August 13, 1998 - Hillside Safehouse - Varna, Bulgaria

Rosalie said her goodbyes to Florian in the morning amid promises to call and assurances that the man would give Marietta her love. He had kissed the girl goodbye and gave Horace a thump on the back before heading to the car with Cedric and his detail.

The young innkeeper's face held a bittersweet smile as she waved to Florian's receding sedan.

Horace reached an arm around her shoulders, giving the woman a gentle squeeze, his voice lilting gently as he spoke, "It's just you and I now, Boss."

Rosalie's nose wrinkled adorably at the term. Her new head of security had been working in a mob environment too long. Her slate eyes met his, "You will call me Rosalie, Horace. You are my right hand and my friend. I won't have you calling me 'Boss.'"

The Egyptian laughed heartily at her comment, putting his hands in his pockets and peering down at her. "As you wish...Captain."

The woman grinned impishly up at him and patted his cheek. "Brat. Now, let's get you fed and we can discuss our plans for New York." Her little hands shooed him back into the house as he let out a barking laugh.

Up at the safehouse, Raymond Reddington watched the exchange thoughtfully. It was good for the woman to have her own security. He would have insisted on it eventually, a criminal in her shoes presented too big a target. A laugh escaped his lips as he watched the woman bully her guard back into the house, following him only to reappear in the kitchen window.

She was a curious little thing. He could see her laying out enough food to feed an army while she chatted animatedly with Horace. As the man continued to watch, other people began trickling into the room. Two younger women and the man Red recognized as the property manager shuffled to the kitchen table, where Rosalie had placed half a dozen beverage carafes. The woman seemed to be taking orders for eggs and the like, fixing plates for each individual as they filled their glasses with their drink of choice.

Another smile twitched at Red's mouth as he watched Horace steal a piece of bacon only to have his hand gently swatted away. A plate filled with eggs, bacon, and potatoes was immediately offered as compensation; his young charge urged him toward the table with the rest. Reddington felt a twinge of affection for the woman as she brought in a large tray of pastries before finally fixing her own plate.

A soft knock echoed into the master suite, pulling Red's thoughts from the guest house and the innkeeper inside.

Dembe's head appeared in the doorway. "We are due at the docks shortly."

The older man nodded, plucking his hat and jacket from the table and following him out the door. Reddington felt a cool, calculating sense of purpose descend over him as they headed for the meeting. It was time to finalize his deal.

In the guest house, Rosalie nervously fiddled with her food.

Horace had caught her eyes flitting up to the safe house periodically throughout breakfast. Finally, the man set down his cutlery and peered curiously at her, his face asking the much-needed question.

Rosalie's eyes flickered guiltily to the safe house again. "Should we see if they wish to join us?" she asked, "Or is that too much, too soon? I don't want to overstep…" The young woman was babbling and she knew it.

"Dembe told me last night, there's a deal being finalized this morning. If they're still at the house, they will be leaving shortly for the marina." As if on cue, Horace looked up to see Dembe, Reddington, and Hargrave loading into their sedan. "See?" he gestured, returning to his eggs.

"Hmm…" Rosalie watched the men as well, slightly perturbed that she would not see Reddington before she headed for New York. "I'll bring some pastries up to the safe house before we leave."

She figured if they weren't hungry now, they may be later. Dembe at least was still a growing young man, after all. The thought made Rosalie giggle softly, realizing she sounded terribly like her mother.

When breakfast was cleared and the pair's bags packed, Rosalie headed up to the safe house with the maids. They placed a few carafes of juice, coffee, and tea in the kitchen while Rosalie arranged an assortment of pastries on a cake stand and covered the confections with a glass cloche. Pilfering a slip of paper from the lounge, she penned a quick note to Reddington before bidding farewell to her associates.

Horace pulled up in the dark suv, stepping out to open the rear passenger door. Rosalie raised her eyebrows at the backseat. She was used to driving, or at the very least being in the front seat. The woman turned to look at Horace, who waited, patient but unyielding. Finally, Rosalie climbed into the backseat, tucking a loose curl behind her ear before looking back up at the house. The maids waved from the master balcony, where they had been changing the sheets. Rosalie waved back as Horace started driving.

"You'll have to get used to riding in the back, Rosie." The man sagely advised the rear-view mirror, seeing the woman's uneasy posture.

"It feels weird," she conceded, "I feel like I should be up front with you."

