Zoe tilted her head slightly, her fingers swirling the wine in her glass with slow, lazy grace. Her voice came soft and smooth -- razor-edged silk.

"Some people," she said, her eyes flicking to Barry for only a second before locking back on Nate with surgical precision, "are just better at handling the larger... meatier... projects."

She let it hang there, each word slow, sweet, and coated in implication. Her mouth curved into a smile that was nothing short of wicked. Catlike. I know exactly what you're thinking, that smile said. And I want you thinking it.

Nate's fork hovered in the air, forgotten. His throat moved as he swallowed...