomed to seeing.
“Probably several countries ago.” His voice was light, that familiar tone back in Vietnam.
Your heart betrayed you immediately.The traitorous thing practically melted, your heart pounded in your chest as a laugh escaped before you could stop it.
Not the charming smile he used on diplomats.Not the dangerous one he used on enemies nor the ones he used on women.
The rare kind that made him look happier.For a moment neither of you looked away.
The city continued moving around you.
An entire world carrying on beneath the rooftop.
Yet somehow the only thing that mattered was the man standing beside you.
The man who had been supposed to be one night in Vietnam.
Instead he had become every city afterward.
Every unexpected reunion.
Every impossible coincidence.
And judging by the way James reached for your hand before lacing his fingers through yours, neither of you had any intention of pretending otherwise anymore.
Your gaze softened as your free hand moved to his chest to feel his pounding heart, your eyes sliding closed the moment Jame's lips met yours.