Horace's features belied his amusement. " That is because you are a control freak. One who believe strongly in being equals with one's associates. A trait which will garner you a lot of loyalty. However, you are being my equal by sitting behind me."

"How is that?"

"Rosalie, if we were to get into an accident and you were in the front seat, I would turn the vehicle so I took the brunt of the impact." He stated simply, as if it were the most natural conclusion in the world.

The young woman gasped, "Don't you dare, Horace." Her tone brooked no argument, and yet the bodyguard chuckled and shook his head.

"That is my job." He said with an unflinching finality, "Putting myself in the line of fire to protect you is precisely what I am hired to do."

The woman's eyes softened imploringly at him, a silent plea for the man to see sense.

Horace looked again in the rear-view mirror, his shoulders set. "I am your security, I'm here to keep you safe. Which is why I appreciate you sitting behind me. You've taken away the need for me to put my body in front of yours, at least in this scenario."

Rosalie's mouth pursed as she contemplated Horace's meaning. Having them on the same side meant only one side of the vehicle to protect. He would be able to protect her and himself at the same time. The young woman sighed, nodding her head in acceptance. She wouldn't put Horace's life in danger if she could help it, even if it meant being relegated to the backseat.

"I'm afraid you'll have to teach me these things all over again, Horace. I seem to have forgotten this past year what it means to have a bodyguard." Her wide grey eyes peered sheepishly at the back of his head.

The bodyguard chuckled dryly, "Oh don't worry yourself, Rosie. We'll have a bodyguard boot camp on the flight to New York."

A groan of discontent issued from the backseat, drowning out the sound of Horace's amusement.

The deal occurring in the abandoned warehouse on Varna's docks took longer than expected, but Red was very pleased with the purchase. The old warehouse was his, after lengthy negotiations between Howard and the Bosnians holding onto it. The port was an ideal location for small-batch weapons movement into Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Ukraine. Shipments would begin making their way across the Black Sea within the next week.

Happy to be done with meetings for now, the men headed back to the safe house shortly after noon.

The guest house was quiet, the innkeeper's dark suv no longer stood in the shadowed drive. The woman and her bodyguard would be en route to New York already.

Red made a note to ask why she didn't just fly with him and Dembe. It didn't make sense to have separate flights everywhere. Especially once he began forwarding his own clientele to her network. They would be in constant communication, why bother working separately?

The man typically had business to deal with right away when he entered a city, anyway. Her associates could get the majority of the property ready while they were in the air, and she could finish any last-minute preparations once on the ground.

Perhaps she didn't want to fly with them? The woman had an entire network of other clients, maybe she needed the time to coordinate their arrangements?

Red's contemplation was interrupted by an indecent grunt of approval from the kitchen. He walked into the room, eyebrows raised in mild indignation, only to find Dembe taking a huge bite out of a danish. The young man held out a slip of paper with Red's name on it before returning to his treasure trove of confections.

Raymond,

Sorry to have missed you, Horace informed me you had dealings in the marina just as you were leaving.

I've left the coordinates for your next location in a copy of 'The Odyssey' in the lounge.

The pastries are also for you and Dembe to enjoy, I'm sure you didn't eat this morning.

See you in Manhattan,

-Rosalie

Reddington grinned at the variety of delicacies contained under the glass dome. It was a nice gesture, and the man suddenly realized he was absolutely famished. Pulling the cloche off with a flourish, Raymond scoured the pastries, looking for one that spoke to him. Some were filled with deep red cherries, a few held vivid orange apricots, and still others were filled with swirling cream cheese. Red's eyes sought out a lemon pastry before falling on a kolache cradling a deep, midnight purple filling. He plucked the item from the bunch and took a large bite, emitting a grunt of approval similar to Dembe's. Blackberry .

The younger man could be heard chortling next to him. Raymond had inadvertently ended up with a dark purple mustache.

The older man couldn't bring himself to give a damn. He was already looking through the stack of pastries, determined to pilfer all of the blackberry ones.

Dembe reached over, attempting to garner one of the coveted delights for himself. He couldn't contain the laughter as he met Raymond's eyes, which were narrowed peevishly.

"I'll make a deal with you," the man bartered, "I'll trade you one blackberry for a lemon." Red had already noticed Dembe hoarding the pastries in question.

