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High Profile (ShadowOfDesire and Catalyst)

Brian shot her a glance as he entered, at first wondering if she was, in fact, looking for her phone, as the first thing he saw was the sight of her removing pillows from the bed, before realizing that it was all just part of some night time ritual setup she'd been performing. Rather than remaining focused on her, however, he seemed intent on preparing himself for bed. He closed the door, and predictably locked it. But he did not stop there. Just inside the room to the right side of the door was a long, solid wooden dresser. Its position made it a rather easy task for him to pull it toward him, just so that it impeded the door from opening. Even if she'd somehow been able to move without awakening him, she would not be able to overcome that obstacle without making more than enough noise to alert him. It wasn't an elegant solution, by any means. But it only had to work for tonight. By this time tomorrow, he was sure he would have a more efficient system in place.

He looked back over his shoulder at her when she made her little comment, surveying her as she buried herself in her pillows, looking as comfy and undisturbed as ever. "And I hope you don't hog covers like every other woman I've known." He jeered, letting out a single soft laugh.

Satisfied enough with his simple blockade, he approached the bed on the side opposite hers, removing his watch as he walked. He'd just gone to set it down upon the table when he noticed the much more luxurious one that had already rested there. He couldn't help himself but to pick it up and examine it. He made an impressed mock whistling noise, sliding it over his hand and onto his wrist just for the hell of it. "I take it this belongs to Mr. friend-fucker?" he flashed it toward her and smirked. "Probably bought this for him too, didn't ya?"

After a moment, he took it off and tossed it back down beside his own. He also removed the little flip-phone from his pocket. Everything else, it seemed, had been left elsewhere, including his blade and his gun. The only thing left for him to do was to once more unfasten his belt, and allow his pants to fall from his hips. He was in only his plain dark blue boxers as he finally climbed into the bed, his body immediately responding with immense favor to the comfort that surrounded him.

"I also hope you don't mistake me for him in the middle of the night...Though I suppose I wouldn't mind if I woke up to some good morning head..." he taunted sickly as he settled himself in.
 
She grimaced at the sight of the watch and didn't protest in the slightest when he tried it on. The sight of it made her frown, however. "Yea, it was an anniversary present. You can have it, if you want. He's not getting it back, either way. I'd rather smash it to bits than see him with it again. He'd probably just pawn it for extra cash."

Her eyes flowed over him appreciatively as he removed his pants, though glanced away when he slid in beside her. Again, he already had far too many ideas, and she didn't want him to take her gaze as an invitation. It was too strange to be sleeping next to a stranger. Her skin tingled from his nearness, electric and alive, knowing that a simple shift would bring them into contact. She didn't know if that'd be good or bad. He'd shown how easily violence came to him, but he was still a man like any other, and had acted like a man when she'd jerked him off. Ruled by his cock.

"Every guy dreams of that," she replied dully. "I don't think it's ever happened in the history of humankind. No girl wakes up wanting to start the day giving someone a blow job. It's called a job for a reason. If we enjoyed them, it'd be called a blow vacation." She stretched beneath the sheets, body arching slightly as she groaned, and then yawned again as she contracted.

"And if I mistook you for him during the night, it wouldn't be a pleasant experience. With the way I feel right now, I'd cut your dick off if I thought it belonged to him." She hoped that Brandon was getting fucked over right then. That he'd discovered he'd been left with the bill and wouldn't be able to get his passport until he paid it. That made her grin as she snuggled into her pillows. "Fucking bastard," she murmured sleepily. She let the weight of her eyelids drag them down, body relaxing fully despite being so near a killer.
 
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that..." he contemplated aloud, grinning. "If you hate it that much, I'm thinking maybe there's something else wrong. If you don't get a thrill out of taking your man's cock down your throat and serving him, well maybe you just haven't been sucking the right cock." he turned his head more properly toward her and shot her a dirty gaze.

"Well, sounds like I'm better off if you don't think I'm him, then." he chortled. Clearly, the wound was still very, very fresh. "Hmph...you know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say it sounds like you might be more pissed off at your ex-boytoy for getting his dick wet than you are at the 'creepy' sociopath conducting shady business in your apartment, and laying in your bed."

Leaving her with those sly little remarks, he turned himself to one side, his own body too ready to give itself over into slumber. There were more than a few rogue thoughts that still ran through his head as he lay there, but they were regarding not so much only the woman beside him, but also the information he'd gathered from his surveillance that night. At some point, he would have to go see what exactly was going on in Garcia's little club for himself. It seemed that now, at the very least, there were two targets for him to keep in his sights, rather than one.

