KIDNAPPED BY THE AGENT | Project Callister Book One

xxiv. a night to remember

xxiv. A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

ÉLYSÉE PALACE, PARIS

It is a universally acknowledged truth that a hungry teenage girl can be more dangerous than a gorilla with chainsaws for hands.

I was starving—the agency decided that debriefing us one last time was more important than feeding us.

At the very least, my rubber gun had been upgraded to a real pistol. The gun was non-ferrous, meaning none of the metal detectors would be able to detect it. The weapon awkwardly weighed down my purse as I grabbed an horderve.

"Are you sure you can handle a real gun?" Ace whispered into his earpiece.

I glare at him from across the room. "What's that supposed to mean?" I respond.

"Well, you're impulsive, easily irritated, and you lack hand-eye coordination. Shall I continue?"

"Why don't you come over here and I'll show you just how well I can aim."

"Please, you'd end up accidentally killing Deschamps," Ace scoffs.

"Why do you enjoy provoking people so much?"

"Only you. Besides, you're not so much a person as a rabid raccoon."

"Wow, am I that special?" I state drly.

"That's enough you two. I can barely hear my own thoughts," Xavier spits. "Don't make me put a bullet down both your throats."

"Remember the mission—heads up for anyone suspicious," Skye reminds. "Go socialize."

Gross. Socializing.

What sucked even more was that there was absolutely no alcohol present at this awards dinner. What kind of rich people event didn't have rich alcohol?

We were stationed in various parts of the ballroom to cover the most ground. Our assignment was to make sure Ambassador Grant Deschamps made it out of this dinner in one piece. There would be mercenaries, assassins, and thieves, all targeting the various politicians here.

You know, right in my alley. As a goddamn sedentary hacker.

I stuff another horderve and mentally curse myself for joining this team.

The interior of the gala was, to say the least, like Disneyland for rich people. By that I mean all the horderves were foreign and too hard to pronounce, the attendees were two times older than me, and the outfits here costed more than my apartment.

The guests here were all important people—diplomats, billionaires, and politicians. I felt like all their net worths were more than the GDP of several countries.

The Élysée Palace had high ceilings carved out of marble, giving the entire room a Grecian-esque ambiance. High strung chandeliers donned out a golden hue on all of the dresses in the room. Classical rich-people music swirled around the ivory walls, tying the room together like a pretentious present.