The young man's dark eyes fell to his stash of pastries filled with bright yellow lemon curd, considering the offer. Somewhat reluctantly, he parted with one, sliding it into the center of the kitchen island.

Like a prisoner exchange, Dembe didn't release the golden confection until Red slid a a deep purple one alongside it. Each eyed the other warily for any signs of skullduggery as they pulled their swaps back to their respective sides.

A booming voice echoed into the kitchen, carrying an obvious tinge of amusement. "I've never seen such hostilities over baked goods, lads."

The successful negotiators looked at one another in open concern. Dembe stealthily tilted a cookbook up to hide the remaining pastries from sight. Sharing with Red seemed to be the lesser evil of sharing with Red and Hargrave.

The move was so subtle, so incredibly funny, Red couldn't help but roar with laughter. Wiping his mouth on one of the available napkins, he glanced apologetically at Howard. He nearly offered the man a pastry when a young woman Red recognized as one of the maids entered the room with a basket full of linens.

"Oh!" she squeaked, "I'm so sor-" The young woman was cut short by Dembe pulling his firearm from his back. She had startled the young bodyguard and it seemed that he had startled her, as she dropped the laundry basket with a heavy thump.

Red moved quickly to diffuse the situation. Striding around the island, he placed a hand on top of Dembe's gun, guiding it toward the floor. He spoke gently to the woman, "I'm terribly sorry about that miss, you just surprised him, that's all."

The woman looked with wide eyes at the tall, dark bodyguard before picking up her basket. "It's okay, I'm sorry." Her voice was soft and slightly awed as she scurried from the room with one last brief glance back at Dembe.

Reddington shook his head, chuckling his amusement. "Dembe, you are going to have a difficult time with the ladies if you insist on pulling your gun on half of them."

Dembe's calm, smooth voice filled the room matter-of-factly. "One should always have their wits about them when negotiating a pastry exchange."

Howard Hargrave proceeded to howl with laughter while Dembe smirked around a mouthful of stolen Blackberry kolache.

13 hours later - August 13, 1998 - Teterboro Airspace

Rosalie and Horace's flight was uneventful. Other than going back through the basics of her security, the pair spent their time catching up and selecting the remainder of her detail.

They had quickly settled on two familiar faces. Theodore Beaumont and Otto Henschke had worked as guards within the Corsican gang for years. Once Florian had approached Horace for the lead job, the pair immediately offered up their services as Rosalie's security detail. Her head of security indicated both men were looking for a change of scenery and would be excellent candidates. Feeling confident in Horace's assessment, Rosalie had offered Teddy and Otto the positions. The pair were now en route to Manhattan as well.

Horace had just finished a call arranging their transport from Teterboro to the safehouse when he took a seat across from Rosalie. The woman had dozens of papers lined up in neat rows in front of her, satellite phones placed on half of the stacks. She was finalizing preparations for a client seeking a safehouse in Venezuela, her voice chattering in rapid Spanish.

The bodyguard smiled at the sharp cursive writing that splashed several pages in a variety of different languages. The woman was still getting her feet under her, but he had to admit she had a flair for logistics. She had settled three other clients and hired two new property managers in the span of one flight. Knowing this business with Reddington was going to stretch every criminal muscle she had, Rosalie was not about to wait until she was underwater to start hiring more help.

His mind back on Raymond Reddington, Horace looked thoughtfully at the woman across from him, determined to ask the question which had been plaguing him.

Rosalie hung up the satellite phone on the end of a sigh, glad to be done with the demanding client. She looked out the window to see they were making their initial descent into Teterboro. Her eyes turned to Horace, "What?" she asked, seeing his head tilted in question.

"What do you think of Reddington?"

Rosalie took pause. The question was not a simple one, she and the man were all but in bed together in a business sense. She didn't see Horace's point in bringing up the matter now. Raymond had Florian's trust and admiration, that was enough for her. Yet he wanted to know what she thought of Reddington? Her bottom lip worried between her teeth as she pieced together her response.

"He feels familiar," she said, somewhat lamely, "I can't quite place my finger on it, but I feel quite comfortable in his presence. He's an intimidating criminal. The man's power and intellect are practically palpable, but I get the sense that he is reasonable, fair. More than anything, I feel that he is building his empire for reasons other than greed." Rosalie faltered slightly, "Does any of that make sense?"

