The Beginning

"Joanette, look over here!"

"Over here Ms. Bordeaux!"

"Ms. Bordeaux!"

"Ms. Bordeaux!"

Joanette gave the paparazzi a bored glance from behind her Gucci shades as she stalked from the hotel to the blacked out Mercedes van waiting for her. Not one single camera-equipped leech—as Joanette fancied calling them— had pronounced her name right in the past three years that she'd risen to fame. She quickly learned to ignore this outwardly, but within, she made it a mental note to announce this during her next interview so that she could accuse the American paparazzi system of being discriminatory. Nothing moved the masses more than a young woman speaking out about the industry.

"Ms. Bordeaux," This came from her coworker. Or as she liked to call him, bodyguard. She gave him a solid nod as she got into the van, sky high Louboutins not even the slightest challenge for her as she entered the van swiftly. Ken entered the car a second later and closed the door, giving the driver permission to start moving.

Once they were safely away from the flashing cameras and the van blended into traffic, Joanette removed her sunglasses and ran a hand through her black hair. "God, I thought that would never end," She said bluntly. "I was so bored," her voice never floated away from its usual monotone, but one look at her face gave away that she really did dread the previous events that had taken place.

The model was accustomed to attending events she had no interest in, but the drainage that smiling sympathetically at celebrities caused made her hate it all the more.

"That's what you get for being famous," Ken retaliated, already clicking away at his phone. "You get invited to weddings you don't want a part of and you have to go because it'll ruin your social image if you don't."

"Hidden in plain sight, my ass," Joanette rolled her eyes and began tying up her black hair, pulling it back into a messy, chic ponytail. Thanks to her hairdresser, however she decided to wear her hair would look stunning. The man really worked magic with her wild hair.

"Accent," Ken reprimanded. Joanette glared at him and pasted a sickeningly seductive smile onto her face. That style had been her trademark over the years.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Hamilton," she began with her—also trademark— French accent. "I will try to never forget myself ever again."

"Good girl," Ken patted her knee and she swatted his hand away.

"Don't patronise me, as you always tend to do," She looked away and began picking at her nails. "At least not while I'm in character."

"I'm only looking out for your best interest, as always," He was still typing away at his phone, but he raised his eyes from the screen to look directly at her. Joanette rolled her eyes again and started watching the passing scenery. She wasn't even looking at him but she could already detect the amount of bullcrap coming from her partner. Ken enjoyed getting under her skin by treating her like a child. The two squabbled like children.

She'd been undercover as a model for five years, so she knew what she was doing. Although fact that she had only succeeded her goal into being in plain sight for three years baffled her, but not more than the people she had to work with every single day.

The modelling industry was kill or be killed, and honestly Joanette had no problem with that at all, considering she was a secret agent. She'd done the whole kill or be killed thing multiple times without so much as flinching from a blow, so this was nothing. Except, the wannabe toughie celebrity models who'd been 'in the game' longer than she had seemed to get a kick out of trying to intimidate her.

Did it work? No. Joanette had been put in a fair number of uncomfortable situations in her life, there was no reason why she should feel intimidated by insecure individuals striving for validation. All they had was that their bodies. That was it. Anyone who wasn't paying attention would've thought that the models had some sort of rut they were stuck in whenever they weren't wearing makeup. That shouldn't have been surprising because all of them were.

But not Joanette. No, she took off her makeup and she felt free.

"We're here," Ken announced, finally pocketing his cellphone. There were at least ten other blacked out Mercedes vans in the vicinity, so when her van parked, nobody blinked twice. The door slid open and Ken slipped out, offering his hand for Joanette to take but she slapped it away and got out of the van herself.

"Someone's moody."

"Shut up, Ken," She replied, voice monotone and face impassive. Over the years, she'd been trained to either keep her face impassive and her voice emotionally charged, or keep her voice monotone and her face emotionally charged. She mostly preferred to keep her entire appearance impassive, as this had also become her trademark over the years.

Whenever someone thought of Joanette Bordeaux, they thought, eternally bored look, or a seductive smirk. She'd been branded the playgirl vixen of the celebrity world, due to the fact that she'd been seen entrapping both male and female celebrities in her hold with her smiles, only to become bored and toss them aside soon. Of course, that wasn't really it. If Joanette set her sights on a star, it was because she needed them for something.

"Joanie," A tall, lanky man in a suit wearing a Crest brightening stripped smile came along, hands in his pocket as he approached Joanette.

"Call me that again and I won't hesitate to snap your neck," She muttered quietly as she passed him, voice barely above a robotic whisper. The man chuckled and continued on his way but not before sending her a leering look. Joanette and Ken stepped into an elevator, only seconds before the door closed, and nodded to the other agents in there with them.

"Ms. Bordeaux," A female agent whose name Joanette had not bothered to learn spoke up. "How's the game treating you?"

"The same way it treats anyone else," She replied, eyes trained ahead on the mirrored elevator doors. She heard a scoff from behind her which she paid no mind to. When the elevator reached its destination and the doors opened, all the agents in the lift poured out and headed to their respective destinations.

"Have you ever thought," Ken started, hands taking residence deep in his pockets. "That no one likes you because you're so cold?"

Joanette barely glanced at him from the side of her eye as she strutted along the halls. "No," She answered simply. Ken held open a door for her and she stepped through it without another word. As she entered the room, the chatter stopped and all eyes turned to her. Joanette hadn't been to the agency in over a year.

"Joanette," A man in his early forties acknowledged, hair still black as night and slicked back, suit the same colour and impeccable. "Welcome back."

"Alistair," Joanette nodded at her father, lips curving into their trademark smirk as she took a seat in one of the vacant office chairs surrounding the meeting table. Ken sat beside her. "It's good to be back," And she meant it.

Her father nodded, a blank look on his face. She'd inherited the ability to appear like a robot from him, as well as her good looks. She couldn't deny the man credit where it was due. He was a typical lady killer French James Bond type with a smile made to weaken knees and bedroom eyes for years. At least that's what Joanette had heard the women around the agency say. Meanwhile her mother was an average Orleans Joan of Arc type. Nothing special, but the woman was dynamite in the unarmed combat field. Joanette was lucky to have inherited her skills from her mother.

"We have a job for you," Alistair conveyed, leaning back in his seat and propping his elbows up on a chair arm.

"Finally. I'd started to get bored of seeing my face plastered on every other billboard in America," Joanette placed her folded hands on the table and leaned forward. "Lay it on me, chief."