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Looking around carefully, Jason gingerly strutted out of the room, teetering on his stilettos with a desperate attempt not to draw any unwanted eyeballs. But hell, that was a tough task, especially now with his new feminine curves making it even trickier.

"Fuckin' Monica..." he cursed under his breath as he caught Mahmoud, one of the Sheikh's gorilla guards, ogling him. That sure as hell wasn't helping. All Jason wanted was to haul ass out of there and make it to the damn meet-up spot with the other spy who had the reverse freakin' transformation pill stashed in some sleazy hotel in Abu Dhabi.

"I gotta skedaddle outta this joint," Jason grumbled to himself, steering clear of Mahmud's gaze, feeling his hefty tits jiggling and his bra straps straining under the weight. Oh, he could already picture the sh*tstorm he'd kick up once he got back to CIA HQ in the States, throwing Monica under the bus for cooking up this humiliating thing to keep his way back to USA in secret.

But what Jason failed to consider in that moment was Mahmoud's idea of snatching up the "hot chick" he'd been eyeing. And damn, he hadn't even entertained the thought that the CIA bigwigs might see this mess as a golden opportunity to milk his undercover gig for all it was worth, advising him—now going by "Fatima Al-Zaidi"—to cozy up even closer to his 'new boyfriend' and start working on seducing some higher-up muckety-muck.