As she stared over the north side of the observation deck down at the Palais De Chaillot, gripping the railing with both hands, a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist. Her fists tightened around the railling as she shuddered, not with the thrill of his touch, but in revulsion. She forced herself to play along though, pretend he was her lover meeting with her at the top of the Eiffel Tower for a romantic rendeazvous on Valentine's Day. She felt his breath on her neck, sending a chill down her spine, as he whispered in her ear. She forced herself to smile, to giggle as though he were whispering sweet nothings to her, as people watching no doubt expected.
When he released her from his embrace, which she felt he had enjoyed far too much, she turned around and accepted the package from him. A box of chocolates in the shape of a heart. But there was nothing sweet about what it contained, just as what he had been whispering in her ear were not sweet nothings, but cold, clinical instructions delivered with a false smile and a purr of sadistic glee.
They shared a taxi in silence, continuing the charade of a loving couple, so content with one another's presence that they didn't need any words. After he kissed her goodnight she raced up the steps of her apartment building, perhaps a little too quickly, but she didn't care. She hung up her coat as she entered and crossed to the table, setting down the box and removing its contents. Some plane tickets to New York, and a photograph of the target, with instructions on the back. He said this would be her last job, then she would be free. But he had said that before.