As for Sofia, despite his normally overtly cautious nature, he was not particularly concerned with her, at that moment. Yes, she had now seen more than enough of his face to identify him, and would likely learn a lot more about who he was and what he did in the coming days. Those bridges would have to be either crossed or burned at a later date. But with his tracks well-covered as always, no weapons in sight, no way for her to leave without alerting him, her cell phone locked away upstairs, and no other way for her to make any contact with the outside, he was about as confident as he could be in the safety of himself and his operation. At least for the time being.

Regardless of the myriad of factors that demanded his attention, his need for rest quickly took priority. Within a few moments, he had silently conceded and fallen asleep.
 
Even with her eyes closed, she couldn't help but smirk at his comments. He was right, in some respects. She hated the man that was in bed with her, despite her truce, but she'd cease to hate him if he simply went away. Brandon she loathed, and would likely continue to do so until he dropped off the face of the earth. Maybe not even then.

Serve her man, indeed. She'd never enjoyed 'serving' anyone, nor 'servicing' anyone. She'd had plenty of cocks shoved down her throat, but it had never given her any pleasure to suck a man off. What enjoyment could she get from it? Not unless he had his face buried in her snatch. The same with hand jobs. Unless the man was also servicing her, she couldn't see a point in it. Sex was about mutual satisfaction. When it leaned too far to one side, she thought it just got boring and tedious.

Despite the oddity of the situation, she slept soundly for a while, though woke at some point just before dawn broke over the ocean. It took her a moment to remember where she was and all that had happened. And then that anger came rushing back. Her eyes swept over the silhouette of the man beside her, wondering how easy it would be to smother someone with a pillow. How much would he fight back? He was very strong, as she'd already learned. No, she couldn't win in a contest of brute strength. She was going to have to out maneuver him in some way. Too tired to think about it just then, she turned over to face the wall and fell back asleep.

At some point during the night, the separation between them disappeared. One or both of them had moved, gravitating toward the center of the bed, which put her firm, round ass right up against him. Sofia slept on, curled around her pillow, breathing softly as day broke and peeked through the parted curtains in her vast bedroom window.
 
He'd half-way awoken a couple of times over the course of the night as well, as he almost always did, but it was never for long enough to do anything more than assure that her body was still present in the bed, and that nothing around him had significantly changed. Much like his very light state of sleeping itself, it was a pattern he'd unintentionally trained himself into through his years, but one he didn't mind, as it had served him well.

When finally he did truly awaken, he was facing the same wall as Sofia, his arm bent on his pillow and his head resting upon it, and his opposite arm lay against his own side. Like her, he too had subconsciously moved toward the center of the bed. While the position they found themselves in could not accurately be described as any sort of 'cuddling,' their bodies were very close, and as he came further into wakefulness, he could feel the warmth and pressure of her ass right up against his hips. His typically morning wood did little to help the situation, straining against his boxers and grazing against the lower curve of her behind. The smell of her hair and of her skin wafted gently up his nose, filling it with her scent as he drew in a deep breath while stretching out. He did not move any further for a long moment, scanning what he could see of her with his groggy eyes and quietly debating whether or not enough time had even passed to yet justify moving.

In that time, it occurred to him once again just how easy it would be to fuck her. He could reach down and strip her shorts off, and be inside of her before she as even awake enough to fight it.

Christ...it's too early for that shit... he stopped himself, bringing his other hand up to rub his eyes. Eventually, he did make the move to get up, and in the process, brought himself in further contact with her body, before moving to climb out from under the covers and set his feet on the floor. Naturally, the first order of business was to relieve himself, though his current state did not make that any easier for him. He glanced at himself in her oversized bathroom mirror as he slowly adjusted to the light, and splashed some cold water on his face.

When he returned, he cleared the dresser out of the way as silently as he could, though it was bound to make some noise, and opened up the door. He could not yet be bothered to put his pants back on. That can wait... Still, he did pick them up off of the floor, and grabbed his phone, along with both watches, before stepping out to make himself a cup and some breakfast and to tend to the many matters of business that awaited him, hoping to get as much done as he could before she became a factor once more.
 
Sofia roused when he began to move, especially when he came into contact with her while slipping from the bed. It startled her awake, but as the touch was fleeting, she relaxed and lay in bed while listening to him go about his business. Her eyes were still closed when he moved back into the bedroom to clear the door, though she scowled at the noise he made. As the door opened, she turned over and pulled the covers over her head with a groan. As promised, she fell back asleep, having no interest in getting up that early.

