Civility makes a hasty exit, and Beckett regards him for the first time with bald frustration. "Does this full-court press of yours have an off switch?"
Vaughn grins, more of a smirk, really. He oozes the infuriating self confidence of a man who cannot consider the possibility he might not get what he wants. "This is a learned behavior, I have reasons to believe in the soundness of my approach. It's gotten me where I am today."
His supposed prey regards him with the contempt that would pucker most men. Men who had any sense at all. "At the top of someone's hit list?" Beckett inquires. "Congratulations on that. And also for being so rich. But I'm very good at my job, and have been for a while, so I can pay my own bills, even in Manhattan. And I'm not interested in being kept."
Eric Vaughn studies her, with a degree of frustration he's simply not accustomed to. "Detective, you could have any man you wanted. Why shouldn't I be able to say the same about myself? I have things going for me besides my balance sheet." He looks around the opulent hotel room, lifting a hand toward the expansive window view of the New York skyline. Liar. His money speaks for him wherever he goes, regardless of his character. He's never needed more than that, and his perfect hair. Until now.
"Your humility, for starters," the woman more than an arm's length away notes.
Vaughn flinches, visibly. "Touché." His smile is flat, forced.
"Not that it's any of your business, or that my no would be otherwise any less of a no, but I'm in a long-term relationship with a man who loves me and would do anything for me. We have history. He's important. He's where my heart is. So as much as politeness would demand I say I'm flattered by your attention, the fact is I'm about ready to feed you to whomever is gunning for you so I don't have to spend another day here babysitting you when I could be with him. So have a little dignity and move on, will you? Because this-" Beckett gestures between the two of them- "isn't going to happen."
(gunshot)
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