Simon gifted her with a rare smile. “Sounds good to me. I’ll leave all the details to you.”
Smiling in return, Scarlet pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Well, let’s get started, then.” After punching a button on the phone in front of her, her assistant’s voice rang out over the speakerphone.
“Yes, ma’am, how may I help you?”
“Julie, we are hosting a charity gala in two weeks on the sixteenth. You know the drill: caterers, event organizer—the works. Also, reach out to Killian O’Cleary’s Cancer Foundation and see if they would be interested in working with us on this.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?” Julie asked. “Will Mr. Daniels need any assistance with anything?”
“You might want to go ahead and call us in some lunch, please. I think we’re going to be busy for the rest of the day,” Scarlet said, suppressing a smile while the rest of the members tried not to chuckle.
Julie had been Simon’s secretary for years before she had been appointed to her current position assisting Scarlet. It was no secret she remained very devoted to Simon and still tried to do everything for him.
“No problem. Lydia’s Café?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Finished with the call, Scarlet looked around the room at the board of directors and gave them a rare, genuine smile. They could have made this meeting difficult, and while it wouldn’t have affected the outcome, it would have placed stress on her already-ill father.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your support. I promise I will not let you down.”
In London, a phone went off in the night, ringing only twice before being answered.
“Shadow,” he answered in his deep British accent, his voice raspy from sleep.
“I have a job for you, if you’re interested.” A crisp tone filled Shadow’s ear, and he immediately recognized Reaper, the leader of the elite Assassin’s Club and, for lack of a better word, Shadow’s boss. If you wanted someone dead, Reaper was the person to call.
After only taking the best, hardest, and most well-paying jobs, Reaper would then delegate the rest to a member of the club he felt was best suited to handling it for a cut of the profit.
“One second.” Shadow yawned, pulling himself out of bed and ignoring the woman who was still sound asleep next to him. He hadn’t bothered to get her name before he had brought her home from the pub hours before.
Naked, he walked out of his bedroom and down the hall. Pausing beside a locked door, he entered the code on the keypad next to it and walked inside. No one was allowed in this room, not even the maid, and his equipment—guns, knives, and the like—glinted on the wall in immaculate condition, neatly arranged and ready for use at a moment’s notice.
Once he was sure the door was closed behind him, Shadow spoke again. “What kind of job?” he asked, with a sigh. He had just finished a job in Russia, and after nearly freezing to death, more than once, he had been looking forward to a relaxing few weeks at home before his next assignment.
“The kind that would make you a lot of money,” Reaper said nonchalantly. They could have been talking about the weather from the tone of his voice. “You’d be able to take a long vacation. Permanently, if you so choose.”
“What’s the job?” Shadow cocked an eyebrow, his interest definitely piqued.
“Two people. The client wants it to be public. He said he wanted the world to see,” Reaper told him, sounding almost bored. “I tried to talk him out of it. You know how messy public executions are. The authorities are more interested, there’s a higher chance of capture, and the like. Regardless, he was insistent, offered extra, so of course, I told him I would use no one but the best.”
“Who are the marks?” Shadow inquired. “Wait,” he said, a small bump outside the door suddenly putting him on edge. Shrugging, he decided he would take care of it later. “Sorry, go on.”
“You’ve heard of Jupiter Technologies?” Reaper asked.
“Everyone has one of their phones or computers.”
“It’s the CEO, Simon Daniels, and his daughter and Vice President, Scarlet.”
“How much is he offering?”
“Three million American dollars, but of course, I would take my customary five percent.”
“Of course.” Shadow didn’t bother to ask who had ordered the hit. Reaper was the only one with that information, and he didn’t share. Although, Shadow had his suspicions.
“Do you think you can do it?” Reaper asked, sounding amused. “I can call someone else, or you know, you’re always free to reach out to another member.”
Being a member of the club was the highest honor for an assassin, but it came with a few rules: You never revealed the club’s existence; Reaper always took a cut of the profits; and if help was required in any way, the other club member was to always agree… for a price—either another favor down the line or for money.
“I can handle it,” Shadow snapped. “There’s a reason you called me. You need the best, so that’s what you’re getting. But I want the money as soon as the job is finished.”
“Of course. I’ll deposit the money into your specified account, as usual. This is a big job, Shadow. Don’t disappoint.” With that, Reaper was gone, and the line went dead.
As Shadow shut the phone, he couldn’t help thinking about the job at hand. He knew exactly who had just hired him. Gregory Aspen had been trying to acquire Jupiter Technologies for years. It was public knowledge. Shadow couldn’t help thinking, from the news and papers, that Aspen was definitely unhinged and that, if he truly were the one who had hired him, he was a fool, given that his hatred of Daniels was very well known.
