Disclaimer: Obviously not mine.

Not the greatest thing I've ever written, but here it is.

Agent Veronica Mars took one last look at herself in the mirror. Her golden locks were perfectly coiffed, drawn back in a precise bun, less a curl on either side of her face. The black velvet halter gown she wore was tighter and shorter than anything she would have chosen herself, but looked classy and sexy, rather than trashy. Her heels, too, were several inches higher than any sensible woman would wear, especially in her line of work. Her smoky eyes finished their traverse over her body, and her red lips formed a smile. Rich dude Kryptonite, indeed, she thought.

Veronica's FBI internship the summer after her freshman year of college had been enough to convince her that she would continue on that career path. Although playing by the rules did not come naturally to her, she was willing to sacrifice operating in the gray areas of the law for the access the Bureau gave her. She'd worked as hard at her job as she had at anything that had ever mattered to her; the classroom instructors frequently remarked that she was one of the most astute cadets they'd ever met, and her physical trainers praised her will to push herself to the limits. Unfortunately, she'd come to learn that talent and dedication had less to do with getting the field assignments than anyone would like to admit. More often than not, the job went to the agent who could get the most access.

That was how Veronica ended up standing in the swanky bathroom of the Attica, the fanciest hotel in Costa Bonita, just half an hour from Neptune. Tonight, the hotel was hosting the Costa Bonita Arts Foundation fundraising dinner, to support the local museum and high school arts program. The plates started at a thousand a head, but access to the bar ran a mere hundred and fifty. Veronica was going there because George Kenyon was going to be there. He was a wealthy investor, around whom whispers of insider trading had been circling for a few months. A week before, the SEC had received an anonymous tip from a supposed employee explaining that Kenyon was going to meet up with a prominent CEO, who would give inside information at the fundraiser. The SEC had, in turn, asked the FBI to help out in this matter.

She hadn't joined the FBI to deal with white collar criminals. She wanted the masterminds and the cartels and the domestic terrorists. She hadn't even really dealt with stock since her senior year of high school, when Cassidy had made her blow on his father's house of cards. Unfortunately, Kenyon's biggest weakness was young, beautiful blondes, and that was nothing if not Veronica. Her task was simply to plant a bug on him for his meeting that night, and to try to get any information out of him that she could. It wasn't particularly challenging, but she knew that the easy ones were often the ones that got most complicated. She couldn't conceal a gun, and she was being sent in alone, two circumstances that gave her less confidence than she would have liked. She knew that her partner would check in on her on midnight if she hadn't already reported back. So, she took a deep breath, and sauntered her way into the ballroom.

Veronica quickly scanned the crowd, trying to find her target among the moneyed heads. She spotted him at the bar, an empty seat next to him. Perfect. No need to come up with a reason for running into him. She seated herself, angled slightly towards Kenyon, crossing her legs, and beamed at the bartender, ordering a cosmo. She couldn't stand them, but her cover loved them. She briefly considered spilling her drink on the investor, ridding herself of the beverage and giving her an opportunity to plant the bug while cleaning it up. But that would rid her of the opportunity to gain any more information, and he might not react well to her attempts to dry him. She went with the oldest of ice breakers, a flirtatious "Hello."

The man turned his head to look at her, then allowed his eyes to travel the length of her body before returning her greeting. "Hello, Sunshine. What's a pretty girl like you doing here?"

Veronica's earlier look at the crowd had confirmed that the majority of the attendees were at least fifteen years older, with a good percentage nearing retirement age. She flashed a hundred-watt smile, and replied, "Art, children, what's not to like?" allowing her tone to suggest that the what was Kenyon, rather than the fundraiser.

"I'm George," he said, offering her his large hand.

"Veronica." She lay her exquisitely manicured hand on his, being sure not to squeeze. As she hoped, he lightly kissed it.

"What do you do?"

"Oh, you know, administrative assistant at an accounting firm. It's really boring. How 'bout you?"

"I invest."

"Wow!" Veronica widened her eyes. "You must be really smart!" She lay her hand on his arm. "Tell me about how you got into that."

He began to tell her about his job, neglecting all hints of illegal activity. Veronica did her best impression of a naïve, easily impressed girl, being sure to touch him frequently, so that he wouldn't suspect when she planted the bug.

"So, like, how do you know when to sell your stock?" she asked, about half an hour later.

For the first time, Kenyon drew back, and looked at her slightly suspiciously. She was trying to figure out how to best salvage the situation when she heard a familiar voice. "Ronnie!" She turned her head, ready to murder Dick for blowing her cover. "I know you like to fuck on rich dudes, but isn't he old even for you?"

Dear blessed Dick Casablancas! He had unknowingly saved her. Kenyon now contentedly believed that she was a gold digger, interested in his financial process only because of how much it would net her.

