The Client [1]

The early morning sunlight pours in through the slightly parted rose-colored curtains, spilling onto the wooden floorboards. The bed creaks as I shift slightly, turning my gaze fondly to the cat snoozing peacefully beside me, running one hand over the smooth, sleek black fur. "Good morning, Berlioz." I coo softly, my heart swelling in my chest with inexpressible emotion.

Life hasn't always been easy, but Berlioz has been here along every step of the way, a treasured and familiar sight. Reluctantly, I step out of bed, careful not to stir the sleeping tom cat. I run one hand along the wall to steady myself, my gaze lingering on my open closet. Deciding on an outfit isn't a complicated task, though my closet is stuffed full to the brim. I tend to drift towards the finer things in life, despite my...line of work. I take a few steps forward, letting my hands brush over the fabric of a few different items, then pull out a long, flowy black dress with a particularly high thigh split. Some may think it's hardly appropriate for an assassin, but I've never been one to pay any attention to what others may believe.

The dress feels silky and soft against my skin as I pull it on. On the window sill, my phone begins to buzz furiously, the screen coming to life. Who could possibly be calling at this hour? I scowl, crossing the room in just a few steps (an advantage of long legs, I suppose), and gingerly pick it up. A familiar name is displayed across the screen. "Of course." I mutter with a roll of my eyes, putting the phone to my ear as I accept the call.

"What is it, Owen?" I demand, my voice rough with sleep, my irritation seeping into my tone.

"Now, now," Owen sounds amused as he answers, one of the few people who doesn't fear getting under my skin. "That's no way to talk to your bestie!"

I suppress an eye roll, letting out a small sigh of frustration. "Why are you calling?"

"Can't I just call because I want to say hello?" Owen says in a faux-offended tone, his voice laced with a hidden glee.

"No." I reply flatly, sending a glance at bed at a sudden movement. Berlioz has woken, and his amber eyes are narrowed slightly as he stands in one graceful move, stretching. "So what is it?"

"Fine." Owen sighs. "There's someone here to see you. They requested your presence as soon as possible."

I laugh, shaking my head and turning to begin to head out the door of my bedroom, deciding that breakfast would be a solid idea as my stomach let out a small growl. "They will have to wait. You know I'm a busy woman, Owen. I'll be in around noon today."

"Whatever ya say, boss." Owen replies nonchalantly. "They say they're willing to pay a rather large sum if we agree to their terms. They want someone terminated, obviously. I thought you'd like to know at least."

"A rather large sum, hm?" I reply, slightly amused. They probably have no idea what a 'large sum' is to us. As I reach the kitchen, I open my fridge door, peering inside. I feel a twinge of disappointment as I realize all that's left in the fridge is a quarter of a jug of milk and a half-eaten bag of baby carrots. Yup. Time to go grocery shopping.

"Five million."

I nearly drop the milk jug as I pull it from the fridge, slowly setting it on the counter when I regain myself. "What?" I ask after a long pause, my voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yeah." Owen replies almost smugly, like it pleases him to have surprised me. "Cash, upfront."

"I'll be there in thirty minutes." I say after a moment, the milk long forgotten as I turn to head back up the stairs, towards the bathroom, in a last minute attempt to look more presentable. I hang the phone up abruptly as I enter the bathroom, taking a moment to observe myself and frantically fluff my hair, which is messy from a satisfying night of sleep.

I am not unaware of how pleasing I am to the eyes. I don't pretend to be, either. I see no point in doing so. I have been compared to a Goddess, and many men have told my beauty is otherworldly. While I would not venture that far, I know I'm attractive. In the mirror, a symmetrical face stares back at me, featuring high, sharp cheekbones, full, pouty lips and perhaps my most striking feature, gray eyes the color of the sky during an ocean storm, flecked with blue. My hair, though messy, is soft beneath my fingers as I smooth it, black as night and falling in loose curls.