She slept for another couple of hours until mid-morning. Nine was typically the earliest she rose when she wasn't working. Ten was even better. It was somewhere between when she finally roused a second time, stretching in bed with a yawn. Finding herself alone, she stretched out fully on the mattress, drifting a few moments until full wakefulness was upon her. Eventually, she opened her eyes again and squinted at the morning sunlight creep through the drapes. With a sigh, she slipped out of bed and went about her own morning routine, which included tending to the necessities. She didn't bother changing clothes, not when she wouldn't be leaving the house. Back in the bedroom, she began making the bed, ensuring everything was nice and tidy before she went in search of food. As she glanced at the bedside table, she noticed that Brandon's watch was gone. Good. I hope he whines about it, too.

Crossing into the kitchen, she threw a glance at the dining room where she'd left the towel covering her blood. Neither were to be seen, which surprised her. He cleaned up? She was mildly impressed that he'd even considered it. But he'd also bandaged her foot, which didn't feel nearly as sore this morning as it had the day before. So he's an asshole, a cold-blooded killer, but he still has some kind of moral conscious, even if it is born from a need to make his life easier. That might be something I can work with.

Yawning, she stumbled into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee and something for breakfast, glancing about in search of her 'guest'.
 
She wouldn't find him downstairs. He was hard at work in his own self-made office of a bedroom once again. As it turned out, Mr. DeSantos had had a pretty eventful rest of the night, once he'd left Garcia's club, the tracker on his truck showed that he had paid a very brief visit to the Brickell Place Marina just south of Downtown Miami. That, in and of itself, was enough to raise eyebrows, at nearly two o'clock in the morning. Even worse, considering both of his boats were registered at Pelican Harbor Marina, nearly 15 miles in the opposite direction. On the way home, it seemed he'd also stopped by his office near Town Square, and had remained there for nearly two more hours, before finally returning to one of his homes, directly across the way from Sofia's apartment, in his own little condo not more than a block down the street from where he'd met with Garcia the night before.

And that was precisely why he was here. Garcia had now shown himself to be a rather important associate, and that meant his days, too, would soon be cut short. But that did not change his primary target. Jameson DeSantos, one of the only people in the State of Florida who's wealth could make Sofia's father look humble. Of course, while the people knew about DeSantos for his political ties and his prominent role in one of the most successful hedge fund firms in all of the United States, it seemed that as of late, perhaps there were more dealings being done in the shadows. Which begged the question...what in the hell did he want to do with Garcia, who seemed to be at best a shady business owner?

And why did his clients only now suddenly want him dead so desperately?

That last question, he convinced himself, was beyond his pay grade. He was promised an amount of money he'd have been foolish to refuse. Where it came from, and how it got to him, was not for him to worry about. So long as the job got done, and he got paid. That was all that mattered.

But while Sofia may not have been able to see him, he could certainly see her. One of his monitors now displayed all of the apartment's feeds, with a handy little red marker that alerted him to movement in each frame. It was quite a nice security system really. It was just a shame that it couldn't stop him. He kept one eye on her, even as he made note of his next steps. Not only that, but he'd made a couple of additional small, simple alterations of his own.

He had to give Sofia credit, her idea seemed as though it would work like a charm. Now though, a part of him was curious as to whether or not she would immediately try to leave, if she believed him to have no direct line of sight on her, or if she would hold up her end of their previous discussion.
 
Sofia made herself a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast with strawberry jam, which she ate out on the oceanside balcony with her cup of coffee. As he had yet to make an appearance, she assumed that he was upstairs working and had gotten up early to have his own breakfast. The morning was mild and breezy, sweeping the salty sea winds up to ruffle her hair and swirl into the apartment. It was peaceful, tranquil, far above the worries of the rest of the world. The sounds of traffic were muted, though there was little of that this early in the morning. The beach was beginning to fill with people, families out for a beach day, friends come to party, and locals out for exercise. If she stood at the rail, she could look down at their tiny figures and watch a tiny portion of their lives for a small amount of time. She did that occasionally, wondering how other people lived. Wondering how they survived.

After breakfast, she cleaned up as she always did, tidying the kitchen and putting her dishes in the sink. She tossed a glance at one of the cameras as she passed from the living room and into the kitchen, knowing that he was watching her. He wouldn't be letting her walk around freely if he wasn't.

