Rob B. Illion

She stared at me, her mouth slightly parted.

"You heard me, Miss Corday," I repeated, as if proposing a business merger. "I wish to continue what we began in the Velvet Room."

Her brows shot up so sharply I half expected them to leave her face.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" she asked.

"Watch your language," I warned. "And I can assure you, I am perfectly sane."

"Then, what?" She tilted her head, her lips curving into a mocking smile. "You're in love with me or some nonsense?"

The very idea made me huff out a humorless laugh.

"I can promise you I am not."

Leaning back in my chair, I folded my hands in my lap, feigning calm while her gaze tried to peel me apart.

"As you might be more aware of now, I've had a... persistent aversion to physical contact. A wall I've never been able to cross. But what happened between us in the Velvet Room..." I paused, my eyes locking onto hers, "...didn't trigger the usual feelings."

"Usual feelings?" she asked warily.

"Disgust, nausea, discomfort."

She snorted, crossing her arms.

"Well, good to know I don't make you want to throw up. I might just be flattered."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Yeah, no kidding," she said, rolling her eyes. "So, what exactly are you getting at?"

I tapped my gloved finger lightly against my water glass, letting the silence linger just long enough to unnerve her.

"I am well aware of my age, Miss Corday. I've made my peace with the fact that marriage and family are obligations I cannot avoid forever. But until now, they've always seemed impossible. Pointless, even. Because of my... inconvenient affliction. After my experience with you, however, I believe further exposure could solve this issue."

She blinked at me, her jaw slack. Then she laughed — a sharp breathless sound that made the tension in the room coil tighter.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I assure you, I am not."

"Unbelievable," she muttered, tossing her napkin onto the table in a sharp motion. "Do you even hear yourself right now?"

"I do. And you're welcome to voice your concerns if you find fault in my reasoning."

"Oh, trust me," she snapped, her eyes narrowing. "I've got plenty of concerns. Let's start with this: why me? Why not some professional therapist or, I don't know, anyone else?"

"There's nothing wrong with me. I don't feel this matter warrants medical interference," I replied, taking a slow sip of water. "And trust me, Miss Corday, I find your... lack of effect on me as baffling as you do. But the fact remains. You're an anomaly. One that could help provide a breakthrough."

Her laugh was shorter this time.

"Right. So, I'm just some kind of lab experiment to you?"

"I prefer to see this as a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Oh, this should be good," she said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. "What exactly is my benefit in this arrangement, Mister Illion?"

"Compensation," I said without hesitation. "Generous compensation. Financial, of course. Enough to erase your debts or—"

"Nope." She cut me off, shaking her head. "Stop right there, Dracula. I'm already selling you my skills as a thief. That's a service. If you think for a second, I'd sell you my body too, you're dead wrong. I'm not a product. And certainly not your hooker."

"I never meant to imply—"

"But you did," she shot back, leaning forward, her voice thick with venom. "Throwing money at me like I could be bought and sold? That's insulting."

I held her gaze, unflinching, as the words hung between us like a carefully set trap.

"Then perhaps you'll find my second offer more agreeable." My voice dropped, softening as I leaned forward. "Help me with this... limitation, Miss Corday, and once I've achieved what I need, once I can marry, I'll set you free. No strings. No conditions. Freedom. Absolute and complete."

She froze, her lips parting slightly as if a sharp retort hovered on the edge of her tongue. But it never came. Instead, her fiery defiance dimmed, her expression shifting to something more cautious, more calculating. Her fingers moved absently to the choker at her throat, scratching at an invisible itch.

"You'd let me go?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

"Yes," I said firmly. "No conditions, no delays. You'll owe me nothing."

Her gaze dropped to the table, her fingers fidgeting with the corner of her napkin.

"And what if this doesn't work? What if your... condition doesn't change?"

"Then you'll still go free," I replied evenly. "After one year. If this arrangement fails, I'll release you regardless. I'll forgive any remaining debt you owe me as well. No exceptions."

A dry, humorless laugh slipped from her lips as she shook her head, a bitter smile twisting her features.

"This is insane. You're insane."

"And yet, you're considering it," I pointed out, a faint trace of amusement curling my lips.

Her head snapped up, and she fixed me with a glare.

"Don't act like you know what I'm thinking."

I smirked faintly.

"Oh, but I do. I'm a businessman, Miss Corday. I know how to read people."

Her scowl deepened.

"Don't push your luck."

Inclining my head slightly, I offered a short nod.

"My apologies."

She exhaled loudly, pressing her fingers against her temples as though I were giving her a migraine.

"I can't believe I'm even entertaining this idea."

"Your willingness speaks to your adaptability and pragmatism," I said smoothly. "Both admirable qualities."

Her glare returned full force.

"If you're trying to flirt, don't bother. You're terrible at it."

"Noted."

She leaned forward, pointing a finger at me like a blade aimed at my throat.

