“Dammit,” said Freddie, turning to his partner Janette. “We’re about to be made.”
“What? Where?” she asked, snapping her head about.
“Eleven o’clock, the blonde next to the Prime Minister. She knows my face. If she sees me, our cover is blown.”
“Bend down like you’re fixing the strap on my shoe,” Janette hissed through her perfunctory smile.
“Just do it!”
Freddie bent low and made a good show of adjusting the sexy stilleto on his partner’s delicate foot.
Janette gave a casual nod to the Prime Minister as he passed by her in the large ballroom and then returned to the martini in her hand as though she belonged there. The blonde woman in the Vera Wang gown barely noticed her at all.
“We’re clear,” she said.
Freddie stood and straightened his tux. Scanning the room, none of the other formally dressed guests seemed to notice them at all.
“Hoo, that was close. Now, is the target aquired?”
“Banquet table. Plates are on the end.” said Janette.
“Good, I’m starving. I love crashing these formal events. The food is SO much better than those stupid low budget weddings we normally hit.”
The famished couple headed towards the buffet.
[This is my entry this week into the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge, hosted by Priceless Joy. A photo prompt is given and writers are encouraged to create a short story of 100 – 150 words, + or – 25 words.]