Chapter One

"Chocolate martini. Shaken, not stirred." I crossed my legs and attempted a sexy Domino-style, vixen-like perch on my bar stool as I awaited my spy camp contact in Martini Junction, an airport lounge at Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport. In the process of tugging down my skintight miniskirt, I wobbled precariously.

The bartender, obviously adept at handling drunks and travel-weary patrons, reached across the counter and caught my elbow, steadying me. He spoke directly to my silicone-bra-insert-enhanced cleavage. "You want a Hershey's Kiss in that?"

"Make it two." I sighed, wishing I'd been blessed with the sexpot gene and knew how to take advantage of that stare. Frankly, even though I'd just crossed a big milestone birthday, I didn't have much experience with men ogling me.

Turning thirty wouldn't have been so bad, really, if my life had been more Bond girl and less Money-penny. Just because I have a head for finance and am good with numbers doesn't mean I want to spend the rest of my life approving loans and assessing some guy's bottom line from across a desk.

The day my deadbeat dad, Jack, took me to my first Bond flick, The Living Daylights, I instantly fell in love with Timothy Dalton. Ever since then, I've dreamed of being a Bond girl. What girl wouldn't want to spend her time saving the world on the arm of a daring, handsome spy, with some hot sex thrown in for good measure? The only downside I can see to being Bond's sidekick, besides the danger, is the naming convention. Dr. Warmflash? Honey Ryder? Pussy Galore? Holly Goodhead? Come on.

Fortunately, my name i

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