A sudden meow brings my attention away from the mirror and to the doorway instead, where Berlioz is sitting with what could almost be described as a skeptical look on his face. "Sorry, bud, I almost forgot to give you your breakfast." I say sincerely, waving one hand towards the hallway behind him. "Come on, I'll feed you, silly boy. Well-after I brush my teeth, that is."

Ten minutes later, I'm pulling out my driveway in my sleek red Chevrolet Corvette. It's not the most practical car, but when you live the lifestyle I live, practicality is sort of the least of your worries. I feel a stab of irritation as I reach the small, private road of the Pine Hollow Mansion, the place my organization has been housed for a little over three years now. I wish I'd bought somewhere a little closer to town, but I know this is in our best interest. After all, secrecy is everything. It's best to be out in the middle of nowhere, where few venture to go, and even fewer imagine there would be a secret assassin-run organization hidden. I smile to myself as I reach the gates and the speaker crackles to life as I push my thumb roughly onto the button.

"Pine Hollow." The sharp voice of my receptionist says. "State your business."

"It's Thea." I reply calmly.

"Opening the gates immediately, boss." Scarlett replies instantly, her voice apologetic.

'

There's a clicking noise, and then the wide black gates swing open, granting me entrance. After I park my car in the mostly empty driveway, I stride up to the large front doors of the mansion, constructed of oak wood and shiny under the sun. They open without any protest as I twist the handle, and upon entry, I spot Scarlett sitting perched behind the reception desk, her long blonde hair twisted into a tight, neat bun on the top of her head. She looks up at the sound of my approaching footsteps, my black high heels clattering on the wooden floors, and offers a nod of acknowledgement. "Good morning, boss."

"Good morning, Scarlett." I reply formally before sending a casual glance towards the long, spiraling staircase, illuminated by a sparkling chandelier. "I assume the potential client is waiting upstairs?"

"Yes, ma'm." Scarlett nods, her clear blue eyes wide. "Owen is waiting with them."

"Great." I turn, heading briskly towards the stairs before pausing at the base of them, sending her a quick glance with one brow raised. "Oh, and Scarlett? Please, call me Thea."

Scarlett dips her head, her eyes downcast towards the desk. "Right. Sorry."

As I head up the stairs, I wonder who will be waiting for me. Five million dollars is a lot of money, but I have yet to hear what his assignment will be, so I don't work myself up to much. Three years ago, if someone had told me I'd be a seasoned assassin, running my own multi-million dollar operation, I would've thought they were crazy, but here I am, doing just that. Life is what you make it. I started with nothing, yet here I was. At the top of the staircase, I'm greeted by Owen standing outside of my office, his normal cheeky grin nowhere to be seen.

While handsome, I will never think of Owen as anything but a friend. With messy brown hair falling over his warm chocolate eyes, Owen is irresistible to many women, but not to me. Once you see a man eating expired cereal out of the box with rubber duck boxers on, it's hard to look at him as a potential partner. Not that I need one anyhow-any man would only drag me down. I've yet to find one worthy of my strength and independence.

"Thea." He says with a nod, his lips tugging at the corners, like he's resisting the urge to smile. "About time. I'm pretty sure it's been more than thirty minutes." He glances purposefully at the sleek black watch strapped around his wrist, and I roll my eyes.

"Where is the client, Owen?" I ask instead of commenting on his evaluation of my time management.

"What, no proper greeting? No 'Hey, Owen, how are you'?" He asks playfully, smirking. He sighs when my expression doesn't change. "Fine. He went to the restroom a moment ago. He should be back any second."

"Good." I reply calmly, gesturing with one hand towards my closed office door. "I'll be in here. Send him in when he gets back."

"Aye Aye Captain!" Owen replies dryly, saluting me.

