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High Profile (ShadowOfDesire and Catalyst)

There wasn't much interaction at the door besides the standard chit chat that all delivery people seemed to be trained in once they'd chosen their profession. The pizza and tip had all been paid on her phone, so there was little to do except exchange hellos and have the food passed over to her waiting arms. Of course, the delivery boy got an eyeful as she'd yet to put on pants, but she wasn't strutting about nude, and had worn far less clothing for photoshoots. After he'd bugged off, she closed and locked the door behind him, carrying the food triumphantly into the kitchen.

"Pizza!" She said unnecessarily. The smells wafting from the food made her groan a little as she plopped it down on the counter. Steam rose once she flipped open the box, filling the apartment with the delicious scent of cheesy, saucy, freshly baked bread. After fetching two plates, she left him to make his own and piled hers with several slices of the square-cut pizza, adding a piece of bread atop them.

She grabbed her drink and inclined her head toward the balcony that faced the bay rather than the ocean. "Let me show you the best place to eat at night around here."

Of course they were going to fuck. That was a given. Sofia had already decided that she wanted to know exactly what his cock felt like inside her. She'd already had it in her hand and her mouth. It only made sense to have it stuffed deep within her pussy, too. Of course, she wasn't going to tell him that. Not yet.
 
Pizza indeed, he shook his head silently. Admittedly, the smell had been permeating the air and his nostrils from the moment she'd closed the door, making him remarkably more hungry than he was mere moments prior for something other than the dessert in which he'd already indulged well before dinner. He returned to the kitchen and served himself immediately after her, snagging a few rogue pieces of meat that had wound up loose in the box and popping them into his mouth in the process. He was so intent on it that he'd very nearly missed the gesture she'd made toward him, calling for him to follow her.

Just as the pair stepped out onto the balcony, a cool, light breeze blew in over them, carrying with it the essence of the waters down so far below. Without a cloud in the sky, the stars hung overhead, shining brightly around the full moon and illuminating the waters of the bay, right alongside the lights of civilization. Boats swayed gently in their places in the marina, and in the distance, all of the bright, colorful lights of the city shined proudly.

For a moment, he found himself looking off, taking it all in. It was the first time he'd really taken the time to do so at night since he'd been here. "I'm not much one for extravagance," he said, "but the view from here is pretty awesome...I can see why you like it so much."
 
Sofia sat with one leg curled beneath her, foot swaying slowly as she gazed out over the bay. The breeze ruffled her dark hair, whispering as it curled over her shoulder. Utterly relaxed, she ate in silence while watching the scene below.

"The best views are always at the top," she said quietly. "I like the sense of detachment. I can see everything without being down there in the chaos. It looks prettier up high where you can't see the trash and crime and disease. I've a boat anchored down there in the marina. When I get bored of being stuck up here, I'll hire a crew and go out to the open sea. Nothing like flying across the ocean with all the comforts of home."

"Have you ever gone sailing for fun?" She glanced his way as she took another bite. Yes, Pizza and Margaritas were a fantastic idea, she decided.
 
He'd taken a seat of his own a few feet away from her, squinting the slightest bit as the air blew cooly against his face. He glanced over at her as she spoke, listening to her without a word or even so much as a dismissive expression. Simply, listening. Taking in the imagery she was describing

"For fun? No, I can't say I have," he admitted while looking out toward the open waters. "When I was a kid, my uncle took me out every now and then. Now, though, not so much. I've been out a few times, but not just for the hell of it. On business, more like."

He broke up his thoughts by focusing momentarily on his own meal, indulging in the taste that exceeded even its aroma. Looking around him, he couldn't help but feel strange. Something about this all was so odd. He was meant to be alone. To enjoy all the amenities this penthouse suite of an apartment had to offer, when he wasn't stuck doing his job. Now here he was, sitting with the girl who lived here, someone he was never supposed to see at all, breaking bread and having drinks with her like newfound acquaintances, after they'd just finished getting each other off like insatiable animals. This wasn't like him. And what surprised him even more, was how relaxed he felt in doing so.

"I always did like it around here. Almost makes me wish I had more time to just screw around, sometimes. See more of it." he thought aloud. "Even though its probably for the best that I don't usually get very comfortable."
 
"Why?" She stretched her long legs out, feet resting on the balcony railing as she glanced over.

She'd devoured her pizza. It absolutely couldn't be said that she didn't have a healthy appetite. As her attention shifted from the cityscape, she was nursing her margarita, drinking to enjoy rather than slamming to get drunk. A nice buzz was all she wanted. She didn't really trust herself to fall into a complete drunken stupor around him. He had too much power over her already.

