Beauty and the Assassin

by Nadia Lee

  Looks like Mina needs to eat too. “Gotcha. Just think it.”

  “Right. Good. Now go give that wine to that hopelessly bourgeois woman, and we’ll get the Riesling out to the people who appreciate a fine German vintage.”

  I return to the ballroom and look for the snotty redhead. The area is huge, but not overly crowded. I should be able to find her.

  I scan the guests. Nope. No Red. She might’ve gone outside. I step out of the main doors, just to make sure. Ah, there. She’s parked her butt on a winding staircase, one of her legs extended. Bright red stilettos encase her professionally pedicured feet. The way she’s stretched on display says she’s posing. Is she getting a photo taken to put up on Instagram?

  Just hand her the wine and get back to serving the others. I start toward her, not caring that I might get in the way of the shot. Halfway there, the fine hair on the back of my neck starts to bristle, like it always does when Roy’s pulled one of his stunts. But unlike those times, my skin isn’t crawling.

  Still, my heart begins to race, my blood pumping harder and louder until I can’t hear my own thoughts over the roaring in my head. The air seems thinner, and I can’t get enough as every cell in my body goes on full alert.

  It’s just the guests. Some hotel staff. Nobody who looks like they want to hurt me.

  My knees almost buckle when I see Tolyan walking by. I put a hand on the wall to steady myself. Suddenly my heart isn’t racing with panic, and my blood isn’t rushing with fear. My pulse is still erratic, but I’m okay.

  He has an earpiece, like a security guard or something. And he’s in a suit. Unlike this morning, his outfit is all black, including his shirt. No tie, but his shirt’s buttoned all the way up. No matter how well cut his jacket and slacks are, they can’t hide the raw power radiating from his tall, strong frame.

  Third time in one day. It has to be a sign. The universe is wondering why the hell I’m not seizing the opportunity and asking him for help.

  Giving the wine to the redhead is suddenly not my priority. I start to move toward him, my mouth dry. I still have no clue how I’m going to start the “can you help me?” conversation, but surely something will come to mind.

  “Tolyan.” The redhead’s soft and pleading voice stops me in my tracks.

  I look at the woman. I didn’t know she could sound like that!

  “Could you help me?”

  Dammit. That’s what I was going to say! And just look at how easily she asks him for help, when I’m still unsure how to approach. It’s so unfair.

  She continues, “I think I’ve twisted my ankle…” She gives him a smile so gentle, it’s almost painful to see.

  This woman definitely has a thing for him. Maybe she’s been crushing on him all along. She seems so pretty and helpless there, I can’t imagine any man not rising up to the occasion to render her aid as she extends her hand toward him.

  Tolyan eyes her slim ankle. It’s encircled by a sparkly silver anklet, all charmingly sexy. She shifts her leg a little, so it looks longer. She has to have practiced that over and over to hit the pose just so, without appearing like she’s trying too hard.

  “Is anything broken?” he asks, not taking her hand.

  “No.” She blushes like a shy teenager in love. She’s so good, if I hadn’t had the “it’s the wrong white wine” incident, I’d totally be buying the cutely adorable act. “Just a little twisted, I think.”

  Now that he’s been reassured she isn’t too badly hurt, he’s going to help her up and escort her like a gentleman toward the ballroom, while she clings to him. Aaaaand, there goes my third meeting. The charm.

  But I can’t let him go like that. I don’t think there’s going to be a fourth chance!

  Licking my extra-dry lips, I start to step forward, then stop when he looks away from her, his gaze meeting mine for a fraction of a second. Something flickers in the pale gray-blue depths, and I smile tentatively. Does he recognize me? Will he say hello, or maybe mention the coffee I bought him? Nothing too elaborate, but something along the lines of “Thanks for the coffee, by the way. It was great.”

  That would give me the opening I need.

  But no. Instead of acknowledging me, he pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. “The concierge will send somebody to help you,” he says to the redhead.

  “Oh…” she says. She wears her disappointment like a corsage. “I think I can walk, if you’ll just let me lean on—”

  “I’m busy, as you can see.” He isn’t even looking at her as he speaks.