Horace chuckled, reaching a hand out to pat hers. "Yes Rosie, it does. I'm glad you feel comfortable in your dealings with the man. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable because that's how you actually feel versus you feeling comfortable because Florian told you Reddington was a good man."

Rosalie grinned impishly up at him, "Well, I won't lie, that helped too."

The pair chuckled merrily as the jet landed with a low thump on the tarmac. Their laughter was interrupted by one of Rosalie's satellite phones ringing. It was Reddington.

"Hello, Raymond."

The man's voice rumbled pleasantly through the connection, "Rosalie, I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"Not at all, we just landed." The whoosh of the jet's engines made it slightly difficult to hear.

"Excellent, I wanted to catch you before you could make other plans. I propose we meet for dinner tonight to talk shop."

Rosalie's eyes widened in surprise, "Um, sure, that would be lovely... What time?... What should I wear?"

A low, rippling chuckle echoed through the phone as Horace hung his head in embarrassment.

Did she really just ask what she should wear?

Rosalie's head thudded into the tabletop as her bodyguard reached over to pat her shoulder consolingly. The woman had sounded like a teenager preparing for a first date.

She could hear Horace sniggering under his breath, "Talk about a not-so-smooth criminal… "

Reddington recovered quickly from her question, carefully biting back the witty retort he was dying to toss her way. He had found in his life that trading barbs was much more fun when you were there to witness the inevitable indignation and eventual rebuttal.

"We're arriving four hours after you. I have a meeting with an associate shortly after we land, so let's say eight? As for clothing…" the man paused, keeping his tongue in check, "I have no doubts you'll rise to the occasion." Red gallantly ended the call, holding his amusement from spilling over into his voice.

Dembe looked suspiciously at him as Raymond pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get his shit-eating grin to abate. He had finally gotten the little minx on her heels.

Early Evening - August 13th, 1998 - SoHo Safehouse, New York

The SoHo townhouse was secretly one of Rosalie's favorite locations. The six-story building was perfectly unsuspecting from the outside. Once inside the door, the townhouse was, there was no other word for it… funky . The swooping elliptical staircase with its emerald green runner ran the full height of the home, taking guests from the farmhouse style kitchen all the way up to the fourth floor office.

The interior design was all over the place. The bedrooms were minimalistic with clean lines, while the lounge played off an Art Deco chandelier that made the room feel like a 1920's speakeasy. The living room had elements of postmodernism yet it somehow merged beautifully with the first floor landing, which had a decidedly Asian feel.

The home boasted a lovely little garden which extended from the kitchen for entertaining purposes. A smaller terrace was attached to the office, accessed via a system of cantilevers which tilted the entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows outward. The far end of the little terrace held a spiral staircase leading to the pièce de résistance, a rooftop patio which looked out at the Manhattan skyline.

Rosalie beamed at the view, fluffing the patio pillows again before heading down to change. It was 7:30, Reddington would be arriving shortly.

Like clockwork, Dembe and Raymond pulled up to the townhouse at 7:45. Rosalie met them at the door, ready to give them a quick tour.

The cocktail dress she chose for the night was a classic cut, with long sleeves and a boat neckline which gave the tiniest peek at her delicate shoulders. The deep emerald fabric seemed to flow like water over her feminine figure, lingering in the dip of her waist and surging at the crest of her hips.

Red found himself thinking the woman needn't have worried about her attire. What she had picked was the perfect mix of business and pleasure. The man found himself enjoying the pleasure side of the equation as the woman's hips swayed sensually up the stairs. Her little feet were still bare as she padded around the house, giving the men a tour of the space and showing them to their individual rooms.

Raymond let out a contented sigh as he unpacked in the master bedroom. He liked the quirky townhouse with its melting pot of styles and textures. He fully intended to negotiate the little spot into his deal with the young innkeeper. He did quite a lot of business in New York between the mafia bosses and the shipping routes. The townhouse's location was central to both, and the man felt immensely comfortable in the space. Knowing this would be his residence whenever he was in town would make his dealings in New York much more enjoyable.

A soft knock echoed into the space before Rosalie entered the room. She wrung her hands nervously as she stood just inside the door. "I'm sorry, would you mind if I pop into the master closet for a moment? There's a pair of shoes in there I would like to wear tonight."

"Not at all, though I don't believe I saw any women's shoes…" Red waved a hand toward the room which already held a few of Red's suits hung neatly in rows. He watched the woman flounce into the closet, completely unconcerned.

