Ariella Briganski stepped up to the con and cleared her throat sheepishly. "Caffrey... " She leaned into him and planted a fast one on his cheek before yanking away and giving him a small glare. "This never happened, understood? Pass this kiss on to the next ten people on your dash."
Neal stared at the agent with hint of trepidation — the kind of look he usually reserved for Diana when she was in one of those moods where she was threatening to break his arms. Briganski had made it clear that they were colleagues, nothing more, and she had a glare that was still new enough to set him on edge.
So he did little more than breathe as she moved in, close enough that he could smell her perfume and note the color of her lipstick — coral red, bold — before her lips brushed his cheek.
It took a moment to register what happened, but when it struck him, he grinned, big and bright and manfully resisted touching his cheek. He did value his fingers, after all. And agent Briganski had already threatened to break them if he so much as put one out of place. She had worked with Diana in D.C., and Diana backed her capabilities whenever Neal thought to bring them up, so he had no doubts that Briganski could and would make good on her threat.
He swallowed down his smile and pulled on his best straight face. He’d once conned a group of billionaires at blackjack using that face. Neal cleared his throat.
“Right,” he answered. “Never happened. Got it. Agent Briganski.” He flashed one last smile and bobbed his head once in farewell, retreating solemnly to the coffee pot. He caught himself whistling a jaunty tune under his breath and stopped abruptly, feeling those glaring eyes track him across the bullpen floor. The spot on his cheek was still warm from her lips.