  His unreadable gaze flicks toward me, then he resumes his walk, turning so I can see his face better. His eyes are cold and utterly uninterested. My stomach twists, and I feel like all the light inside me suddenly got snuffed out.

  If he said no to the redhead, a sophisticated woman who’s dolled up and gorgeous and asking for his help oh-so prettily, there’s no way he’s going to say yes to me. Especially when I’ve got a problem far more complicated and dangerous than a twisted ankle.

  So…about that sign? Psych! I can hear the universe laughing at me.

  My whole body seems to want to collapse into itself under the crushing weight of disappointment. His saving me from that flasher was a big deal. To me, anyway. His popping up at the café on my first day was a big deal. And then running into him again here.

  But none of that matters to him. I look around. A few people are whispering, careful not to stare at him for too long. But he seems nonchalant, like he’s used to the attention—an apex predator coolly prowling the jungle. And he wouldn’t care if something happened to one of the helpless animals.

  I shake off a sense of defeat. I’m not being paid to feel sorry for myself, and in any case, self-pity isn’t going to solve anything.

  Do your job. And figure out how to talk to him later. The event isn’t over yet.

  Pasting on an empty smile, I go to the redhead. “Here. The Chardonnay you asked for.”

  She jumps to her feet, her eyes flashing. “Who wants it now?” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and stalks away.

  Guess that ankle is okay after all. And she doesn’t care if Tolyan sees it. Must be nice to not have any care in the world.

  I look at the wine she doesn’t want. Wish I weren’t working so I could drink it instead.

  Or that I didn’t need the money, so I could throw the wine at her.

  I take a deep breath and return to the ballroom. Mina tells me to help clean up, so I grab a tray and go out and load empty glasses to take back. Fueled by alcohol and food, the conversations are louder now, the laughter more uproarious.

  After going back and forth between the ballroom and the kitchen countless times, my arms start to ache. Jogging trains the legs more than the arms, and the empty stemware and plates are heavier than they look.

  One of the tux-clad guests stumbles backward, saying something drunkenly. Everything seems to slow as I realize I’m not going to be able to get out of the way in time. But suddenly another person is there, between me and the man, preventing him from making contact.

  I blink, breath caught. It’s Tolyan, standing there like an impenetrable, unscalable wall.

  Maybe this is the chance I need. But as he gives me a quick once-over, every last neuron in my mind goes blank.

  Finally, he says, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I say automatically. Then I add, “Thank you.”

  “Oh, it’s you, Tolyan.” The drunk guest rights himself. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were behind me.”

  Tolyan looks at someone in a knot of guests to our right. The person starts, then comes over and takes the man away.

  I lick my lips, nerves prickling and palms sweaty. Don’t act timid or nervous. It isn’t like I’m going to ask Tolyan to help me for free. I can pay. I have some money saved up, for the time after Roy’s gone. Whenever my balance goes up, I dream a little of the life I’ll be able to have. A real, permanent home. College. The possibilities are limitless, and they ma
ke my heart pump with hopeful excitement.

  But if I need to spend it on making Roy go away instead… Well, it’ll be worth it. I can always start saving up again.

  I open my mouth, then stop. Still too many people around. I can’t just blurt out my proposal.

  Just then, my belly growls. Loudly. Regardless, I pretend like I haven’t made any noise. He probably didn’t hear. It’s noisy in the ballroom.

  Tolyan gestures at the door leading to the kitchen.

  Yeah, yeah, I know I should go back to doing my job. But I can’t go like this. What if he’s gone when I come out?

  When I don’t move, his eyebrows pinch briefly. Then he opens the door. “Here.”

  The proper response would be a polite “thank you,” but the words stick in my throat. His frown deepens. Then he takes the tray off me and walks through the door himself.

  The move shatters my tense little trance. I dash after him. Holy shit, Mina’s going to lose her mind if she sees this! “Mr. Tolyan!”

  He keeps walking. His long legs carry him farther and farther, and I have to jog to catch up to him.

