Smoke and Mirrors : Royal Angels I

Mr. Tall, dark and handsome

~Victoria~

My target is kinda hot.

I smiled as I picked up the tray and headed to the kitchen. Handsome men were so hard to come by with my job. Whistling, I ziplocked the two coffee cups and put them in my waitress apron.

Oh, I wasn't really a waitress. (Not a creepy stalker either.)

Speaking of creeps.

"Hey there, kitty cat." The barista behind the counter chuckled. The guy leered down my modest white blouse not even trying to be subtle about it and I had to resist the urge to punch him.

In the nuts. With brass knuckles.

Instead, I gave him a sweet smile. "How's it going?" Mr. Douche.

"Good, good." He ran a hand through his hair. Yeah, because dandruff is super sexy. "When did you start working here? I didn't see you sign in this morning."

"I came in early." Okay, I was a good liar, but for what it's worth, I could've said "I'm a pretty mermaid" and he wouldn't have blinked. Not when his eyes were still on my boobs. "Eyes up here, soldier."

"Hehe." More dandruff dislodgement. "Sorry about that."

I don't think he really knew what sorry meant. Pity. I'd have to educate him.

Hey," I said, fluttering my eyelids and swaying my hips a little. "I spilt some coffee on my apron. I'm so clumsy. I forgot where the washroom is?"

Yeah, because I'm about as intelligent as a suckling pig and can't read well placed signs, I wanted to add.

I let my knight in shining armour show me where the little girl's room was. Turning around, I made a show of bumping into him. "I-I'm so sorry. I just wanted to say thank you."

"Why, you're welcome." I swear I heard him mutter püssy cat as he walked away.

I shook my head in resignation and locked the washroom door behind me.

There was a black duffel bag in one of the stalls. I'd stashed it in here earlier. I placed the apron with the cups inside it and stripped.

It took me about two minutes to change into a blue cocktail dress and take off my blonde wig. I redid my makeup, going hard on the contouring and smokey eyes.

The walk through the cafe earned me a few indecent stares. Mr. Douche's car keys were in my left hand. All I had to do was go to the parking lot, unlock his old rust bucket Chevy and drive to my apartment.

That's the Oxford definition of "sorry", as in, "sorry, I might have stolen your car".

Dear Mr. Douche, never trust a clumsy püssy cat. Glad to have furthered your education.

The minute I got home, I was almost knocked over at the door by a little red head.

"Did you find him? Do you know who he was? How old was he? Was he cute-"

My sister didn't any waste time.

"It wasn't a date, Ira." I told her, flopping down on the couch. My apartment wasn't fancy, though it certainly could've been. White walls, a fold out couch, a coffee table, two mattresses. That was about it.

Ira arched a perfect brow. "So he wasn't cute?"

"No." I told her, thinking back to the man in the black suit. Danny, his friend had called him. My target had crystal blue eyes, black longish hair and a jawline that could cut diamonds

He honestly wasn't cute.

He was hot. Make-your-insides-catch-fire hot.

Yet this was my brain's assessment. This is what any normal person would feel about him, it told me. The rest of me was awfully quiet about all this.

"Details." Ira quipped, annoyed when I didn't say much.

"It's not a date." I repeated. "I was just scoping out the target."

She gave my skimpy outfit a once over, skeptical. "Right."

"Alibi" I explained, rolling my eyes. "If this blows up in my face tomorrow, I want the people in the cafe to remember I was there." As the bîtch in blue rather than the waitress.

"Oh, that won't happen. We'll be fine." Ira replied, absently. It was her standard response every time I talked about 'negative' situations. "So do you know who he is?"

I shook my head and gave her the ziplock bag, smiling a little. Funny, but if there was ever a tall, dark, handsome stranger -

"Ha!" Ira punched the air, triumphantly. "I knew it. Does he have a nice äss?"

Did I just say that out loud? Fantastic.

"Very. Very. Nice äss." I said, a little exasperated. Anything to get her to work faster. "Now please find out who it belongs to."

Ira hooked up her laptop to a DNA sensor. She snapped on some gloves and picked up a cotton swab.

"Which cup is Somerhalder's?

"Somerhalder?"

"Ian Somerhalder. The email from the client said Blue eyes, black hair and you said he has a fine äss. Hence operation Ian."

"The red one." I said, shaking my head. My sweet little sister was watching too much TVD.

Ira took it out and swiped the rim of the cup, repeating the swipe on the sensor. I had to admit I'd been a little stingy about giving her the hundred grand she needed to buy the thing. Now I wonder how I ever did my job without it.

What is my Oh-so-mysterious job, you ask?

It was a simple three step process.

1) My clients sent me a name or description.

2) I found the target.

3) The target ended up in the bottom of the sea.

It was the family business. I didn't ask any questions and I didn't care so long as I got the money.

Ira was searching for a match across federal and state databases. I guess I knew that it wouldn't turn up anything.

Which was why I'd put a microtracker on his blonde friend. Remember when I came back to the table and got snapped at by Mr. High and Mighty for no reason? Yeah, his friend had even smiled at me right before I attached it to his sleeve.

It kinda made me feel bad. Kinda.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a terrible person.

I told Ira about it and she brought up the screen. And ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. A red dot immediately popped up. It was moving heading toward the docks.

I got up and began packing my - items. By items, I mean a variety of sharp objects. I worked best with guns, but there was something special about sharp cold metal that made me feel safer.

Ira wasn't too happy. "Do you really have to kill him, V?"

"You know how this works, sweetie."

"Let me come with you-"

"No." She was too young for this.

"I want to see Ian." She gave me her best puppy dog eyes. "You know, before you kill him."

I smiled, as I changed into a black leather suit.

"Honey, for ten million dollars, I bet you can have dinner with the real Ian."

***

Victoria : "I'm pretty sure Ian wants you to press that vote button. So do it. Like, right now."