As he watched from his makeshift office, he could see her make herself another cup of coffee and lean against the counter. Suddenly, she cocked her head, toward the hall. The cameras didn't have audio, so it was difficult to tell what drew her attention as the doorbell hadn't sounded, and he'd likely not hear any knocking on the second floor. With another glance at the camera, seeming to look directly at him, Sofia pushed off the counter, quickly rounded the wall, and headed straight for the front door.
 
For some time, everything was going according to plan. She seemed to be enjoying the relative freedom of at least being able to move about the apartment and looked to be considerably less bitchy than she'd been the night before because of it. For him, as long as she continued to hold up her end of the bargain, that was all fine by him. The less he had to think about her, the better, and keeping her restrained to something at all times, while simple and satisfying in theory, was not exactly an option unless he wanted to hear her scream and swear at him at all hours. For now, though, he knew that he still could not trust her. She'd given him no reason to, outside of not attempting to flee while he slept. And so while he was allowing her to roam, his attention was far more fixated on the camera feeds than they had been on his own work since the time she'd begun to stir.

Hence, he could see the odd expression as something seemed to catch her attention and noticed as she looked up at the camera. What he did not expect, however, was for her to be quite so bold as to actually go for the door. Had someone else shown up? What the hell was she doing? He searched for the feed of the front entrance on his monitor with a darting glance, but it was only then that he realized...there was none. Was it on the external system? He scrambled, but by the time he'd finally managed to access it, it was just in time to see the front door open and shut.

The bitch was actually trying to make a break for it?!

"Oh you motherfucker!" He hissed aloud, violently shooting up from his chair and out of the bedroom. Within seconds, he was storming down the stairs, rage plastered all about his face, heart beating hard against his chest, fully expecting to find her storming toward the elevators. She'd never make it in time. He told himself. And now, he was fully prepared to make her regret it.
 
The front door was slightly ajar, as she'd not pulled it completely closed when she slipped into the hall. About the time he reached it, it swung inward -- toward him, nearly smacking him in the face. She slipped in behind, eyes widening a fraction as she saw how close he was to barreling her over. Her brows dipped a moment later into a scowl, eyes sparking with fire as she closed the door hurriedly behind her.

"What in the fuck are you doing?!" she demanded in a hiss. "What if someone had seen you!"

With the door closed, she hurriedly locked it and threw on the bolt, rising on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. But the hall was empty, just as it had been when she'd left, and there was no one to witness the man that had invaded her home. It was a small, bitter comfort. She wanted him caught and hauled off to jail, but that was risky. If someone saw him, she worried what he might do to protect himself.

In her free hand she carried a cluster of hangers that were covered in a layer of clear plastic. The garments within were the colorful assortment of dresses that she'd given the concierge the night before, now freshly dry cleaned and pressed. She folded the bag over her arm, still scowling as her attention returned to him.
 
He'd only just stopped the door from hitting him by blocking it with his hand, looking equal parts confused and enraged as she slipped back into the apartment and attempted to scold him. Unfortunately, it had fallen on all but deaf ears in the moment. The clothes she held and then draped about her arm made it rather obvious with a brief second of thought what had just happened, but that was of little ease to him. His mind was still fixated on all of the alternative possibilities. What if there had been someone at the door, and she'd used that small falter on his part to alert them?

He grabbed her suddenly and without warning, with both hands at the neck of her shirt, and pulled her toward him, seething as he stared into her eyes. "And what the fuck were YOU thinking?!" he cursed her right back. "Just walking right out the front door like that? What the fuck did you expect me to think?! You could have been halfway down the damn hallway for all I knew!"

The look in his eyes made it clear that he had been anticipating exactly that. There was a twinge of panic within them, as if for a fraction of a moment he may have questioned if he'd let his guard down too much. He looked as though he ready for a fight, and even as seconds passed, the aggression was still very visible within them.
 
Her eyes widen in shock at his fury. One hand gripped the arm that held her. The other was limp at her side, clutching her bag of clothes. "You said you had the cameras! You said you had all the cameras!" Her scowl returned, and her voice dropped. "Let go of me."

"I waited until she'd gone back to the elevator," she growled. "There was no one in the hall when I slipped out. The damn things were hanging on the wall by my door. I didn't go any further than that! You've been watching me all morning, haven't you? If you were watching the cameras like you said, you would have seen that! Go look at the damned footage."