  “Give me the tray. You shouldn’t be doing that.” I look around the small hallway for employees. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here, either.”

  His gaze flicks in my direction. “I can be anywhere I want. And you looked like you were about to faint.”

  I did?

  “You haven’t eaten.” The words are clipped and brusque.

  “How do you know?” I ask. I’m pretty good at faking being okay. People get uncomfortable when they can sense you’re not okay.

  “Your stomach growled.”

  “Oh.” My face warms, and I try not to squirm. Still, I can’t stop myself from clearing my throat. “I didn’t think you heard.”

  “Most wouldn’t have.”

  Right. Maybe this means he has some level of empathy despite how coldly he treated the redhead earlier. He might be amenable to a request for help, especially if I offer to pay him…

  He takes the tray to the kitchen and puts it down. Then he points at one of the chefs. “You. Make a sandwich.”

  Oh. Maybe he’s here not because I looked like I was about to faint, but because he didn’t get anything to eat in the ballroom. I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or not.

  The chef stares at him blankly, probably stunned that a stranger is bossing him around in his kitchen. He quickly regains his composure and bristles. “Who are you?”

  Tolyan gives him a lazy look. “The person signing off on the bill for the event tonight.”

  Is he in charge of the Pryce Family Foundation? How…unexpected. I thought the blonde who made speeches was the one running the show.

  “Okay,” the chef says, slightly mollified. “What do you want on it?”

  Tolyan looks at me. “Allergies or anything you don’t like?”

  “Me?” I squeak.

  A hint of amusement flashes in his pale eyes. “You.”

  “Well, uh…nothing. I like everything.”

  He turns to the chef. “You heard the girl. Toasted whole grain bread. Loads of roast beef, four strips of bacon, lettuce and tomato. Mild Swiss. Horseradish sauce. No mayo. Steak fries with ketchup. Plus sparkling pear cider to drink.” Tolyan might as well own the hotel.

  The chef grunts grumpily, but makes a tall sandwich with fries and puts the whole thing on a clean white plate, which he places on a tray. Another staff member places an elegant glass of fizzy drink next to it.

  Tolyan takes the tray and starts to walk away from the kitchen. When I stay rooted to the spot and stare, he crooks his index finger. “Come.”

  I follow, managing to match his pace. He turns into a small hallway, moving like he knows exactly where he’s going, then opens a door. We’re in a smaller ballroom, not the main one. It’s empty, but set up with tables and chairs.

  “Sit,” he says, setting down the tray on one of the tables.

  His steely voice doesn’t invite a refusal. I park my butt in the indicated chair, then look at the plate in front of me. The smell of the bread and beef is getting to me, and my mouth waters. But instead of reaching for the food like I’m itching to, I look up at Tolyan. He remains standing, towering over me. His eyes grow cooler as time ticks by.

  “Eat,” he says finally.

  “You want me to eat this?” I squeak like an idiot. I guess I understood he was getting the food for me at the kitchen, but it’s just…weird to receive this type of thoughtful kindness from a man who is looking at me with such cold eyes. In my experience, when people want to feed someone, they tend to smile and appear a lot friendlier.

  “Yes. You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

  I clear my throat. “I’m supposed to be working.”

  He gives me a mildly assessing look. Why does that make him seem like a candy-house witch trying to decide how much fattening she needs to do to Hansel and Gretel? “Who’s your supervisor?”

  “Mina.”

  He pulls out his phone and taps on the screen a few times. Then he flips it so I can read it.

  –Me: I’m borrowing one of your employees for half an hour. Angelika’s her name.

  –Mina: Sure, that’s fine.

  Of course she’d say it’s fine. She told me how important the foundation’s business is.

  “Now your next thirty minutes belong to me.” He arches an eyebrow, daring me to argue, but I’m not arguing with a man my boss prefers to suck up to. He gestures at the plate.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Understood. Now eat.”

  “It’s a lot of food, though,” I say, in case he expects me to finish this giant manwich.

  “Toss whatever you don’t eat.”