After a little more chatting, Veronica subtly removed the bug from her purse and palmed it in her right hand. She stroked her finger down his cheek, trailing downwards to his inner thigh, depositing the bug in the pocket of his slacks. "What do you say we get out of here?" she purred.

"I'd love to, Veronica, but I have a meeting in my suite with some business associates. We'll be done by midnight. Come to room 1439 then. I'll be waiting."

"Okay. I'll get ready." With that, she left the ballroom.

Logan sat at the table of the horrendously boring fundraiser about ready explode. His attorney had told him that it was important that he do charity functions, not just because it was the right thing to do, but because he needed to be sure that they forgot the bum fight Logan, son of notorious murderer Aaron Echolls, and only think of philanthropic Logan. Dick had come along, saying that it was prime hunting ground for MILFs and cougars.

"Hey, man, I'm going to the bar to get a drink. Want anything?" his companion asked.

"Nah, I'm cool."

A few minutes later, Dick returned. "You know what's crazy? Veronica's at the bar!"

Logan had known she was there the second she entered. No matter how much her outfit strayed from her usual, he had been intimately acquainted with every curve. The blonde bimbo that came in and walked in the opposite direction from him was so obviously Veronica to him, he imagined he could smell her perfume. She sat down at the bar next to an older gentleman he'd met once or twice, Keller or Callahan or something. He was filthy rich. Although Logan hadn't spoken to Veronica in years, he'd heard through the grapevine that she was with the FBI. It wasn't hard to figure out from that that the man was of interest to the Bureau, and from the way she kept touching him, she was going to plant a bug.

"She's working, Dick."

"For real? She's a hooker now?"

"No! FBI! She's investigating him."

"Oh, shit. I hope I didn't ruin her cover."

"Looks like she recovered nicely." He nodded towards the affectionate twosome.

A few minutes later, Veronica left. So did Logan.

"Alex," Veronica began her telephone check-in with her partner, "Kenyon's definitely getting some info passed tonight. Room 1439. They'll be done by midnight. The bug's in place. I suggest having teams ready to move."

"Great work, Mars. Get out of those heels and I'll meet you out front in fifteen minutes."

Veronica headed down the hall to the bathroom, to remove her shoes, and perhaps remove some makeup and let down her hair. As she approached the heavy wooden door to the bathroom, she heard quiet footsteps on the plush carpet behind her. Instinctively, she froze. The brief pause was enough time for her pursuer to reach her. The intoxicating scent made her body relax before her brain recognized what it meant. A nose nuzzled her neck, and her ear received a breathy "Veronica."

The arm around her waist guided her into the bathroom. Like most hotels of its caliber, the Attica had plush waiting rooms in a room adjoining the toilets. Logan, as her brain had finally identified him as, guided her to a couch.

Questions raced into her head, none fully formed. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, or maybe why, but before the first sound could escape, his lips found hers, and she found that the answer no longer mattered. She lay back, and his hands left her just long enough to remove his jacket. Veronica could never convincingly state who removed what article of clothing after that. All she knew was that one moment they were kissing, tongues dancing in an intricately choreographed ballet, and the next, clothes decorated the room, and their naked bodies were intertwined.

His dick entered her over and over, not exactly fucking her, but not making love either. Possession imbued every touch. As her heartbeat quickened, and her breathing became heavier, she heard herself chant his name like a mantra, a reassurance that he was actually there. She came, a rush of chemicals not so much pleasure as they were relief. Logan captured her lips and kissed her for several seconds, unmoving. As he withdrew, she realized that he too had orgasmed. He disengaged his lips from hers, and began to locate his various articles of clothing. When he had finished, Veronica finally came to her wits and redressed.

"Veronica?" Logan queried.

"Yes?"

"I need you to know that I love you, and I always will."

Veronica didn't answer. Instead, she turned towards the mirror, and tried to fix her hair and makeup, although they would never be as perfect as they were at the beginning of the night. Logan's reflection reached into its breast pocket and pressed a card into her hand.

"Call me some time when you aren't working." Logan unlocked the door she hadn't ever consciously realized he'd locked, and left.

She braced herself on the counter, inhaling deeply. When she felt that her face would no longer betray her actions and emotions, she left. As she walked down the hallway, each confident stride a lie she hoped no one noticed, she passed Alex.

"Everything okay? It's been more than fifteen since we heard from you. I thought I come check on you," her partner inquired.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just needed a few minutes to get the creepiness out of my system," she replied.

"Well, we're about to bust him. Good work. I can tell you're going to be an awesome field agent. Let me know if you need anything."

Fingering the business card in her palm, Veronica spoke the truth, "I think I have everything I need."