"Oh, they're not out in plain sight." she chimed, reaching on her tiptoes to pull something from the door frame. A slender key fell into the palm of her hand, which she quickly used to unlock the back wall.

A small space opened to show a variety of paraphernalia. Clothing, personal items, firearms, and what were unmistakably bug-out bags.

Rosalie hummed to herself as she skimmed a scant few shoeboxes, finally pulling one from the stack before locking the wall back in place. She gave Red a passing wink. "Don't go telling anyone about that." she intoned over her shoulder in a conspiratorial voice.

"Tattle? Me? Never." Reddington feigned innocence, going so far as to give the woman a Boy Scout salute.

Rosalie could be heard giggling down the hallway as Red ran his hand over his face. Why on earth had he done a Boy Scout salute? The man shook his head, getting back to the task at hand.

A few minutes later, Red was freshly showered and descending to the main level of the house.

Rosalie was seated in the lounge, chatting quietly with Dembe. She looked up at the man, unable to curb the blatant once-over she gave him. Rosalie had always loved a good three-piece suit, and The Concierge of Crime wore it better than any man she had ever encountered.

The soft dove-grey jacket covered a crisp white shirt that paired handsomely with the silk tie knotted neatly around his neck. Rosalie noted with a tinge of amusement, the geometric tie consisted of a deeper grey, dots of cerulean blue, and a green the exact shade of her dress.

Red caught the woman eyeing him appreciatively. He was hard pressed not to strut into the lounge under such a gaze. Raymond Reddington had a bit of a reputation for being a lady's man, and truth told he never grew tired of feminine eyes raking his form. Rosalie seemed to enjoy the hell out of a three-piece suit, a thought which interested the man greatly.

Red leaned a hand on the door frame and tucked the other in his trouser pocket, gazing smugly at the young innkeeper.

Rosalie realized she was still staring, somewhat lasciviously, at her client. She pinched her wrist, trying to drag herself back to a more innocent train of thought.

The man's mouth quirked in amusement, deciding to give the woman a reprieve. "Shall we?"

The pair rode in relative quiet, Dembe and Horace occupying the front seats. They were heading to one of Raymond's secret haunts for French cuisine.

As the sedan pulled up to the front of a charming brick building covered in deep green ivy, Red looked to Dembe and Horace. "You're sure you don't want to join us? The bouillabaisse is positively decadent."

Horace shook his head, "No Sir, you two enjoy your evening, Dembe and I have a date with the Henchman's bar."

Red chuckled his amusement. The Henchman's bar was a right of passage for criminal security, a place that regularly catered to those guarding the criminal elite. Dembe would find the place very amusing, and as the two large men opened the doors for their passengers, Raymond heard Rosalie telling Horace to keep an eye on the younger man.

"I mean it, Horace. Keep him safe. I don't want to wake up to find that sweet boy hungover in Queens or, god forbid, New Jersey."

Horace's face was the epitome of amused innocence. His employer, unfortunately was not buying it for a second.

Before the woman's hackles could raise any higher, Reddington chuckled and placed his hand gently on the small of her back. "I'm sure Horace will take good care of Dembe." the man intoned, guiding her toward the restaurant. He looked back to give the man in question a meaningful look and received a curt nod in response. Assured that Horace would indeed look after the young bodyguard, Red continued with Rosalie into the establishment.

The decor in the restaurant had an old-world glamour that spoke of both decadence and mischief. The large chandeliers, the only sources of light in the place, cast a seductive hue over the proceedings, while the crisp white table linens and gooseberry-hued chairs beckoned to their diners. A suave, portly man in a suit of plum velvet immediately greeted them at the door, referring to Reddington as 'Mr. Givins' . The man led them to a private table in a secluded alcove far from prying eyes.

Their waiter came to take their drink orders, returning shortly with a scotch neat and Rosalie's aviation cocktail.

"You're a gin drinker." Red noted, raising his glass to the women across from him before taking a drink.

Rosalie sipped the pale purple cocktail delicately, "And you're a scotch man." She set her drink down, peering curiously at him. "What's your preferred maker?"

"Balvenie, though Bowmore is also a favorite. What's your poison?"

"Caorunn or Himbrimi. Preferred appetizer?"

"Beluga caviar."

A smile passed the woman's lips as she perused the menu, "Hmm… I'm more of a scallops girl myself."