"You think that if you stop moving someone's going to catch up with you? That your life will?" She pondered that for a moment, wondering what such a life would be like. She worked hard, but she also had plenty of time to relax when that work was over. She felt like she needed that balance, else she'd burn out and go crazy. So many girls killed themselves during their first year of building their brand, but then many of them also didn't have anything to fall back on. Sofia had a safety net, even if it was one she didn't want to use.

"Makes me wonder why you do what you do if you can't stop to enjoy the rewards now and again. Or are you hoping for early retirement?"
 
He counteracted the slight downturn that pulled at the corner of his mouth by looking away from her for a moment, back out onto the bay.

"To put it simply, I do what I do, because I can." he answered after a short silence. "Sorry I don't have a better answer for you. That I'm not a more complicated individual. But that's just it. It's what I'm good at. The vetting. The investigating. Yes, even the killing." This was far from his first choice for a line of work. But those details, he decided quietly, were not for her to know. "We've all got to make a living somehow, right?" he glanced back at her finally. Well, maybe not all of us. "Same reason you do what you do, I suppose. Course the money ain't bad either." He admitted.

"I don't know if you'd call it a retirement. Nobody's going to be throwing me a party or giving me a gold watch. Would I like to settle down and give it up...eventually? Maybe so. But if I expect to have the slightest chance in hell of ever getting to do that, I gotta do the dirty work, now. And I gotta make sure there aren't any trails left behind that could end up leading to me. All the more reason I have to do things the right way."

"Not like any of that matters to you, I'm sure." he digressed, taking in a deep breath and indulging in his drink. "At the end of the day, all that's going to matter to you is that you get out of this alive, right? If you do, you'll be right back where you started, anyway. Almost like nothing ever happened...well, minus the shitty boyfriend, I guess." he quipped out of the side of his mouth.
 
"Yea, that's the only thing I could possibly take away from all of this," she said dryly. "Maybe we should just stop talking, then, because it doesn't really mean anything, and I'm obviously only showing any interest at all on the slim chance that talking about your hopes and dreams might convince you to leave me alive." She didn't bother to hide the irritation in her voice. His talented tongue had made her forget how much of an arrogant asshole he could be.

Her feet flopped to the floor and she rose, crossing in front of him to head back inside. "I'm going to go wash off the remnants of stripper sweat in the shower, which is definitely not a request for company. Enjoy your damn pizza and booze. See you for our nightly lock down bedtime routine, Jason Bourne."

In a very uncharacteristic move, she didn't bother to clean up for the night. She left her empty plate and nearly empty glass on the coffee table before stalking to her bedroom. Her knitted shirt came off easily, and she threw it on the floor out of spite. Beneath, she was still wearing the black bikini that she'd put on that morning -- the one he'd peeled off her wet pussy before he buried his face between her legs. At that point, she thought she might very well burn the damn thing.

In the bathroom, she snapped at the shower to turn on to her desired flow pattern and temperature. While the water heated and the room filled with steam, she studied herself in the mirror while pulling her hair up into a clip. Not for the first time she wondered how Brandon had cheated on her -- her -- with that skank. She wasn't good enough for him? Her money certainly had been. That betrayal had come as a harsh blow. She lived her life seeking approval from others, undergoing the harshest scrutiny and critique on a daily basis, and for what? So her boyfriend could tell her that she wasn't hot enough for him? Or pretty enough? Or that she could stand to lose a few pounds because her ass was getting fat?

"Well, fuck him," she muttered to herself, and knew she wasn't just talking about her boyfriend.
 
Her apparent annoyance garnered his attention much more fully than before. His head turned in her direction, watching her as she rose from her seat and practically stormed back into the apartment, leaving nothing short of a stink of aggravation and anger in her wake. The sliding door slammed against the frame as it closed itself behind her, and all of a sudden, he was alone, in an almost dead-silence, save for the sounds of the night breeze, much too high up for even the sounds of South Beach to reach him.

"What the fuck did I say this time?" he wondered aloud to himself below his breath, appearing confused as he looked back over his shoulder just in time to see her disappear into the bedroom. "Moody little bitch..." He'd always been a private individual; never much one for discussing himself. So to him, his attitude was nothing new. He was cold, distant...aloof more often than not. The nature of the path his life had taken practically called for all of the above. It did not occur to him just how callous and miserable even his typical way of thinking struck her as.

He rose from his own chair, approaching the wrought-iron railing and bracing himself upon it with both hands. As he looked out into the midnight sky, he wondered silently to himself if ever it would be truly possible for him to live what most others would deem a 'normal' life. To have a family and a permanent home. To even potentially give up this dastardly line of work he'd found himself in. Would he want to? Most days, he felt sure he would not. After all, it felt like his purpose. And there were few who could hold a candle to his talents. But every now and then, an inkling of doubt seemed to pen itself in the back of his mind. Perhaps the only thing preventing those thoughts from gaining any traction, save for those genuine thrills and the rush the job often brought, was the knowledge of his own past.