"Let's get one thing straight. I'm in charge of this. If I'm uncomfortable, it stops. If I say no, it stops. If you so much as breathe wrong, it stops."

"You can back off any moment," I said. "But I'll be the one in control."

She huffed, sitting back in her chair, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.

"This better not come back to bite me."

The corner of my mouth twitched upward, and she caught it. Her glare sparked anew as her hand subconsciously rose to the mark on her neck.

"I believe we'll both benefit from this arrangement. You have nothing to fear."

"Oh, don't sound so smug about it," she grumbled. "You'd better keep your word, Mister Illion."

"I always do, Miss Corday," I promised softly.

The waiter arrived to clear our plates. His impeccable timing shattered the fragile intimacy of the moment, leaving an awkward stillness in its wake.

As we headed out, I held the door open for her, watching as she hesitated for the first time before stepping into the car. Her resolve wavered briefly, but she didn't look back.

Whatever her reasons, Miss Corday had agreed to my terms. And though I had orchestrated this entire arrangement with cold precision, a darker part of me stirred... Eager to see where this dangerous game would lead.

For the first time in my life, I felt... thrilled.

***

The next morning, Coy entered my office at Illion's corporate headquarters with a file in hand.

"Sir," he greeted. "You've been at this for hours. Either you're masterminding something brilliant, or you're drafting your last will."

"Possibly both," I replied, motioning for him to sit.

Coy settled into the chair across from me, placing the folder on my desk.

"Let me guess... Jack of Clubs?"

"Correct." I leaned back, folding my hands as I observed him. "Miss Corday's attempt at the club didn't yield results. Returning would be too great a risk — he's sharp enough to connect the dots."

Coy tapped his fingers against the chair's armrest, his brow furrowed.

"Jack's more cautious than he lets on."

"That much is clear," I sighed. "What alternatives do we have?"

Coy shrugged, though his expression remained calculating.

"We could bait him into neutral territory. He's known to frequent high-stakes poker games — private ones. Or, we wait. Let him get comfortable, complacent. That's when he'll slip."

"Waiting isn't an option," I said. "Once it gets out that the cards are being targeted, he'll hide his away somewhere no one can reach. Including himself."

Coy nodded as he considered this.

"Alright, then. How do we proceed?"

"We might have to create an opportunity," I said, flipping open the folder he'd brought. My eyes scanned the detailed notes inside. "Force him into a scenario where Miss Corday can get close."

My gaze shifted to the second report tucked beneath Jack's documents.

"While we handle Jack, there's another piece to consider," I sighed. "Alistair's Ace."

Coy's hand stilled as he adjusted his glasses, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the report more closely.

"Ace of Spades... Alistair's most lethal subordinate. He's practically a ghost. No one knows his face."

"Exactly," I said. "He's more than just a wildcard. Finding him will be a challenge. But surviving him will be the real test. He's the head of Alistair's shadow agency for good reason. And if these reports are true, I'd place him as one of the highest-ranking hitmen in the country."

Coy's casual demeanor shifted, his face growing taut.

"You're not seriously considering sending Miss Corday after him, are you?"

"No," I replied firmly. "Not yet. Ace isn't someone we can approach on a whim. Recklessness would be fatal."

Coy exhaled, leaning back slightly.

"Good. She's capable, sure. But against someone like Ace? She wouldn't stand a chance."

I studied him for a moment, catching the uncharacteristic tension in his posture.

"You've encountered him before."

"Not directly," Coy admitted, his tone dropping. "But I've seen his work. He's efficient and precise. If he takes a contract, it's as good as done. Even for someone like you..." He snapped his fingers. "Gone."

The room fell into a heavy, the weight of his words settling like lead.

"For now, our focus remains on Jack," I said finally. "But I want you to start gathering intel on Ace. Quietly. If we're forced to confront him, I want every advantage we can get."

Coy nodded.

"Understood. But Sir, a word of advice?"

I inclined my head, signaling for him to continue.

"Don't let Miss Corday anywhere near Ace unless you're ready to bury her. Heaven knows, that woman will talk her way to an early grave with him."

I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I turned my gaze toward the city skyline beyond the window, the morning light casting a cold glow over the world below.

"Coy," I said at last. "I'll be granting Miss Corday more freedom soon. When I do, ensure she has guards. Skilled ones. And don't let her know of them."

"Of course, Sir," Coy replied without hesitation. He rose, smoothing the crease of his jacket before heading for the door.

As it clicked shut behind him, I returned my attention to the two reports lying open on my desk. Jack was a puzzle waiting to be solved. Ace, however, was something else entirely...

This was the one card up Alister's sleave I'd always been wary of. And I knew, if he gave the word, not only me but my family would be dead already.

I had to get rid of him first...

***

That afternoon, I returned home, the tension of the day still kneaded through my shoulders. The weight of planning, scheming, and dealing with too many variables should have left me exhausted. But instead, I felt a faint hum of energy, a curious sense of anticipation I quite understand.