He was anger and wrath and fury. And it didn't escape her notice that he wasn't wearing anything but his underwear. That hard, muscular torso flexed as he held her. His abdomen, his biceps. They'd seized with potential energy, like a panther just waiting to pounce. But there was also death in his gaze, and she knew she walked a very thin line. If she'd made a run for it, she never would have made it to the elevators before he'd stormed out, gun blazing. Maybe the emergency stairs, she thought, but I'd be dead if I was still waiting for the elevator doors to close. Me and whoever was in there with me.

"I called a truce," she hissed. "I know what will happen to me if I break it."
 
His own eyes had darkened as they shot between her and the door, still gripping her tightly despite her words. Obviously, she was telling the truth. She'd had only mere seconds between the time she disappeared out of view and the moment he'd stampeded down the stairs and grabbed ahold of her. In that time, there was no one in sight, and it had been nowhere near long enough for anyone to get themselves out of sight if they had been. A brief glance upward at the little camera in the corner of the foyer showed its tiny indication light, a steadily blinking red.

With an agitated glower, he scanned her face, gaze piercing through her. His jaw clenched visibly, his lips tightly together, and his brow furrowed. Despite her explanation, he still looked pissed. As though the spark of anger that had ignited him was still searching for some reason to be released.

Finally, with a half-hearted shove, he pushed her backward as he let go of his grip on her shirt, not hard enough to knock her over, but causing her to stumble backward slightly. He turned away from her and moved back out into the kitchen without so much as a word, leaving her to follow. Grabbing a mug out of her cabinet, he poured himself another cup of coffee from the pot and took a long sip from it. He planted the mug on the countertop somewhat forcefully and gripped the edge of the granite with both hands, the muscles in his back, chest, and shoulders flexing as he leaned forward, shutting his eyes and drawing in a deep breath to recollect himself.
 
Sofia staggered back into the door, glaring at his back as he walked away. From the rage that rippled through him, she'd expected worse. She'd expected to be hit. That he'd contained himself was impressive. Her father had a temper. He didn't typically bother with reining it in.

Following, bare feet slapping against marble, she hung her dresses on the table by the door and turned into the kitchen, pausing to watch him. Watching those muscles ripple and flex. Moving to the counter, she folded her arms and leaned on it, letting go of her own irritation. The man was so tightly wound, it was no wonder that he needed to blow off some steam.

"Hey...," she finally said after a few moments of silence. "Maybe we need to talk about some ground rules so that we're both on the same page. Things are going to happen, but if we have a plan in place, then neither of us will be stepping on the other's toes."

She sighed. "I don't expect any other visitors, but that doesn't mean there won't be any surprises. I'm going to have to answer the door at some point, so you need to tell me how you want to handle it next time."

Her mouth twitched into a slight frown. "I also know you took my phone. I understand why, but I'm going to need it back or people will start getting suspicious. I have someone that runs my social media accounts, but we collaborate on what she posts, and she's going to need my input at some point. Everything else I can ignore, because I'm technically still on vacation, and she's handling that for me so I don't have to."

"But... there are some phone calls that I will need to answer. From her, from my agent, and from my father. If any of them can't reach me, they're going to worry and will send someone over here to check on me. Neither of us wants that."
 
Her voice directed his attention upward from his cup, that twinge of anger still ever-present in his stare. That he hadn't struck her was not so much a testament to his own patience nor self-control, as there was a part of him that still very much desired to do so. Rather, it was much more a result of his thoughts being pulled elsewhere.

"The next time you go near that door without alerting me first, I can assure you you won't still be standing..." he warned. "There's your ground rule. These damned cameras are on two separate circuits, and I can't keep eyes on both of them at once. What shit-for-brains must have wired this place's surveillance system, God only knows. But if I can't see you, I'm going to assume the worst. When I assume the worst, things are going to get very, very bad for you."

"As for your phone, you're not getting it back. Not that easily. Between the texts, phone calls, the internet...there are a million and one ways for you to signal someone for help. Most of them silent and almost impossible for me to keep track of. How could I possibly trust you or believe that you wouldn't find some way to do just that? I mean, come on, When was the last time you heard of a hostage getting to play on their fucking phone?" He shook his head, as if the sentiment was outright idiotic.

"But, you're right about one thing, you can't just drop off the face of the Earth. The fact that everyone thinks you're out of the country would buy maybe a couple of days, at the most. And once they start finding out you're back...this is going to be the first place they come to look." He spoke almost as much aloud to himself as he did to her. "Shit, even your boyfriend or your friend might be the next ones to show up, once they find their way back..."

This is already turning out to be far more trouble than it is worth... he cursed.