He was not sure how long it was that he remained out there, taking in the view, and inhaling the ocean breeze. It felt as though quite some time had passed, but he had paid little mind to it, much more focused on pondering his own thoughts and absently analyzing the details of the city all around him. By the time he did finally retire inside, Sofia had already long been in the shower. The sound of the running water reminded him that he needed one as well. The nightly routine, as she so called it, was done in a matter of moments, securing the both of them in her room as the smell of her body wash filled it, leading him to approach, but not yet to enter, the bathroom himself.

"I need to shower too." He called out to her. "So either hurry up, or I am coming in there with you."
 
She'd broken down in the shower almost the moment the hot water hit her naked body, weeping beneath the water where no one would see. It wasn't new to her. She didn't enjoy allowing her vulnerabilities to show. She'd much rather bottle them up and let them loose when no one was watching. Brandon never understood that. He never understood that her anger was usually a cover for the hurt he'd caused, and her rage enveloped her fragile emotional state like a protective shell. She'd cry in the shower. She'd usually just brood everywhere else.

The sentiment had passed by the time he joined her, leaving her as emotionally spent as she was physically. His voice caused her to stiffen, but she said nothing. Instead, she gritted her teeth and reached for the towel hanging outside the shower door, wrapping it about herself as she stood on the warmed stone tiles. Her hair was damp, but not soaked. She'd scrubbed herself until her caramel skin was flushed from overly vigorous exfoliation as well as the heated water. It'd hurt, but the tingle in her skin made her feel alive and refreshed.

"Turn it off when you're done," she said without looking at him. She didn't bother to tell him that every bedroom in the house had a shower he could use rather than her own. He'd been through the house and already knew that. He either didn't care, or he was trying to irritate her on purpose.

Moving to the mirror, she reached for a bottle and began to moisturize, rubbing the scented lotion over her arms, shoulders, and chest. When she was done, she paid her closet a visit, going in search of underwear and pajamas. While she usually slept in her underwear and a closely fitted t-shirt, she opted for more clothing rather than less, if only to thwart him. By the time he'd finished, she was already curled up in bed beneath her sheet, facing the wall while she sullenly waited for him to join her.
 
Of course, he knew perfectly good and well that he could have selected any one of the other half of a dozen bathrooms in the apartment to shower in. But why do that, when there was a perfectly good one right here? Besides, the less distance was between them, the less likely it was that she would choose to or be able to sneak out or do anything to go against him without him noticing.

He looked back as she passed him wearing nothing but the towel around her warm body. While his eyes did rove momentarily downward, he made no comment, sensing the hostility in her gait and in her tone that seemed to have returned to her rather abruptly. Whatever had crawled up her ass all of a sudden, he thought, he did not have the energy to deal with it, and hence had no interest in taking a chance on further prodding.

As satisfying as it had been to fuck that stripper and get his rocks off, he had to admit that it did feel rather nice to wash off the general musk of the club, along with the sweat and glitter from their encounter. Not exactly the proudest notch in his belt, but a satisfying one none the less. And one that served a purpose beyond the pleasure.

He had taken his own time as well in allowing the hot water to flow over him. Even her shower was loaded from bottom to top with luxuries and amenities. Unnecessary, yes, but by now, he was starting to simply enjoy them, rather than question them. Though he did his best to pay it no mind, he couldn't help but wonder what he'd said to piss her off so quickly. Was it truly about him, or was it merely the frustration of her situation bubbling over? Either way, why should he care?

By the time he'd finally returned to the bedroom, wearing a pair of boxers and lounge pants he'd retrieved from upstairs while she was showering, she was already lying down, facing away from him beneath the covers. He paused, looking her over before climbing in to join her, and a deep sigh escaped him. "Hopes and dreams just haven't really been my thing." he admitted lowly. "Not in a long time, at least. Thinking too far ahead doesn't exactly work out in a hitman's favor..."
 
"You don't have to talk about it," she said frigidly. "I'm just along for the ride. It doesn't really matter." Sofia pulled her sheet even tighter around her body and turned in toward her pillow. She could see his silhouette against the wall, soft and distant like the glow of the city lights far below. She watched that movement for a moment before finally closing her eyes, trying to close him out, but she could still hear him breathing and feel his weight upon the bed.

She knew she was acting catty, that she'd unwisely let her irritation flare, but he was able to press her buttons far too easily. He'd still not given her much hope that she'd make it out of their little situation and that weighed heavily on her. If there was nothing she could do to change her circumstances, why do anything at all? At some point the end would come and nothing that had come before would be able to change that fact. A quiet conversation on the balcony over pizza and margaritas wasn't going to sway him.