I ignore him, pushing past into my office. Inside, I'm greeted by one of the places I feel most at ease in the world. Inside, a simple brown desk sits in one corner, and behind it is a plain black file cabinet, filled to the brim with manilla folders full of information regarding my operations. On the window seal, my beloved plant sits, a Zanzibar Gem. I've always loved plants, but Berlioz, unfortunately, loves them as well. He tends to shorten their lifespans considerably, so I only keep plants in my office. I take a seat behind my desk, steadying myself with a firm grasp on the wood.

Moments later, the door swings open, and I hear Owen say, "She will see you now."

I straighten my shoulders, lifting my gaze to stare haughtily at the doorway. A man enters the room, and I raise one eyebrow at his questionable attire. He's wearing a long, thick black hooded cloak, his face indistinguishable from underneath, coated in shadows, but it does nothing to disguise his broad shoulders and muscled arms. His voice is gruff as he sinks into the red armchair across from me, deep and husky. "I've heard a lot about you, Thea."

"Have you?" I ask, my eyebrows still raised, and I wave dismissively at Owen, who reluctantly steps outside and quietly shuts the door.

"Of course." The man laughs almost tauntingly, his voice laced with the slightest bit of underlying amusement, like he knows something I don't. "More than you can imagine."

I don't care for his tone, but decide not to comment on it, continuing onto the more pressing issue. "Let's get right to the point, shall we? Who is it you are wanting eliminated?"

There is a small pause before he speaks again, his voice hinting at an underlying contempt. "You see...I don't need you to eliminate anyone. I simply need you to retrieve something."

"Retrieve something?" I ask, unable to help the surprise that seeps into my voice. "You want to pay us five million dollars for petty theft?"

"Well, it's not necessarily as easy as you may be thinking, Thea." The man replies quietly. "It is hidden somewhere, but I know the location, though it will not be easy to access-it is well-guarded. Do you think you are capable?"

I scowl, feeling anger bubble up inside of me as I glare at the cloaked man. "I am capable of whatever I wish to do. What is this object?"

"It is a helmet." Another awkward pause. "It is...an ancient artifact. Very valuable, you see?"

"Okay." I say, digesting the information. A helmet is worth five million dollars to this man? I pause, regarding him carefully. "What is your name?"

"That, I cannot answer." He replies softly, then pulls a slip of white paper out of the folds of his cloak. "Here. This is my number. I will be in touch with more information this evening. I am a very busy man, you understand? I have to go now, but I look forward to meeting with you again, Thea."

I watch him curiously as he stands, carefully taking the piece of paper between my fingers. I glance down at the white sheet, and when I look back up, he's gone as quickly as he came. I shake my head in confusion, but decide not to linger on it. I get paid to do a job, not pry into my client's business. Still, I can't help the curiosity gnawing at me. I don't look up from the slip of paper as Owen quietly enters the room, but I can feel his own interest in the man rolling off of him in waves. "So?" He asks with restrained interest. "Did you take the job? What's the assignment?"

"Calm down." I reply, slightly amused as I look up to meet his eager gaze. "I took the assignment, yes. He just wants me to steal some artifact." I shrug, feigning uninterest at the man's odd request.

Owen's eyes narrow, and he looks bewildered. "Oh...Well, that's kinda lame."

"Is it not better than murder?" I ask him amusedly, folding my hands on the desk in front of me.

"Well...murder is a lot more interesting." Owen shrugs, grinning. "Besides, we don't murder anyone we don't think deserves it."

I shake my head. "Owen, you've got issues." I inform him as I stand abruptly. "Let's go get lunch. I didn't get an opportunity to eat breakfast this morning."

"Fine, but I want Italian." Owen replies quickly, grinning cheekily as I groan.

"Again? That'll be the third time this week." I complain, though I know Owen won't budge.

"And? It's a delicacy." Owen replies cheerfully, pulling off his thick black coat as he speaks. "And here, take this. It's freezing outside-why you women dress in dresses with no sleeves in this weather, I'll never know."

"Weather is irrelevant. I dress like a Queen twenty-four seven." I reply with a sniff.

