Femme Fatale-ish

My name is Blue - insert a mood-related joke here - and I’m a femme fatale in training. My goal is to join the CIA. Unfortunately, I have a tiny issue with birds, and the closest I’ve come to my dream is working for a government agency that’s disturbingly up-to-speed on everyone’s sexts, rants in private Facebook groups, and secret family chocolate-chip cookie recipes.

I know I’m a spy cliché, that agent who works at a desk but craves fieldwork. However, I have a plan: I’m going to infiltrate the secretive Hot Poker Club, where I’ve spotted a mysterious, sexy stranger who I’m convinced is a Russian spy.

And once I'm in? All I have to do is seduce the presumed spy without falling for him, so I can expose his true identity and prove my femme fatale bona fides to the CIA. I never lose concentration at work, so that'll be an absolute breeze for me. Oh, and did I mention he's sexy?

I’m doing it for my country, not my ovaries, I pinky swear.

Warning: Now that you’ve finished reading this, your device will self-destruct in five seconds.

NOTE: This is a stand-alone, raunchy, slow-burn romantic comedy featuring a quirky, spy-movie-obsessed heroine, a scorching hot maybe-Russian, several terrifying tales about birds, and lots of text debates about the relative cuteness of animals. If any of the above is not your cup of tea, run far, far away. Otherwise, buckle up for a laugh-out-loud, feel-good ride.