A/N: Hey, this is to keep everyone entertained while I rewrite La Cinq. Hope you enjoy! Please review!!!

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Rani Lassiter at your service, supermodel and super-spy. Okay, so the super-spy is a little fib but the supermodel bit is true enough even if the spying is more fun. I am a spy, just not a super one-not even a good one, I tend to discover things through sheer luck and chance. I’ve been a supermodel for a long time, well, a couple of years but it feels like a heck of a lot longer and I’ve been a spy for about half of that time. I was twenty-one when they first approached me, two middle-aged men in suits, and offered me a position with the British secret services. Of course I said yes, I’ve always wanted to be James Bond or one of his sexy, female Russian sidekicks. My role is to sniff out who's dealing the drugs on the celebrity circuit, who’s sneaking imported goods through the back door and who’s making alliance with Middle Eastern terrorists. Well, not really the last one but a girl can hope, right? I’ve always wanted to get involved in the serious stuff but apparently, you know, sometimes things get a bit messy and as my whole career is based on my looks I can’t really afford to get knocked around all that much. The best thing about being a spy is that no one knows about it. Well, except for the secret service, my best friend-Dylan and…and Iman. And I don’t want to talk about Iman right now because I’m seriously annoyed with him, and when I get seriously annoyed…it gets dangerous. Dylan’s safe-ground though, he’s twenty-five, gorgeous, my best friend since the age offive and he’s been in love me since (according to him) fifteen. I don’t believe that, I think it was a serious case of lust sincepuberty but as he argues, what do I know?

I’ve just finished a spy-case. My fourth since employment and my best one so far. I was just getting bored with a mundane life of photo-shoots and parties when they contacted me a week ago and told me to go to Room 193 of the prestigious Murray Hotel.

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MURRAY HOTEL, ROOM 193, WEDNESDAY 11AM

He stood up at the light tap on the door,

‘Yes?’ he barked out.

‘It’s me,' she whispered.

He stifled a groan of frustration,

‘Christ!’

‘Oh yeah,’ she cursed softly, muttered a little, ‘um…Santa?’

He growled and flung the door open,

‘That was the last case! You come up with goddamn passwords, you should remember them.’

She pouted,

‘So, I forgot, sue me.’

He shut the door behind her,

‘Sit down.’

‘Aren’t you charming today?’ she took a comfortable seat on the bed.

He leant against the window-sill,

‘Were you followed?’

‘Nope. I even doubled back like you said.’

‘Good,’ he tossed a file onto the blanket beside her, ‘this is your next case.’

She picked it up, tapping manicured nails impatiently,

‘Summarise.’

He scowled,

‘Read the damn thing.’

She regarded him steadily,

‘I don’t understand why you’re angry with me.’

‘Because they were fucking irresponsible to give you a job. You have no idea what you’re doing and endanger yourself…’

‘Aww,’ she drawled, ‘you care whether little old me is going to get hurt…’

‘I care about what I do,’ he corrected, ‘and about bad publicity. If you get your face messed up, you’ll try and sue, and fuck everything up.’

She frowned,

‘I care about what I do too. The modelling and this. I wouldn’t betray this.’

He shrugged,

‘Just read the file.’

She shifted on the bed and rolled onto her stomach to read the file. He studied her with a blank face and cool eyes. Battered jeans, plunge-neck T-shirt, a quirky belt and hiking boots. She hadn’t bothered with a hat, it wouldn’t disguise her beauty and her only jewellery was a pair of chunky plastic earrings that made her look sixteen.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered, turning away.

She glanced over her shoulder with a sweet smile,

‘You okay.’

‘Fine,’ he forced himself to look away-out of the window.

She sat up a short while later, her expression wary,

‘This is different.’

He nodded,

‘Yes.

‘This is why you’re so angry today. This is serious. There’s a likelihood…’

‘It’s London Fashion Week soon. It’s a prime opportunity for him to kill.'

'And I could get hurt,' she said quietly, 'seriously hurt. I could even be...be...'

‘Killed,’ Iman finished for her, his voice cold.

She nodded, rising to her feet and walking to stand beside him,

'I have to do it, Iman. No one else could get the same open access as I do. You need me for this case.'

He frowned,

'Is that a yes?'

She nodded,

'It is. I'm going to do it. I'llbe careful, I promise.'

'A man is going around murdering models...brutally...and you want to help find him. He's probably fixated on you already...if he thinks you're working to find him then...'

'Iman,' she pressed a gentle finger to his lips, 'you're not going to change my mind by frightening me. Please, just trust me to do my job.'

He nodded slowly,

'I'll be in touch with more details. Read over the file carefully.'

'Will do,' she picked up her bag, 'Iman?'

He glanced over his shoulder,

'Rani?'

'Stay safe,' she said quietly.

He nodded, then smiled at her slightly,

'Stay beautiful.'

She laughed then, easing the tension in the room,

'Wow, a compliment from you.'

'Just because I think you're an inept agent,' he paused, 'doesn't make me blind. Now getting going before tomorrow's tabloids are filled with the news of your tryst in a hotel room.'

'Think how impressed your friends would be,' she teased.

'And how horrified yours would be,' he held the door open, 'I'll contact you soon.'

'I'll be waiting,' she grinned, blew him a kiss, and sauntered out.

Iman closed the door behind her, leant his forehead against the cool wood and was only mildly surprised to find himself grinning.