The smell of food greeted me as I stepped inside. Something savory, with notes of garlic and rosemary, wafted through the air. My lips curved slightly before I could stop myself.

When I entered the kitchen, there she was. Miss Corday stood at the counter, her back to me, carefully plating what looked like roasted chicken and vegetables. She moved as though there was a song in her head, humming softly as she adjusted the garnish in a flattering way.

"You're improving," I said, leaning casually against the doorway.

Miss Corday jumped slightly, her knife clattering onto the counter as she turned. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me, but there was no real heat in her glare.

"Do you always sneak up on people, or is that just for me?"

"I'm not sneaking. You're just exceptionally unaware," I replied, stepping further into the room. My gaze dropped to the plate she was assembling. "Looks edible this time."

"Funny," she said, rolling her eyes. "I've been practicing what you told me to work on."

"I can tell," I said, picking up a fork from the counter and stealing a piece of roasted carrot. The flavor surprised me — balanced and seasoned just right.

"Not bad."

"Not bad?" she echoed, folding her arms. "That's all I get? I've been slaving away at this for hours."

I smirked, setting the fork down.

"It's adequate enough. But I won't lie and say it's anything more than that."

She sulked, mousy hair slipping over her shoulder as she hung her head.

"A little more enthusiasm wouldn't kill you."

"Perhaps," I said, stepping closer. "Or perhaps you've set the bar low enough that even mediocrity feels like progress."

She paused, glancing at me over her shoulder.

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"And yet, here you are. Cooking. Practicing. Trying." I stood just behind her now, close enough to catch the faint scent of rosemary lingering on her skin. "Perhaps I should show you how to clean too."

Miss Corday scoffed.

"Ha! Do I look like your housewife?"

I let my eye trail down her disheveled state. Her hair as always was attempted to be kept together by a scrunchie, but failed. And though she wore the blouse and dress provided for, the buttons weren't fully done and she hadn't bothered wearing shoes with her socks.

"No, you don't," I said flatly.

Her mouth gaped as she aimed a slap on my shoulder. I caught it before the blow could land.

"Rude Bastard!"

"Language, Miss Corday."

"Like I give a fuck."

My eyes narrowed at her as she pulled her hand away.

"Perhaps I must look into ways to educate that filthy mouth of yours."

She stilled, eyeing me like I would attack her.

"Don't say creepy stuff like that," she mumbled, turning as she finished plating the food.

When she brought the plates to the table, I pulled out her chair without thinking. She sat hesitantly, watching me closely as I took my seat across from her. For once, she didn't have a sharp retort ready.

The meal was quiet, punctuated only by the clink of utensils and the occasional murmur of approval when Miss Corday tasted her own cooking. When we were done, she leaned back in her chair, studying me with that sharp, curious gaze of hers.

"So," she said, "Any news on my next mission?"

"We're working on it."

"Right..." She glanced at the hallway, pressing her lips together in an absentminded way as she contemplated something. "Well... I guess I should get to—"

I rose from my seat and moved around the table. Her eyes followed my every step.

"Stand up," I said, my tone soft but firm.

Her brows furrowed.

"What is this? Some post-dinner etiquette lesson?"

"Something like that."

She hesitated, then placed her hand in mine. It was warm through the leather of my glove, but uncertain, her fingers barely brushing mine. I didn't let her second-guess herself as I guided her to her feet, the space between us shrinking with each inch.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost fragile.

"Getting used to you," I replied.

The air between us shifted. Her eyes met mine, searching for something we both knew she would not find.

My hand rose without thought, the back of my fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. Her breath caught and she went as still as a mouse.

"You're serious about this," she whispered.

"I don't do things halfway," I replied, my voice low and intimate in a way I hadn't expected.

She didn't respond, her lips parting slightly as I let my thumb graze along the line of her jaw, feeling the subtle flutter of her pulse beneath my fingertips. Her skin was warm, and I let myself linger there, breathing her in.

She smelled like the dinner we had. And something more. Something I couldn't place but that felt nostalgic in a way. It was so different from the disgust that would creep up on me.

Her hand moved then, light and hesitant, pressing against my chest. I felt the uncertainty in her touch, but she didn't pull away, didn't stop me.

"This doesn't bother you?" I asked, leaning in just enough that our breaths mingled.

"Not yet," she replied, the words trembling in her throat.

I stared at her lips, wondering how a woman with such a foul mouth could suddenly sound so vulnerable.

Her gaze flickered to my mouth as well, then back to my eyes, and in that moment, everything around us fell away. There was nothing but the heat between us, the way her breath quickened, the way her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, hesitant but holding on.

I leaned in, just enough for our lips to almost brush, a breath apart.

"Do you really need help closing this gap with a woman?" she whispered. "Or are you just playing some trick to have your way with me?"

My hand shifted behind her back, pulling her closer as our eyes stayed locked.

"Trust me, you're the last person I'd want to trick."

That spark of defiance sharpened the gleam in her eye.

"I think you're lying to yourself," she murmured.