Not that she'd been trying to sway him. She'd just wanted some food, alcohol, and an adult conversation with someone that didn't treat her like she was too stupid to participate. But then he did, dismissing her interest so easily, as if she was somehow so predictable and transparent. Maybe it'd been more about him and his opinion of himself and self worth, but she'd been treated too similarly for such words to not have any impact.

Why are all men such assholes?
 
Ahh...now I get it... Her derisive little comment wasn't much, but it was pointed. He immediately realized why she'd turned against him again so quickly. But that wasn't to say he truly understood it. That she'd taken what he'd said to heart, allowed it to get under her skin so deeply, it came as a surprise. It had not come close to being the worst thing he'd said to, nor of her in the short time that they'd spent face to face. Surely his attitude could not have come as a surprise to her. Why then, had his notion affected her so harshly?

He was no mind reader, nor did he intend to try. If this was the way she was going to choose to act toward him for the night, then so be it. After all, they were not friends. Far from it. a few shared meals and drinks and a couple of hours spent with their faces and hands buried firmly in each others crotches did not a bond make. At the end of the day...of this day, he was still a murderous intruder in her home, and she was still his captive.

He very nearly had to remind himself of that fact.

Resolved to allow her to sulk, he turned around in bed, focusing on getting himself comfortable for the night. A task that proved more difficult than it had been the night prior. But while his mind may not have quite been fully ready to forfeit, his eyes were heavy, and would soon win the battle. As he let them fall shut, his thoughts wandered one final time.

"We're all just along for the ride, sweetheart..." he muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear him amidst the relative silence. "One way, or the other..."
 
Despite her irritation, Sofia slept through the night without waking until the next morning. She rose as she normally did, washed, and had breakfast on the patio, savoring the new morning and the pleasant sound of the ocean waves as they crashed against the beach. There were clouds on the horizon far out to sea, promising rain later in the day, but the skies directly above were clear and the sun brightly shining as it rose higher.

After breakfast, she cleaned, frowning at the half-eaten pizza and dirty margarita glasses. She stashed the former in the fridge and the latter in the dishwasher, wanting to forget the previous night entirely. The thought of it made her slightly queasy. Not only had she allowed him to shove his tongue inside her, she'd begged for his cock like some sex-addled whore. Him. The man that was going to kill her. She had little doubt of that now, not after what he'd said last night, and it left her with a hard decision. Should she give in, let him have his way, and hope that the sex made him hesitant about killing her? Should she refuse him and keep her dignity since it wasn't going to matter much in the long run? Or was there a third choice that she hadn't yet uncovered?

Rather than let the situation keep her in a constant state of worry, she elected to turn her frustration towards the physical fitness. One of the bedrooms on the lower level had been converted to a gym, with room enough for a treadmill, bike, and a resistance machine. Dressed in a tight sports bra and leggings, she spent an hour jogging on the treadmill before doing several sets of resistance lifting and stretches. Once she was warmed up and limber, she took her yoga mat out onto the balcony and began going through her usual yoga routine. The peaceful morning helped her to let her troubles fade away as she concentrated on holding and perfecting her poses. By the time she'd finished, she was a sweaty, quivering mess, but felt far better about herself. After a quick shower to clean up, she headed upstairs.

Facing him was something she'd dreaded all morning. Yoga had helped her to forget, but it all came rushing back as she climbed to the upper level. It wasn't as though she had a choice in the matter, though. He had her in a crushing grip, and there was little she could do about it just then. So she tried to dampen her irritation, but couldn't quite keep the sharp edge from her voice.

"I need my phone," she told him when she'd tracked him down. "I'm probably going to need it for several hours, in fact. Did you happen to charge it?"
 
With the new measures in place, with which both of them were becoming increasingly familiar, it was not difficult for the two of them to stay out of each other's way. That morning, the two of them exchanged few unnecessary words, as he allowed her to move about the apartment relatively freely, in comparison to that first night. He would have to have been blind not to notice the sullen, frustrated expressions that seemed to have made themselves a fixture upon her visage. Prodding at her would only lead to confrontation that he quite frankly had no interest in dealing with, and save for acting bitch toward him, she'd given him no reason to initiate such. Just as well, he had plenty of work and preparation to do, as it were, and so having her doing her own thing while remaining complacent and not trying to make any moves made maintaining his own focus on his targets that much easier.

She had no privacy, of course, and being that the cameras were her suggestion, he wagered she knew that, as well. Outside of the bathrooms, every room was linked up to one of the 12 camera feeds, allowing him to keep tabs on her with ease. That included her time in her home-built gym. Every so often, he found himself glancing over, watching her briefly; admiring her strength and her flexibility almost as much as the way her athletic outfit hugged her body tightly. He never lingered for exceedingly long, however, his mind lost elsewhere in his work.

Those same camera feeds alerted him mere moments before she'd entered the upstairs bedroom he occupied. He did not move a muscle as she entered, acting as though he had not heard her at all, and allowing her to approach him before he bothered to swing his chair around and look her over.

