I winked, giving him a slow smile, and sauntered back to my seat, swaying my hips. Su, my former friend, once called me a maneater after she saw this trick in action.
The man made a sound, something akin to a choking snort.
Gotcha.
Five minutes later, I sat back at his table, nursing a pink, sickeningly sweet cocktail he got for me. My target convinced his friend to leave and now gazed at me, blushing furiously. I felt a pang of remorse but quashed it. This was part of the job, and I was good at it.
“Please, I have to know.” I filled the awkward silence. “If you have a girlfriend, tell me right now. It will break my heart, but I’d rather know sooner than later.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said at once. “What’s your name? You are b-beautiful.”
I gave him the fake name Clanker made up for me and went on to weave a web of small compliments and flirtations that usually worked best on this type of man. He stuttered and tripped over his tongue whenever he spoke, and seemed relieved when I did most of the talking.
Soon, he downed his fifth cheap Scotch by the time I sipped one third of my cocktail. He grew more boisterous and confident with each one, and now got up, swaying. The table moved with a loud screech when he leaned on it to keep his balance.
“You’re right. You are my soulmate,” he said, watching me with reddened eyes glazed with alcohol. “Will you c-come home with me?”
I stood up, giving him a warm smile. “I have to make sure you are the right kind of man first,” I purred. “Could you give me a hug? I need to see how we fit together.”
He blinked at me, taken aback by such a forward proposition, but the alcohol had done its job. After only a moment of hesitation, he lurched forward and pressed me close, his hands landing dangerously low on my back. I hugged him and wiggled a bit, hopefully scattering his thoughts enough that he wouldn’t notice it when I pinched his Zenkyoza placard.
The bartender who served me rolled his eyes, shaking his head with reproach when our eyes met. He knew I was up to no good, but I didn’t think he saw enough to out me.
“I am so sorry,” I said, pulling away from my target. I let my face crumple in a look of pure misery. “I don’t know how this happened, but I must have been wrong. You are so handsome and smart, and I was certain you would be perfect for me, but we don’t fit after all. I apologize for wasting your time. I’m sorry.”
He protested my assessment, at which point I pressed my hand to my mouth, faking a sob. I turned and ran out of there, grabbing a hat and a dark jacket off the coat rack by the door. I took the first corner I saw, putting distance between me and possible pursuit.
Luckily, no one followed. I chose my victim well. In the past, I miscalculated once and ended up having to knee a drunk would-be rapist in the junk. It was worth it, because my best articles were written thanks to information dragged out of horny men who fell for my kindred soul act.
I set off toward Zenkyoza HQ, patting the employee placard in my pocket. It had a magnetic strip on the back, confirming it doubled as means of authentication. I was mildly surprised Zenkyoza didn’t use more advanced methods, but maybe they didn’t bother with them for trainees.
My access would be limited with just the placard, but I wasn’t going to let this stop me. I’d improvise if I had to.
This was my only chance.
The enormous corkscrew of Zenkyoza HQ was mostly dark, with a few windows on higher levels still lit. I counted the floors to know which ones to avoid and made a beeline for a side entrance I saw employees use during my recon walk with Clanker.
The main lobby was bound to be manned, but my pilfered card would probably get me in through the side door.
I pressed it to the card reader by the door. It beeped, and the door swung open.
My hair was stuffed under the hat, and I kept my head low, hoping the jacket was enough to fool anyone who watched the cameras. I slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind me, and a clear, female voice spoke in Japanese.
“Welcome to Zenkyoza. Please, prepare for an iris scan.”
I froze. Ahead of me was another door, this one thicker and more formidable than the first. A glass panel ran through the middle, showing an empty corridor behind. Next to the door was an iris scanner, lit green and waiting for me.
I reached back blindly and pressed the door handle. The door leading outside clicked but didn’t open.
“Please, prepare for an iris scan.”
I turned toward the exit, searching for a card reader, but there wasn’t one. I tried the handle a few more times, but the door remained locked.
“An iris scan is required. Please, prepare for an iris scan.”
The scanner beeped insistently. I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts, thinking rapidly. What would happen if I tried the scan? It couldn’t be fooled, but maybe it would let me out after it realized I didn’t belong here?
I took a halting step closer to the scanner, and froze.