The waiter seemed to materialize out of thin air. Reddington ordered both appetizers before turning his attention back to Rosalie.

"I must commend your efforts these past few days. Your safehouse network is in fine order. Both locations have been superb, and I think Dembe would marry whomever made those pastries you left us."

"Yes, well, he'll have to get in line with the rest of them." Rosalie tittered, "The pastries were my creation, and next time I'll be sure to make only lemon and blackberry." Her eyes glinted triumphantly over the rim of her glass as she took a sip of her cocktail.

Reddington's tongue prodded the inside of his cheek, he already knew what she had done. "That little maid you had wandering about the house, she wasn't actually changing linens, was she?"

"No," Rosalie smiled good-naturedly, "she was doing a little reconnaissance for me. She noted what things you used, what you didn't, what you seemed to like, what you seemed to avoid. I do it with all my clients. It allows me to continue to cater the space to their needs."

The man nodded his understanding as their first course was set out before them. He took a bite of caviar, groaning his appreciation. The woman across from him was enjoying her scallops too much to tease him. He looked up just in time to catch her popping the soft, sweet morsel into her mouth. Red swallowed thickly, steering his mind away from the little pink tongue he had spied.

"In the spirit of transparency, I must confess a little subterfuge on my part."

The woman stopped to take a sip of her cocktail, her slate eyes watching him thoughtfully. "Would this have to do with The Shutterbug?"

Reddington chuckled as he chewed another bite of caviar and swallowed. Of course she knew, the clever little fox.

Rosalie quirked an eyebrow at him, her smile mischievous. "I take it his little game of hide and seek was fruitless?"

He nodded, "And he was quite annoyed by it too. Nevermind he was getting paid regardless of him actually finding us. The man seemed to take the failure as a personal affront."

The young woman across from him sighed as their plates were taken away, the remnants of their cocktails replaced with glasses of deep burgundy wine.

"Well, we mustn't allow ourselves to be crushed under the weight of his disappointment." she quipped dryly.

The little comment garnered a warm, genuine laugh from her counterpart. The man found her humor quite enjoyable.

Their dinner passed in the same vein, both parties exchanging amusing stories from their travels, their successes and failures laid bare for the other's witty commentary.

Raymond's stories grew wilder and more interesting as dinner went on, leaving Rosalie in peals of laughter.

They had just ordered dessert when the woman remembered what she had been meaning to ask him. "Why did the owner call you Mr. Givins?"

Reddington's head tilted to the side in amusement, "Givins is one of my many aliases. A concept you are all too familiar with, Ms. Alder ." He teasingly referred to her South American alias.

Rosalie groaned good-naturedly, "Touché."

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Raymond pulled out a small stack of documents. "Speaking of aliases," he said, his expression turned serious, "I took the liberty of having these made up for you. Since we are going to be working in close proximity, I thought it would be good for you to have a couple reliable sets of documents."

The young woman's surprise was evident on her face as she took the documents and flipped through them. "Raymond, Thank You... I don't know what to say, this is so generous."

The man waved the notion aside, "They're a necessity now, I've had a couple made up for Horace as well."

Rosalie's face turned to a mixture of amusement and exasperation as she thumbed through the documents again.

"...Patricia Sutton?" she asked, her voice giving away her amusement.

"Patty." he teased merrily, "Cheer up, the other one is a petty officer."

The ravishing blonde wrinkled her nose adorably at the second set of documents. "So I'm Patty Sutton, and I moonlight as Petty Officer Virginia Sherman?" Her sharp eyes met Red's, a deep amusement glinting behind her mock-annoyance.

Red's hazel eyes were positively dancing with barely-contained mischief.

"You'll pay dearly for these names, Raymond." The completely unveiled threat held none of the conviction it needed for follow-through.

The discussion would have been odd to any outsider passing their table, but the whole exchange left Red immensely pleased. He was already used to having to defend his propensity for gift-giving, yet the woman hadn't fought him in the slightest on the documents. She took them for the kind gesture that they were and had both thanked and teased him for it. The man found a pleasant warmth coursing through him, he could definitely get used to having the young woman around.

Red poured them both another glass of wine, chuckling in spite of himself.

Rosalie was still beaming a mischievous grin.

They would get down to negotiations eventually, for now he was just a man out to dinner with a beautiful woman.