"Hours?" He asked aloud. "Christ. The hell could you possibly be keeping that busy right now." He didn't really need an answer to that, though he was admittedly curious. More so, he was simply venting his annoyance aloud. Begrudgingly, though, he opened up the drawer on his left side and brandished the phone she'd been looking for, double-checking the battery and noticing a slew of missed calls and messages in the process. "Here," he remarked simply as he handed it off to her. "It ain't fully charged, but it should be more than enough."

He sized her up briefly, a thought coming to mind. "Do you actually have any clue what you're going to say to any of them if they so happen to ask why you haven't been answering your phone as quickly? Or why you aren't going to be going out anywhere, for a while?"
 
Her eyes automatically fell to her phone as he pressed it into her hand, holding it up to unlock it. Frowning as she cleared her notifications and swiped to check her text messages. "Yea, it is fairly easy to explain. I'll just tell them that I'm being held against my will by an assassin for hire and more than likely won't be talking to them again, so they might as well start arguing now about who gets my designer shoes and vintage record collection."

She tossed him an irate glance. "Depression and jetlag? Or, at the least, I caught a bug in France, feel like shit, and am sleeping it off. Whatever the case, you don't have to worry about it. They're already set to run without me. I am supposed to be on vacation, after all. People are just calling me because they've heard and they want all the nasty little details. That's how all this works. I ignore half of the texts I get anyhow. I'm normally busy and don't have time to answer every text and call. I set that expectation a long time ago."

Without another word, she dialed up her manager's number and took the phone with her into the lounge area outside the bedroom. Laying down on her back on the couch, she put the phone on speaker. He could hear it dialing and then a man answered, his voice thin and nasally. He seemed to know his business, however, because he fired off several rapid answers to her questions, which were primarily about her contract and what they'd have to do to break it if the agency didn't fire her ex-best friend. As it was all speculation, Sofia didn't dig too deeply, but she left the man with plenty of work and research to do for her. She also made certain to tell him that she wouldn't be easy to reach over the next few days. To his credit, Mory didn't press the issue, and merely indicated he understood and wished her well. After a hour and a half, she hung up with him.

Her assistant was next, but the conversation lasted only fifteen minutes. As they'd already laid out how to handle her accounts, there wasn't much for them to discuss other than leaking some of Brandon's photos. Sofia told her to table the idea for now, but they might come back around to it later. She still wasn't certain how much she wanted to ruin man. It all depended on how he acted over the coming days, and whether he worked up an apology. She left the girl to follow her original plan, and also informed her that she wouldn't be easily reached. Cami, like Mory, knew better than to prod for more details.

Her last call, and most difficult, was to her parents. A deep, masculine voice answered after a few rings. Sofia launched into a string of fluid Spanish that closely followed the text she'd already sent. He heard several mentions of 'Brandon' and a slew of curse words. Sofia's father sounded interested, but not overly concerned. At one point, he started regaling what he could do to the boy if Sofia desired, which made his daughter laugh heartily, but their talk eventually shifted to the mundane. A female voice replaced the male at some point, and Sofia spent time speaking to her mother about everything she'd already told her father. Her mother had more questions for her, most of them to do with Sofia's emotional state. After a solid two hours, Sofia reluctantly said goodbye to her parents. Though her voice tightened, she didn't cry until after she'd hung up. Even then, she only allowed herself to indulge in a few hot tears that fell down her cheeks.

Rising, she tossed her phone onto the couch and stalked out into the open air, moving past the pool to the railing. The storm clouds had grown closer, causing a slight haze, though the day was still quite bright. Her fingers tightened on the metal as she stared out at the ocean, so tightly that her joints ached.
 
The fact that she'd even bothered to put her phone on speaker when calling did a great deal to assure him that she had no intentions on using her phone time for anything more than what she'd already expressed to him. That should have meant that he could comfortably return to his work, and allow her to have her conversations in peace, so long as nothing she said became a cause for concern. But what began as simply keeping an ear out took no time at all to devolve into all-out eavesdropping. It was only natural for him, after all. To take in any and all information he could.

Eventually, his interest faded, as it became increasingly clear that not only was she talking about things that did not involve or relate to him in any way, but things of which he had little if any knowledge of at all. He'd caught the jist of it, that she wanted to make sure neither her friend nor her ex ever worked again, as far as she could help it. Clearly, she was a vengeful one in her own right, and that seemed to go beyond having others do the dirty work for her. He could respect that.

By the time she'd begun speaking to her parents, he was only passively listening; just enough to be sure that she was not speaking of him nor of her current predicament. His own work, instead, had reclaimed his time and attention. This party, there was no mention of it anywhere. None of his contacts had any knowledge of it, either. It was obviously not meant to be public knowledge. For a bunch of big wigs, they sure like to conduct their business in secret, don't they? And if DeSantos was going to be there, there was no telling who else would be.