  “No way! I haven’t had beef in months! I’m going to take the leftovers home and eat them for lunch tomorrow.” Crap. I shut my mouth, too late, of course. He doesn’t care about my grocery situation!

  Tolyan gives me an odd look, then shrugs.

  But you know what? Who cares? I shove aside my embarrassment and start gobbling up the sandwich. It’s so, so good. The bacon is amazing with the beef. And I swear, this hotel has the best bread, too. And the fries are so hot, so perfect.

  As I continue to eat, tears fill my eyes. I can’t remember a time when I had food this delicious and filling. And all because this man noticed my belly growling and decided to do something about it.

  The food fuels my optimism and courage. The third time really is the charm. And if him feeding me when I’m starving isn’t it, I don’t know what more sign I need.

  “I think you’re a nice man,” I say, after I swallow a bite.

  A corner of his lips quirks up, but his eyes remain unreadable.

  “You helped me earlier, and now this, too.”

  “The foundation’s paying for it,” he says flatly.

  “Yeah, but it didn’t give me this sandwich. That was you.”

  Something I can’t make out flickers in his eyes. “For a little fawn, you like to argue.”

  “Huh?” Did he just call me a little fawn?

  Tolyan doesn’t respond. A small frown appears on his face as he checks his phone and reads whatever’s on the screen. He puts it back in his pocket and starts to walk away.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” I haven’t said a word about my proposal!

  He stops, then looks at me over a shoulder, like he can’t believe I asked him that question. Or maybe he can’t believe I think he’s going to answer me.

  “I have something to ask you,” I say quickly.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have the time. There’s an urgent matter to attend to.”

  “But—”

  “Eat. Then finish your shift and go home.”

  I start to get to my feet. “But Tolyan—”

  He vanishes through the door. I jump up, run after him and burst out through the same door.

  But no matter how many times I scan the hall, I can’t find him. He’s already gone.


  Chapter Five

  Angelika

  When the shift is over, I leave, the half-eaten sandwich wrapped carefully in my bag. I heave a sigh. Fatigue weighs me down, like an anvil chained to my ankle. It’s so unfair. I was so close to asking. Only if Tolyan hadn’t received that text—or whatever it was that he got.

  He called me little fawn before he vanished. It’s probably a good thing. Fawns are cute. You want to aww over them and keep them safe. Only a huge, world-class asshole would want to hurt such a nice animal, and Tolyan isn’t one.

  At least…I don’t think he is.

  I pull my car out of the lot and make a circle…then almost scream when I spot the familiar figure of Tolyan tipping a valet and getting into a black sedan. I stop my car and start to open the door to get out and run to him, but change my mind when I see there won’t be enough time.

  He’s already pulling into traffic. I should just follow and talk to him whenever he stops. I know it’s late, and he’s probably tired, but I feel like if I don’t ask him before the day’s over, it’s never going to happen.

  He isn’t driving too fast. I follow right behind him. He’s going in the opposite direction from my place. Maybe he lives on the other side of town. But he was on the jogging trail this morning—near my place. He could’ve been staying with a friend last night or something. Anyway, getting a minute to talk with him is more important than worrying about where he’s heading. We aren’t going into some dangerous section of the city, from the looks of it.

  Sometime later, we’re in a residential area with lots of houses and lawn. Definitely upper middle class. Maybe he owns one of the houses with a big yard for his dogs.

  He parks his car in front of a house in a cul-de-sac. He gets out. I park mine, but as I start to open the door, some cautious instinct—the one that’s kept me alive all these years—sends a chill down my spine. Things aren’t right.

  He’s pulling on gloves as he moves toward the house. Who does that when they get home?

  But that isn’t all. No dog barks. Sections of the lawn look flat and crushed, like something heavy rolled over it recently. A mailbox is knocked over, too. Tolyan seems so precise that I can’t imagine him leaving his home in this kind of condition. Maybe he’s here to see a girlfriend, although my gut disagrees. He couldn’t ignore the growl from my belly. He wouldn’t ignore a mailbox on the ground if this were his girlfriend’s home.