The sky was alight in New York City as the pair stepped out into the night. It was still early for them, and they had enjoyed their dinner and conversation so much the pair completely forgot to discuss their deal.

"Did you have a place in mind?" Rosalie asked as they strolled leisurely down the sidewalk.

"Already thinking of a night cap?" Reddington teased.

The woman smiled cheekily, taking his offered arm and guiding him East. Her voice held a purr of excitement, "Yes. I have a sudden craving for vintage booze and expensive cigars."

The pair walked quietly for a few blocks until they came upon the mouth of an alleyway lit by a single lamplight next to a grungy looking door. Without a word, Rosalie led him to the light. Reaching up, she carefully unscrewed the bulb just enough for it to go out. The alley was completely dark for a moment before a lamp at the far end flickered into life. Its light was an effulgent blue. Rosalie chuckled softly, guiding them both toward the light.

There was nothing at the end of the alley but the lamp. Reddington was just about to tease her about leading them on a goose chase when Rosalie reached out to the wall next to him; a lone, slender digit extended to prod a solitary brick. To Red's surprise the brick moved, falling into the empty void behind.

A smooth feminine voice issued from the space. "I hope you guessed my name."

"Oh Devil, I daresay I did." Rosalie giggled right back. The phrase seemed to be a password.

The feminine voice let out a pleased sigh, " Good Evening Patron."

A deafening silence flooded the alley before the brick wall at the end seemed to split in two.

A darkly chic hostess strode out to meet them, "Welcome back, Ms. Øllegaard. The Tinderbox is happy to serve you, and your guest." The woman added, smiling flirtatiously at Raymond.

Reddington smiled curiously up at the unsuspecting building, completely distracted.

'The Tinderbox' was a notoriously elusive watering hole. It wasn't criminal per se , the clientele just seemed to border on the grey(er) end of the moral spectrum.

Catering to an inherently conspicuous crowd, the owners of the establishment regularly dismantled and relocated their business throughout the city. The NYPD were baffled, as an entire enterprise seemed to disappear in a puff of smoke whenever they got close. Hence the name, Tinderbox.

Raymond and Rosalie followed the woman into the building, the brick wall falling shut behind them.

The establishment had a distinct aura of delectable indulgence. Its walls varied between white-washed brick and antique mirrors which reflected the many and eclectic patrons. The crown molding on the high ceilings held crimson lights pointing upward, making one think of the red-light districts of Paris. Large spectacular floral arrangements were dotted along each of the gleaming bars lining the far wall. A smoked glass elevator stood off to their right, which Rosalie made a beeline for.

The hostess followed them into the elevator, turning a key to allow them access.

The glass cube sprung up through throngs of patrons to arrive on the building's roof. As the door opened, the pair were greeted by a similarly chic-looking host, "Welcome to The Cherry, Ms. Øllegaard. We have your preferred seating available, as well as your usual."

The woman smiled appreciatively at the man, "Thank you, Clyde. Could you please cater to my client's needs? Something from the vintage collection, if you wouldn't mind."

She left Reddington in the young host's capable hands, who guided the man through to the bespoke humidor room. A cigar sommelier immediately provided a variety of recommendations varying from Cohibas and Fuentes to a few rather rare Gurkhas for Red's perusal. Selecting a spectacular Cohiba from the bunch, he also placed an order for a glass of Croizet Cuvée cognac before allowing the host to lead him back to Rosalie.

The woman was relaxing leisurely in a black leather club chair. Her long blonde hair fell over the back of the seat in soft, rippling waves. The slate eyes were closed as she cradled a brandy snifter in one hand and a long Arturo Fuentes cigar in the other.

"An elusive lounge for an elusive criminal. This place suits you." Reddington teased, alerting her to his presence.

Rosalie chuckled warmly as she sat upright in the chair, crossing one black nylon covered leg over the other and taking a puff of her cigar.

Reddington caught a glimpse of a garter strap before the skirt settled back over her silky thighs. The woman was an endless honeypot of pleasant surprises. Rosalie had excellent taste in liquor and cigars, terrible taste in wine, a dry sense of humor and a razor sharp wit that was bound to get her into trouble. She looked sinfully comfortable in this den of criminals, her feminine features enjoying her vices with practiced ease. Yes, the man thought, he could certainly get used to having her around.

Once they were both well-plied with their night caps and a pleasant haze of cigar smoke swam around the little alcove, talk turned to their deal.