He had to see for himself. But showing himself was too big a risk. Besides the fact that he would stick out like a sore thumb as a new face, his presence would cause them to be on their guard. No...no, if I'm going to do this...I have to do it quietly... he decided. For the time being, he would have to settle for staking the place out. Keeping tabs on who was going in and out over the course of the night. A monotonous and lengthy task, but his only real hope to uncover such crucial pieces of information. I have to know who I'm dealing with, before I can understand what this is all about.

He'd nearly missed her wrapping up her business, glancing over at the camera feeds on his secondary monitor only when he heard the faint sounds of movement and the sliding glass door opening up. Wisely, he gave her a few minutes to herself, allowing her the relative peace of the outside. Though eventually, he did rise from his chair, moving into the upstairs common area and retrieving her phone from the edge of the couch cushion. It had already timed itself out and locked by the time he got to it, so he simply slid it into his pocket and turned his eyes up to the girl he could see standing at the railing outside.

He quietly opened up the door and walked out to join her, coming within a few long strides of her before finally speaking up. "Are you done with what you needed to do?" he asked her plainly. "Sounded like you had quite a lot to say."
 
"I might not have the chance to speak with any of them again," she pointed out without looking at him. "I should have said more..."

She continued to gaze out at the open water, watching the stormy clouds grow ever closer. The seas had become rougher and most of the beach goers had already cleared out ahead of the storm. There were still a few willing to brave the high winds, but they were likely locals that could quickly run for shelter when the rains came. The breeze caught her hair and tugged at her clothes. She closed her eyes for a moment, face tilting into the wind, enjoying the cooler sea air that spilled over her. Eventually, as with all things, she knew that she had to face reality. She opened her eyes and glanced his way, gaze flat with disinterest.

"What do you want now? Going out again?"

It irked her that he could come and go as he pleased, but she was a prisoner in her own apartment. It irked her that he could do whatever he liked with her, and she'd have to sit and take it. It irked her that he was stringing her along, using her until that time that he no longer needed her and could discard her like a piece of trash. Mostly, it irked her that she was helpless to allow it all, and that made her the angriest. Her fiery temper could do nothing to sway him as it had so many people before. She couldn't talk her way out of the situation, nor bully him into a more agreeable one.
 
"Oh please." he dismissed. "Spare me the pity party. This ain't your last day on Earth. Even if I was gonna kill you, you got a good couple weeks before I can even really think about what I'm going to have to do with you. You'll have all the time you need to say as much as you want to them."

He observed her, the way her soft hair blew in the wind as the smell of coming rain permeated the air. But he did not make any move to approach her, opting instead to lean against the near wall with one shoulder, looking directly up at the light gray clouds that grew darker as they progressed over the horizon. Though it was only mid-afternoon, the shadows they cast made it seem as though it were much later. Even in her more 'normal' moments, if you could call them that, she had a way of carrying herself. With the cloudy sky as her backdrop, she could just as easily have been posing for another one of her shoots, rather than brooding as a captive damsel, had it not been for the look upon her face as she locked eyes with him.

"Not just yet, but I will be." he answered her, half scoffing at her tone. By now, he was sure she knew what that would mean for her, just as his eyes conveyed the message. "Figured I'd make sure you were done before I put your phone back. But, if you're just going to sit out here and sulk for the rest of the day, then I guess I'll leave you to it. Would hate to interrupt." He chided sarcastically. He pushed himself off the wall and turned away from her, beginning to walk inside, but stopping just outside of the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder at her. Looking as though he was ready to say something, and yet never piecing the words together.
 
"I wasn't sulking," she insisted, though she knew that was a lie. She'd been sulking and feeling sorry for herself. His chiding didn't help in the slightest. If anything, it made her dislike him even more.

With the storm nearing, she couldn't stay on the roof for much longer. Sighing, she turned to follow him inside, closing the door firmly behind her. The sky had grown dark in all of the condo's many windows, making the rooms seem much dimmer by comparison. She usually didn't turn on any lights until the evening, but the coming clouds made it necessary to start that a bit earlier.

"If you're putting my phone up, charge it, please so it doesn't go dead. There's a cord in the desk." She paused in the lounge, turning to gaze for a moment at the bar. She'd been drinking a lot since she returned, using it as a crutch or safety blanket. Turning away so as not to tempt herself, she moved instead for the stairs. Working out had given her an appetite and she'd talked the morning away, making it past lunch time. Food always helped the soul. It was a small miracle that she'd not gained a hundred pounds since she and Brandon had broken up.

