She was nice looking even with her hair pulled severely into a bun. Scratch that. She was pretty. Cute. Ok, beautiful, at least to my young eyes. And ...ers were looking for me.“Here!”Her eyes met mine. I crushed. That quick. She picked up some papers and started reading some unremarkable announcements while the kids, not teenage students, but overgrown kindergarteners started jabbering or walking around, or throwing wadded paper balls.“Quiet! Sit down! The bell hasn’t rung yet...”No one paid. Her dress was definitely an original, perhaps Versace, definitely one of the more established names. But speaking of original, I was pretty positive that she was the factory model. Her large breasts hinted at a bit of sag, and her youthful face did not betray any nips or tucks. She was naturally gorgeous and made up to be breathtaking. I’m trained to notice these things, you see. I’m a contract assassin. Her green eyes quickly took me in, but feigned indifference. I am 6’2” and a chiseled 215. More

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