A partnership between Rosalie Øllegaard and the Concierge of Crime was bound to be a profitable one. Reddington already had five clients waiting in the wings for safe harbor in various locations.

Red's clients would pay the standard rate for access to Rosalie's safehouses, while he would arrange the necessary transport. They negotiated a very lean team of drivers so as to keep as few people aware of the safehouses as possible.

Reddington also wanted the SoHo townhouse as his regular location when in New York, to which Rosalie was agreeable.

The pair negotiated a monthly discounted rate for Reddington's use of the properties since he was utilizing roughly 15 per month and was bringing in so many ad-hoc clients.

Rosalie wanted to be his exclusive provider for safe harbor in regards to his clientele, which Raymond was happy to agree to.

The pair didn't reach a bump in the negotiations until Reddington asked about the extent of her client list.

"I don't allow my clients to know about each other. You know about Howard simply because he told you, but I cannot tell you who my other clients are and when or where they are staying. It's a conflict of interest, I can't have my network being used to settle scores."

The man cocked his head thoughtfully, examining the young innkeeper. "What if I am looking for someone particularly nasty?" he asked, curious to see how she would react.

Rosalie found herself distracted by the man's cigar, seeing his tongue sneak out to dab at its tip. Her pulse raced as she mentally caught up to his question.

"...Then you would need to catch them while they are en route between locations. My network becomes useless if my clients can't trust that their position remains private. I'm sure you understand."

Raymond did understand, though he was not sure he would be so understanding if the situation came to pass. He decided not to force the hypothetical issue. For now, he was satisfied with her integrity.

His next negotiating point stepped into the batter's box, "Another thing I would like is for you and Horace to fly with Dembe and I from now on."

Rosalie looked surprised at this suggestion.

The man continued, "I typically have business to deal with immediately when entering a city, if completing preparations is your concern. I think it would be best for all of us considering you and I will need to be in continuous contact."

He added playfully, "Dembe and I aren't terrible flight companions, and I can certainly stock the bar with a better gin selection."

The young woman tittered softly, Red was attempting to sweeten the pot, which told her he really did want them to fly with him.

"Alright," said Rosalie, "on one condition."

Raymond waited, his head still tilted with an expectant smirk lighting his features.

"The SoHo townhouse has four bedrooms, when you're in New York I wish to stay there as well."

She loved that townhouse, and if she was going to be travelling everywhere that Raymond went, she wanted to be able to stay there as well.

A grin ghosted across his features, "Don't all of your major locations have four bedrooms?"

"Yes-" Rosalie began, but she was cut off.

"Then why don't we just stay at the same safe-houses?" Red asked, his tone perfectly innocent.

The suggestion took Rosalie by surprise. She carefully rolled her cigar and took another sip of brandy before answering. "I would assume you'd want time to yourself-"

Reddington jumped in again, "I would have a bedroom for that. A closed door would mean a desire to be left alone. Though, I readily admit, I won't likely use it. I prefer having company, and I think both Dembe and I would enjoy having more than just the two of us around."

Rosalie was admittedly taken aback by his frankness. She hadn't expected this in their negotiations and she felt rather out of her element.

The man sensed as much, and deliberately waited, giving her time to process. Red slowly drank his cognac and smoked his cigar, waiting for a response. When the woman still hesitated, Raymond touched on what he thought might be concerning her.

"If you're worried about your privacy, I can assure you, you would have your personal space. I certainly wouldn't begrudge you the occasional visitor or bed partner."

The lighthearted comment seemed to pull her from her thoughts, making her chuckle lightly. "I don't know, Raymond, are you sure this is what you want?"

She could see his point, they would be in constant contact if they were to become business partners. It only made sense to fly in the same plane and sleep under the same roof. The more she thought about his suggestion, the more she actually liked the idea.

A small flush crept up the woman's neck to reach her cheeks. Reddington smiled brightly, knowing she had come to agree with his point of view.

"Yes," he rumbled, his voice surprisingly low and rough, "I am absolutely certain."

The little blonde set down her cigar, holding her hand out to the Concierge of Crime. "I believe we have a deal, then, Mr. Reddington."

Red took the delicate hand in his large one, shaking it gently before turning it over and placing his lips gently to the soft skin of her knuckles.

"To a deal well-struck, Rosalie." The man purred, enjoying the flush that returned to the woman's cheeks.

It was the beginning of an exceptional partnership.