"Who has keys to this place?" he asked her on an aside. The chain lock was helpful, but it would not stop someone who thought they could get in from trying, and it's being on alone would make it obvious that someone was home...
 
"I'm not talking about playing on my phone," she shot back. "Just answering phone calls from a handful of people, which would be on speaker, and you'd be able to hear. I'm trying to save you trouble. Trying to save us both the trouble," she grumbled.

Frowning now, she eyed him. "Concierge has a key so they can let in maid service, pool service, and other technicians when I'm not home. Now that I'm here, they'll call before coming up unless they're leaving something, like my dry cleaning. My parents have a key, but they're on a boat some place in the Mediterranean, I think. I never know for sure until they call. My assistant and social media manager, Cami, is the only other one that has free access to my apartment. She won't come over here unless I ask her to or... or if I don't answer her calls." She quirked a pointed eyebrow at him.

"Brandon had keys, but I made damned sure to get those back before I left him in France. He might show up, but he won't be able to get in. I can also have security alerted so that he won't even get past the front desk. Not unless he's a highly trained assassin with poor people skills." She snorted and pushed off the counter, passing him to get a water from the fridge.

"So what do you suggest we do about it, then? Nobody but Cami knows that I'm back, but people are going to start calling soon. If they haven't already.
 
Saving me trouble? Hmph...If I really wanted to save myself that trouble, I'd be killing you, Garcia, and DeSantos right now, taking my money and getting my ass out of the country before they could identify me...

That last little quip too earned her a small deathly glare from her newfound roommate, as he tilted his head to follow her and sized her up. "My people skills are just fine. My bitch training skills are what I'm currently working on!" He turned to lean his back against the counter, folding his arms at his chest. "As it is, I'm really itching to go after someone, right now... so I can make damn sure you never have to see him again, if you'd like." It wasn't entirely clear how much of that statement was in jest, as the look on his face remained stoic.

"Seems pretty simple to me." He shrugged after a moment of ponderance. "You have to be able to answer your calls and messages so that your people don't think something is wrong. But I can't have you just walking around with your phone in your own possession, because I wouldn't be able to stop you from sending something to somebody until it was too late. So, it looks like I'm just going to have to keep it, have you respond to whatever needs responding to as it comes along." He paused, something apparently humoring him as he watched her. "I guess that means I'm just going to have be your manager, too."
 
"My manager? So you want a cut, too, I guess?" She'd been joking, but that sparked an idea. While opening her water, she pinned with a long, speculative look. Her head tilted in that way that her friends knew something dangerous was coming.

"I could pay you," she said suddenly. Putting the bottle down on the counter, she leaned forward a hint of excitement in her eyes. "Not pay you off to let me live or to leave my place, but I could pay you for your services. That would give me incentive to not speak of you, ever. I don't want him dead. I mean, not really, but I would like him to hurt. Badly. You do that sort of thing, don't you? You could rip off his arm or something and beat him with it? Abduct him and dump him somewhere where he'd be certain to get gang raped by a bunch of thugs?"

"You know I have money. You know I can get more without blinking an eyelash. Tell me your price." As shocking as it might be, she was completely serious. If he considered it, even a little, it might be the answer for them both. She couldn't turn him in without implicating herself.
 
A cut. Now we're talking. he huffed, making a face as if to say he certainly wouldn't be opposed to it. At first, though, when she mentioned paying him, he immediately, nearly instinctively rolled his eyes, letting out a slight sigh, turning his attention back toward his coffee in a disinterested fashion, his opposite arm still crossed over his chest. He could see where this was going, and he knew exactly what was coming, next. The classic 'Whatever they're paying you, I'll double it if you just get out of here and leave me alone,' trick. Of course, he knew he could never do that, nor would he, but quite frankly, he was surprised she hadn't already tried it.

It was only when she opened her mouth once more that he realized, that wasn't what she was thinking, at all.

His eyebrow cocked high above his eye as he listened to her speak, scrutinizing her with every word, though he still was not looking directly at her. As he began to decipher what it was she was asking of him, he couldn't help but smirk to himself in amusement. The more she went on, the wider it seemed to grow, until he found himself chuckling beneath his breath at the mental images she'd conjured up. He glanced back at her, expecting to hear her laughing, or showing some signs of joking, but what he found instead was nothing that genuine glint in her eyes, as if she thought herself a genius. "Wait...are you?"

