On the way up to Mann’s office, I’d decided I deserved a Christmas present for bearing with the CIA for so long, and that would be a drink with him. Dinner would be better, but at this time of night, it would be impossible to get into any decent restaurant without a reservation that hadn’t been made at least six weeks in advance. And I sure as hell wasn’t taking him to McDonald’s.
Of course bed would be the best, but I was a realist; the only time I’d had s*x with someone I worked with hadn’t ended well. And as for straight boys, I screwed with them only when it was part of the job.
So—no screwing with Mann.
I tapped on the door to his office and when Mann called out to enter, I pushed the door open and sauntered in. He was sitting at his desk in his shirtsleeves, the first time I’d eve