Downstairs, she paused in the kitchen, but suddenly didn't feel like eating. Instead, she began to tour the house to make certain that all of the windows and balcony doors were closed against the storm, though that didn't take very long. When she finally made it back around to the kitchen and went rummaging in search of something to eat.
 
"Sure you weren't." he quipped in response, seeing right through her. His scathing comments may not have helped cut through the already tense air between them, but then, as she'd had plenty of time to learn, he was never much one for couth. She clearly had no interest in speaking to him anyway, so why should he care if she liked what he said to her or not?

Brian did not bother to respond to her request. That much was a given. Having her phone in his possession wouldn't do him much good if it wasn't even charged enough for her to use it when it was necessary to avoid suspicion. As she moved toward the stairs, he broke away, disappearing into his claimed space to stow her phone and to prepare himself for the rest of the day and night to come.

He used the vanity in the attached bathroom to look himself over, running a hand over his stubble-framed face. But as he braced himself against the marble sink, he made eye contact with his own reflection, taking a moment to dwell in his own thoughts.

Why was the possibility of keeping her alive even a thought, anyway? It wasn't just because of her social status. If that was the case, he wouldn't have taken this job in the first place. But his decision would ultimately be a binary one. Her idea of hiring him herself as blackmail held only limited promise. While she had only that fake name he'd given her to go by, that did not change the fact that she'd seen more than enough of his face to identify him, or to describe him, should she choose to snitch on him. Whether one month, or 10 years down the road, The only way to absolutely ensure that she would never breathe a word of his existence was to end her own.

And yet for the first time in a long time, he felt a twinge on conflict nagging at him inside.

Eventually, he pulled himself from the mirror. A different problem, for a different day, he decided. A few moments later, he descended the stairs himself, in search of his captive.
 
By the time he made it downstairs, Sofia had eaten and was sitting on the sofa, watching the storm roll in behind the safety of her glass doors. With the entire wall being windows, she had a fantastic view of the rain as it swept in from the sea. She hadn't bothered to turn on any lights, so the living room was dim, the hazy light from outside only illuminating her in muted grays. Though stretched out on the cushions, with plenty of seating for a least a dozen people in the sectional, she pulled in her feet as he approached as if to make room. That, or she was simply trying to make herself the smallest target possible. With his dour expression and a sense of danger about him, it was likely an unconscious move that many people tended to make.

"Off to the strip club again?" she asked. Her tone wasn't accusatory or even challenging. Rather, it held a flat tone that spoke of boredom more than anything. She really didn't care where he was going, but as he was the only link she had to a life outside of the apartment, whatever he did impacted her greatly.

Rather than fall back on alcohol to get her through the next few days, she'd gotten a sparkling water from the fridge. She glanced at him as she took a drink, examining his clothing in the process as though she might learn something of his nightly activities. He was still a mystery to her in so many ways, and rightfully so. The more she knew, the less likely he was going to allow her to live. Still, she couldn't help but be curious. Without her phone or computer to occupy her with business or social media, she had very little to do and so much time to do it in.

She was dreading him leaving the apartment again, not out of any sort of want for companionship, but because she knew what it would entail. He'd want to secure her, make certain she couldn't leave, and she'd be shackled to the bed all night in some horrendously uncomfortable position. Trying not to dwell on it, she pulled her hair over one shoulder and leaned against the cushions, glancing back to the rain.
 
It was to his relative surprise that she'd not even bothered to turn on the television, in the time that she'd been downstairs. Instead, the eerie quiet was broken up only by the sounds of their own words and the howling of blowing wind against the glass. Yeah, right...not sulking at all.

The pale light that shone in through the windows paid complement to his steely eyes, and illuminated his own form, dressed simply in black denim jeans, a shirt to match, and a gray collared jacket. "Soon." he answered simply, walking toward her. She didn't need to move at all, but the fact that she did, he took as an invitation, though he knew it to be far more likely the opposite gesture. Taking a seat on the couch beside her, leaving but one cushion's worth of space as a buffer between them, he leaned back into the comfortable seat. "Though I won't be going in, this time. No fucking any strippers for me tonight, unfortunately." he sarcastically pointed out.

He knew why she was asking, and he couldn't fault her for it. She was probably practically counting down the moments of actual freedom she had left before he'd be restraining her for his own needs once more. Truth be told, the idea of sitting out in a car for hours on end, just to get a few minutes worth of actual information as people moved in and out, was not particularly appealing to him, just then, either.

What began as an almost non-existent drizzle, sending tiny droplets into the ground and the windows with a soft pitter-patter of sound, was slowly but surely growing into a full storm, growing louder and dumping more rain as the darker clouds rolled in overhead. The two sat in silence for several minutes as they drifted along. Even then, the sounds of the rain, like a light background static, and the water splashing against the building and its windows, were oddly soothing. Far more so than the obligations that currently raced through his mind as they related to his work. As it were, He'd almost have rathered stay here with the miserable, brooding presence that was Sofia, rather than subject himself to these elements. Almost. That, though, did not seem an option.