He pushed himself off the counter and turned to meet her eye to eye, looking surprised. "Oh, my God, you're actually serious, aren't you?" He spoke up through laughter, a full-on sick smile now plastered across his face. "You shady, sadistic little bitch, you're serious!" Clearly, he had a dark sense of humor, because he was finding absolute delight in this revelation. There were a number of things he'd come to expect from her already. But this? It was far from one of them.

"Hold on. You actually want to pay me to fuck him up for cheating on you?!" he asked, seeking clarification.
 
She wasn't thrilled about him laughing at her, but he was listening, so she continued. "Yes! I've never been more serious in all my life. He deserves it. If you only knew half of the shit he's pulled. How many times I've had to bail him out, literally and figuratively. I've put up with his shit for years. Years! All because I was in 'love' with the man." She wrinkled her nose, telling him exactly what she thought about that sentiment now. "And it wasn't just that he was cheating. He was doing it with her! I know it takes two people for that, but I already knew she was a slut, so I'm not surprised. What I am surprised about is that he stuck his dick in that thing, even though he knew what kind of skank she is."

Huffing, she threw her hands up in the air and stalked around the counter. "And I'm just supposed to roll over and take it! Hell no. I don't work like that. He can go fuck himself sideways with a goddamn cactus."

"He's got his own modeling career now, because I introduced him to all the right people. If he got his shit together and stopped snorting an assload of coke on the regular, he might be raking in the cash. But he's a fuck up and he's screwed me over for the last time." She rounded on him, eyes blazing. "So, yes! I want him to pay for that. I don't want him dead, but I want him fucked up. And if you smash his pretty little face to pieces in the process, all the better. The smug prick."

"So what do you want for something like that? How much do you want for fucking up my ex-boyfriend and making certain he knows what a piece of shit he is? I want him to beg." Her arms crossed over her chest as she stared him down.
 
Once the initial shock of her suggestion had worn away, he was able to at least contain himself from laughing. Surely, he should not have been so pleasantly surprised to hear this coming from her, nor should he have taken such enjoyment in her confirmation, but he could not help himself. Needless to say, if she did not have his complete and undivided attention before, she had certainly garnered it now, and he was fixated on her as she spoke her mind, even if he was not able to wipe the humored smile from his lips.

Gray eyes followed her, listening, and watching the way she emoted as she moved about the counter. It did not take him long to begin to understand just how deadly serious she was. Every time she'd spoken of him thus far, there'd been a tense, barely restrained anger in her voice, as if she wanted to say even more than she had been, and it seemed that now she was letting it all loose at once. Even if that meant venting it out to a killer.

What's more; he actually agreed with her. From his perspective, her rage was justified. That fire in her eyes as she reapproached him on the other side was as bright as he'd seen it, including when it had been directed firmly at him. Dare he say it, perhaps he was even impressed to see this sort of vengefulness being exuded from within her. Beyond that, though, he saw an opportunity. An opportunity that would benefit him very nicely.

If she was willing to pay that price, well, how could he possibly refuse?

"Alright..." he said, looking down into her eyes as she stood just before him. "I'll do it... But I don't want your money." The quick flitting of his eyes may have given her a small hint as to what was coming next. "I'm already on an assignment, one that's going to pay me even more than I'm thinking you'd be willing too, anyway. That being said, it's a big one, one that takes a lot of my time and a lot of my resources already. So I don't know when I'll get the chance to make this happen. In the meantime, well...let's just say you help me out, and I'll help you out...You be good, do some things for me while I'm here, make it worth my while... and I'll make sure pretty boy never makes another dime off of his face again. Hell, I'll even make sure he has a hard time snorting that coke for a few months..."
 
Sofia blinked at him. He'd agreed to do the job? That thrilled her, knowing that her sleazy ex would soon be feeling pain. Maybe not the same sort of pain he'd made her feel, but something as equally as devastating. And he deserves every minute of it, she thought smugly.

The payment, however, was an issue. She cocked her head as she returned to lean on the counter, puzzled. "I'm offering you money and you don't want it? What sort of gun for hire are you? I thought that you could never have enough money." A moment of clarify flickered in her eyes as he revealed a bit more than she'd known before. If his present job was going to earn him a ton of cash, then his target must be extremely important. Connected? Foreign dignitary? U.S. Senator? She tried to think of who might be in Miami that'd be on his hit list, but Sofia's father had tried to shield her as much as possible from the family business.

So what could he want other than money?

Her scowl returned. "'Help you out'? 'Be good'? 'Do some things?' You've got to be kidding me. Are you seriously suggesting what I think you're suggesting? You need to be more specific. I'm not agreeing to anything unless you tell me exactly what it is you want me to do for you."

