this chapter was fun to write. sorry if it's a little choppy and/or short... not my best work. apologies for making you wait so long! chapter 3 coming soon.
thank you to anima (readmeandsmile) for being a supportive beta :)
disclaimer: i don't own any characters
The man is almost too gullible. She can't stop the smirk on her face from spreading.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you to be careful?" she says lightly.
"I didn't ever get to know my mother," he replies stiffly, the cool tone of his voice returning. There is a iciness in his eyes as he watches her.
The information prickles at the back of her neck and she pauses momentarily. Where has she heard that before...
"How sad for you," she says instead. First things first, anyways.
He glares at her in return.
"Now, how about that drive?" she leans in close to his cheek and lets her voice just ghost over the shell of his ear. Her free hand sneaks to the back of his neck.
He swallows.
"I have all day, Watson."
It's a good thing she's patient, because after approximately four minutes, he hands over the drive, his eyes never leaving her face.
: :
MIDSPRING BALL, NEW YORK CITY (NY): MAY 18 2024 1034
Everything is already going way too smoothly.
The ball is in full swing. Laughter rings up to the glass chandelier far above. Jasmine takes a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter and drinks slowly, keeping a lookout for the target. Her comms are on and it's a little hard to concentrate when an impatient Delia is rambling into her ear.
"Delia, I have it under control," Jasmine says under her breath. "Nothing's even happening, and -"
"I've spotted the target," Delia interrupts. "Dietering, at two o'clock."
"And so it begins," Jasmine mutters.
"Hello, ma'am, may I buy you a drink?"
Aaron Dietering strolls casually up to her.
Jasmine looks up at him with a flirty smile, but her intentions are anything but flirty. She can sense the hard drive in his pocket, and notes how he is unarmed. She turns towards him, infusing her voice with a rich, English accent. "Of course, thank you."
Dietering grins and and not-so-discreetly checks her out, which Jasmine has gotten her fair share of over the years.
"What might such a handsome lad like you be called? Where are you from?" she queries him, even though she knows perfectly well that his legal name is Michael Winston, that he was born in Bulgaria yet has a French passport.
"My name is Aaron," he says, paying for the drinks, "and I'm from France."
Jasmine feigns surprise. "But your English is as amazing as your looks," she says, eyebrows slightly raised, lips pursed just so. Details.
"Aw, cut the crap, Jaz," Delia snickers from her left ear.
"You're not so bad yourself," Mike says, and Jasmine allows herself to flush slightly.
"Do you live in America?" she continues.
"Currently, yes," the man says. "I actually work at a place called DITKA Industries."
Finally, information. "Interesting; what do you work as?"
At this, Mike shifts uncomfortably. "Uh... as a manager of production."
It's obvious that he's lying - his pupils are dilated, his lips twitch, and he's tapping his toe discreetly. But at least she has a lead.
"Very professional," she croons. Delia makes a gagging noise in the comms, and Jasmine fights to keep a steady expression. "Please, tell me more about yourself."
As the man starts to talk about himself and other bull rap she knows isn't true, she can see out of her peripheral vision a tall male watching her. She tries to focus her complete attention on Aaron Dietering and his exceedingly fabricated and dull life.
But she can't ignore him when Delia groans, "Alpha at four o'clock."
"Goddamnit," Jasmine mutters into her comms as she completely blocks the male out of her sight.
"Excuse me," a smooth voice interrupts Dietering's life story. "Hello, I'm Keith Thatcher."
Fucking hell.
"Aaron Dietering," Aaron says politely, shaking Logan Watson's hand. "Pleasure."
"It's all mine," Logan says with a smooth smile. Jasmine is infuriated at how easily her plan is sabotaged. "Listen, can I steal Viola here for a dance?"
Say no, Jasmine prays.
"She's all yours," Aaron says with a jovial smile.
Logan offers Jasmine his arm, and she takes it reluctantly. She glances at Aaron apologetically, and decides that it was inevitable anyways.
As Logan Watson leads her to the ballroom floor, she asks him, "What do you think you're doing?"
"I think you know perfectly well what I'm doing," Logan says easily, slipping into a waltz and twirling Jasmine closer to him. "You have a lead."
Jasmine snorts softly. "Barely. You didn't save yourself anything," she lies (and damn it, she was so close.)
He dips her, not speaking. The waltz suddenly picks up the pace, and she finds herself pressed against him. Delia has gone silent in her comms, which is relieving, because Jasmine would have heard lots of sexual innuendos in her ear.
"You're even more gorgeous in real life," Logan says suddenly. He turns her slowly around, both of his hands on her hips.
"I get that a lot," Jasmine hums, noticing how his hand drifts forward toward the pistol on her leg. She can't stop the smile from curling on her face. What a rookie.
She abruptly leans away, and smirks at his subtly annoyed expression. "I wasn't going to let you go that easy..."
He pulls her close again. "I know you wouldn't," he says lowly near her ear, his breath fanning across the side of her face. "But I now have confirmation that your pistol is located there."
She has to admit that he's pretty good at this game for a beginner, but she's been in the game longer.
"I know where you keep yours," Jasmine replies.
Logan raises an eyebrow.
"Hooked inside your suit. Your backup is in your shoes," she shakes her head. "This is common protocol, Watson."
"Touché," he says with a smile. "I'm guessing... your knives are in your handbag?"
"Hm, not bad, but that was pretty easy," she says. "There's one other place."
"I'm stumped."
"In my stiletto heels." Jasmine shakes her head. "Common. Protocol. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"Hey, go easy on me," he jokes. "I'm just a beginner."
Jasmine smothers a grin. She knows that however charming or inexperienced he is, she never going to go easy on him. Ever.
: :
Jasmine is just about the most gorgeous girl Logan's ever seen.
Her eyes are playful, and she has the sexy red lip thing that makes her irresistible. Hell, the entirety of her is irresistible, and had he not been under these circumstances he would have definitely told her that he wanted her.
Too bad they're likely to have to kill each other.
She melts into the crowd after the dance, leaving him alone and back at square one. His feet still ache, and he decides it's high time to go swipe the hard drive. It's an easy grab, and he uses the good old "crash and snatch" trick, by bumping into him and taking the USB. After that he shuffles to the bar, where a gorgeous bartender is wiping down a counter.
"Hey, handsome," the woman says as he sits on the stool, "what would you like?"
"Champagne," he replies. "Just half a glass."
As she pours the drink, Logan searches the mingling throngs of people for Jasmine, but no luck. She's almost disappeared.
"Here you are," the bartender says, placing a wine glass of fizzy alcohol.
"Thanks."
The champagne has sort of a bitter taste to it, which is strange. He asks the woman, "What brand of champagne is this?"
"It's the house special," she says. "Is there a problem?"
"It's fine," he says quickly, and drinks some more. Suddenly, he feels woozy, which doesn't make sense. Logan has a high alcohol tolerance level.
"It's strong," the bartender says, as if reading his thoughts.
"No kidding," Logan murmurs.
"By the way," she says, "My name is Erin Foster. Sweet dreams, Watson."
Before he can register what she said, he blacks out.