"Like it or not," He said as he looked her way. "You've got to deal with me for a while yet, just like I have to deal with you. Regardless of what happens after the job is done." It wasn't exactly a comforting statement, by any stretch of the imagination, and it more than likely would not do anything to improve her opinion of him. But it did offer a glimmer of insight into his reasoning for not intending to make any decisions regarding her life, just yet.
 
"Well, at least you won't be coming back covered in glitter and stripper sweat," she said dryly.

Her bottle dangled loosely between her fingers as she turned her gaze from the storm to peer directly at him. "You know that I don't like it, and that I don't have to like it. However, I don't have much choice in the matter, so I'm trying to deal with the situation the best way I can. I'm sorry if I can't be perpetually sunny and chipper for you. You'll have to find some way to deal with that while I learn to deal with the fact that you're a certified asshole sometimes. Maybe that makes me a bitch. Maybe I always have been one. Whatever the case, you don't have to point out the damned obvious. I know fully well that neither of us wants to be in this situation. I also know that me being here is cramping your style. As neither of us planned for things to go this way, we just have to get over it and adapt."

"You want to be cordial? Sure. I can do that. You want to be best friends? We both know there's a snowball's chance in hell of that happening. So maybe you should just tell me how you want me to act around you, because I don't know really know what I'm supposed to do. You scare me sometimes, but that's the point, isn't it? That's part of who you are and what you do, so I can't really help it when it works on me, too."

With him settled, she stretched out across the cushion between them, bare feet planted on the cushion with her ankles crossed. She took another drink of her water before reaching to place it on the coffee table that sat in the center of the sectional.
 
A bitch? he scoffed silently, finding in humorous. That might be a bit generous.

"Hmph...You still don't completely get it, do you? No shit you don't like it. You're not supposed to like it," he said as if he felt the need to remind her. "All things considered, you're pretty damn lucky you aren't locked in a little cage or tied up in a closet 24/7, eating whatever I decide to feed you to keep you alive. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to treat someone that way. And does that make me an asshole? Yeah, you're goddamned right it does. I'm an asshole. I'm a prick. I'm a god damned piece of shit. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be killing people for money. People like me are only really suited for two things, and I decided a long time ago not to run for congress."

"So yeah," he nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. "You probably should be scared of me. But you've definitely got one hell of a set of metaphorical balls on you. 'Cause scared or not, you got some damn nerve the way you talk to me. Now, I don't give a shit if you want to be 'friendly,' talk to me every now and then, or if you'd rather just ignore me and only talk to me when you absolutely have to. So long as you stay out of my way and you don't do anything stupid, it doesn't matter. But if you're gonna beg for my cock down your throat, cum all over my face, and then act like a bitch two hours later, then you can't exactly be surprised when I get annoyed, hmm?"

He turned his attention back out to the rain, which by now was pouring heavily, waters rolling down over the windows. "If you really are hoping to 'convince me to keep you alive,' like you said last night," he half-way mocked, "that ain't exactly a good start, is it?" Whether he was alluding to her that there was some possibility of convincing him, after all, or if he was simply choosing to be a dick, was not immediately clear, though it served both purposes well.
 
"You can't have it both ways," she huffed. "You tell me that there's no point it in, and then insinuate that I could do better at swaying your opinion. It either is or it isn't. One thing or the other. It can't be both!"

Anger rose along with her irritation. Was he thinking about stringing her along until the last possible moment? Unknowingly giving her hope where there was none? She was moving before she realized it, swinging herself up on her knees and straddling his lap without warning. Her fingers clutched the cushions behind him as she pressed forward.

Her finger slid beneath his chin, nail lightly pricking the soft flesh there. "You started this. You started what happened last night. You did that. And then you dismissed me like I was just a vapid piece of trash without a brain in my head to think things through. If I ask you a goddamn question, it isn't because I'm trying to butter you up to like me better, it's because I want to know the answer. So I'm going to need you to get over yourself really quickly, Brian." She knew it wasn't his real name and the inflection told him that. However, she didn't have any other name to give him, so she had to make do.

"You want me to talk all sweet to you? To be at your beck and call? To just bend over and take it whenever you want? Then commit to my damn deal. You want me to agree to your terms? Then stop waffling and tell me that we're partners in crime. Don't dismiss what I want, when it could easily get you what you want." Her hips rolled, sex grinding against his for emphasis.

"You could keep me in a cage, lock me away as you like. You can tie me up, throw me in the closet, and let me starve to death. Or... you can make your life a whole lot easier while you're here. Just tell me that you'll do as I ask when the time comes, and you'll get all the mind blowing blowjobs you could ever desire."
 
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