"Queen's can wear sleeves, you know." Owen snorts in amusement, shaking his head and pulling the coat carefully around my shoulders. "I'll drive, come on."

I don't protest any further, my fingers wrapping careful around the thick material of the warm coat. A short thirty minutes later, we arrive at the familiar restaurant I've come to resent-and Owen adores. Buonissimo. While the food is decent, I've quickly grown tired of the same thing over and over. Owen grins as he comes around the side of the car and opens my door with a little bow. "My lady." He says teasingly, and I roll my eyes again.

"You know you're a strange man, right?" I say as I step out into the chilly afternoon air.

"Of course." Owen replies with a smirk, shutting the car door carefully.

"As long as you know, then."

Inside Buonissimo's, it's warmer, and I carefully hand Owen back his coat as the hostess approaches us with a bright smile on her crimson painted lips. "Hello, welcome to Buonissimo's!" She says cheerfully, though it sounds slightly forced. "Table for two?"

"Booth, please." Owen says in an equally enthusiastic tone.

"Of course." The hostess replies with a smile, waving one hand towards the back to the restaurant. "Follow me, please."

Once we're seated and a waitress has come and taken our drink orders, I regard Owen carefully. "He was a strange man, wasn't he?"

He doesn't even need to ask who I'm referring to. "Definitely." He agrees with a nod as he scans the menu like he hasn't reviewed it a thousand times. "I tried to get a good glance at his face, but that hood covered him pretty well, didn't it?"

I nod in agreement, scanning the menu as well. "Hecate?"

I lift my head automatically, and freeze when I see the source of the voice. I don't recognize him, but suddenly I wish I do. I've never seen a man like the one who stands in front of me, my throat suddenly feeling dry. He's the definition of tall, dark and handsome, with short black hair, perhaps even deeper a shade of ebony than my own, and shocking blue eyes as cold as ice and more calculating than anything I've laid eyes upon. His skin is mildly tan, his cheeks chiseled and his jaw sharp. It's like being dipped in freezing water when I look at him, sending shockwaves throughout me.

I shake my head, scowling fiercely. I do not get flustered by men. I send him a cold look to match the one on his own face, tilting my head delicately. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"A valiant effort you've made, Hecate, hiding from all of us." The man replies in a slightly amused tone, his voice strong and deep as rolling thunder, "But I'm afraid you've been found."

I frown, genuinely confused, and tilt my head to one side. His face doesn't look familiar, yet he says he knows me. "I don't know who you are." I say again, shaking my head. "Perhaps you did not hear me the first time."

The man stiffens, and his jaw clenches hard enough that I wonder for a moment if it's painful. His eyes flash with anger, and I can tell he is struggling to contain himself. Someone has anger issues, I decide. "Enough of this madness, Hecate." He snaps, sending me a fierce glare. "It's time to return to Olympus. You do not belong out here playing house with mortals."

"Excuse me, pal? Look, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but you don't disrespect Thea like that." Owen speaks up, and as I glance at him across the table, I can see his face is stormy, tightened with outrage.

I wave one hand at Owen, shaking my head. "He isn't worth the trouble, Owen. Let's just head back home-he isn't worth getting kicked out of your favorite restaurant, is he?"

Owen considers it for a brief second. "Well, no." He concedes. "Fine."

The man makes a low, primal sound, almost equivalent to a growl. For some reason, it sends a shudder up my spine. "Have you bedded with a mortal, Hecate? You know no shame."

I scowl at him, standing rapidly and nodding at Owen. "Let's get out of here. This man is off his rocker."

Owen sends the man a frosty look, but nods at me, pulling off his coat once again. "Here." He murmurs as he hands it to me, careful to put himself between the deranged man and I. "Let's go."

I follow him as he exits the restaurant, but I can't resist the glance I send over my shoulder as I leave, meeting the icy gaze of the man who watches me carefully, his eyes saying more than his lips ever did.

I'm watching you.