He could take it any time he wanted, she thought. Without asking and without me being able to do anything about it. But that takes effort. So he's angling for me to get there willingly? What a fucking prick.

"What are you asking me to do for you?" She thought she already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from his own lips.
 
In the span of about sixty seconds, he could see the entire range of emotions she felt as she processed them. The genuine, sick excitement that elated her at the thought of her two-timing ex getting everything she felt that he had coming to him. The confusion when he made it clear that it was not her money that he was after in return for his services. And the combination of disgust and anger that washed over her as she listened to him present her with his own requests. His own expression, however, had remained relatively unchanged; still with that half-cocked hint of a smirk and that sure look in his eyes.

"Do I need to spell it out for you? You know exactly what it is I want from you, princess." he challenged her. "What was that conversation we had just last night? About servicing a man?" he huffed slightly. His gaze roved over her, moving downward and smoothly back up. "You've got a pretty set of lips, a perfect body, and a sweet, tight little cunt. All I'm saying is, maybe the more you do for me, the better of a job I do for you."

The knowledge that he could have as much of her as he wanted, at any time he chose did not elude him, of course. But what could be more satisfying than her giving it to him on her own? This was practically a game to him. And he knew he had the winning hand. One way, or the other.

He picked up and drank down the rest of his coffee, setting the empty mug in the sink beside him. "Seems like a pretty damn good deal to me." he pointed out to her, shrugging. "Money is money. I could charge you a shitload of it, sure. Someone like you probably wouldn't even miss it. Or maybe you would. Who am I to say? Either way, what I'm asking for won't cost you all that much at all...and it works out much better for me."

"Of course, no one's forcing you to accept. It's your idea, after all. You're the one who wants that little dickweed to get what he deserves. If you'd rather just let it go, forgive and forget, as they say..." he half-rolled his eyes at that, himself. "...let him think he got off scot-free, getting to fuck you and your slutty little friend for half a year, and GOD only knows who else, all while you were paying for his shit and making his life easier, well, be my guest. No skin off my back. But the offers there. Just something to think about." He leaned in slightly and whispered that final thought. Only he didn't wait for a response. Instead, he turned his broad back to her, fully content to leave her to dwell on it, and started to make his way out of the kitchen and upstairs to return back to his work.
 
Sofia stared at him, mouth agape, not believing what she was hearing. He didn't want her money. He wanted her to whore herself out to him. She sucked in a breath remembering his hands on her, unwilling hands, sliding beneath her shirt and dipping into her panties. She also remembered very welcome fingers sliding over her sex while she stroked his cock. The thought of both made her shiver.

She was aghast that he'd even asked. She was also a little flattered. He could have asked her for an insane amount of money, but instead he just wanted... her. His own personal little fucktoy for the duration of his business. She swallowed thickly. That... could prove to be a challenge, depending on how much he really wanted from her.

Her nostrils flared with irritation. She knew he was baiting her. She knew he was trying to crawl beneath her skin and rile her up. And it was working, far too well. Even though she recognize the manipulation, she couldn't help her reaction.

Brandon is going to pay for this. All of it, she thought darkly.

Stalking after him, she grabbed for his arm to turn him back around. "Hey! I wasn't done talking to you," she growled. "You're a fucking bastard, you know that? Of all the things, that's the one thing you want as payment?"

She huffed. "Saying that I'm hypothetically considering it, I've got one other little stipulation..."
 
From the moment he turned away from her, he felt victorious, having seen the expressions written all across her face. When he heard those bare feet moving across the cold marble floor behind him, he knew he was correct to feel that way, even before she ever touched him. And so he did not at all resist it when she caught up to him just at the foot of the stairs and grabbed his arm. He felt those slender fingers against his skin, heard the tone in her voice, and allowed himself to be turned by her rather forceful gesture.

She's cute when she's pissed, he thought darkly to himself as he came face to face with her once more. Her questions, he was sure, were rhetorical, but that did not stop him from offering up a subtle tilt of the head in quietly confirming fashion.

He could think of plenty of things he could take as payment. With her wealth and her connections, there may not have been a whole lot of things she couldn't offer him, either. Perhaps it wasn't the most logically beneficial decision, in the long term. Perhaps he really was just thinking with his dick. Whatever the case, however hedonistically self-serving it may have been, it was absolutely what he wanted.

"Hypothetically, hmm?" he chimed, surveying her inquisitively. "Well, I suppose hypothetically, that would depend on what exactly your stipulation is..."
 
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