Personal feelings about his clients aside, Shadow had accepted the job, and he was a man of his word. It was time to get to work. It wasn’t every day such high-profile targets were named, and the money being offered was unheard of. It was more than enough to set him for life, even with Reaper’s portion taken out.
He walked across the floor to his desk, pausing to pour himself a drink before he sat down, ready to begin. Downing the whole of his scotch, he turned on his laptop and looked up the two people who had unknowingly made his early retirement possible at the ripe old age of thirty-two.
Google yielded quite a lot of information about the father/daughter pair: personal histories, business deals and acquisitions, even where Scarlet had gone to school.
As Shadow looked into the duo, searching for a way to reach his goal, he couldn’t help admiring the girl who had worked her way through the ranks, earning her role as vice president. It was unheard of for an heiress to actually earn their fortune. A close-up photo showed a raven-haired beauty with gorgeous bright eyes, though he couldn’t decide if they were blue or violet.
He felt something strange come over him as he looked at her pictures. Lust, definitely, but there was something else, as well. A feeling he was unfamiliar with.
He kept digging, and it didn’t take long before he found her wedding announcement. He wasn’t at all surprised to see that it had been cancelled only a few months later. The article detailing the story had a picture of the girl getting into a limousine, her hand covering her face from the many photographers. The image struck a chord in him, and Shadow felt inexplicably protective. He wanted to shield her.
Smiling in return, Scarlet pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Well, let’s get started, then.” After punching a button on the phone in front of her, her assistant’s voice rang out over the speakerphone.
“Yes, ma’am, how may I help you?”
“Julie, we are hosting a charity gala in two weeks on the sixteenth. You know the drill: caterers, event organizer—the works. Also, reach out to Killian O’Cleary’s Cancer Foundation and see if they would be interested in working with us on this.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?” Julie asked. “Will Mr. Daniels need any assistance with anything?”
“You might want to go ahead and call us in some lunch, please. I think we’re going to be busy for the rest of the day,” Scarlet said, suppressing a smile while the rest of the members tried not to chuckle.
Julie had been Simon’s secretary for years before she had been appointed to her current position assisting Scarlet. It was no secret she remained very devoted to Simon and still tried to do everything for him.
“No problem. Lydia’s Café?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Finished with the call, Scarlet looked around the room at the board of directors and gave them a rare, genuine smile. They could have made this meeting difficult, and while it wouldn’t have affected the outcome, it would have placed stress on her already-ill father.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your support. I promise I will not let you down.”
In London, a phone went off in the night, ringing only twice before being answered.
“Shadow,” he answered in his deep British accent, his voice raspy from sleep.
“I have a job for you, if you’re interested.” A crisp tone filled Shadow’s ear, and he immediately recognized Reaper, the leader of the elite Assassin’s Club and, for lack of a better word, Shadow’s boss. If you wanted someone dead, Reaper was the person to call.
After only taking the best, hardest, and most well-paying jobs, Reaper would then delegate the rest to a member of the club he felt was best suited to handling it for a cut of the profit.
“One second.” Shadow yawned, pulling himself out of bed and ignoring the woman who was still sound asleep next to him. He hadn’t bothered to get her name before he had brought her home from the pub hours before.
Naked, he walked out of his bedroom and down the hall. Pausing beside a locked door, he entered the code on the keypad next to it and walked inside. No one was allowed in this room, not even the maid, and his equipment—guns, knives, and the like—glinted on the wall in immaculate condition, neatly arranged and ready for use at a moment’s notice.
Once he was sure the door was closed behind him, Shadow spoke again. “What kind of job?” he asked, with a sigh. He had just finished a job in Russia, and after nearly freezing to death, more than once, he had been looking forward to a relaxing few weeks at home before his next assignment.
“The kind that would make you a lot of money,” Reaper said nonchalantly. They could have been talking about the weather from the tone of his voice. “You’d be able to take a long vacation. Permanently, if you so choose.”
“What’s the job?” Shadow cocked an eyebrow, his interest definitely piqued.
“Two people. The client wants it to be public. He said he wanted the world to see,” Reaper told him, sounding almost bored. “I tried to talk him out of it. You know how messy public executions are. The authorities are more interested, there’s a higher chance of capture, and the like. Regardless, he was insistent, offered extra, so of course, I told him I would use no one but the best.”
“Who are the marks?” Shadow inquired. “Wait,” he said, a small bump outside the door suddenly putting him on edge. Shrugging, he decided he would take care of it later. “Sorry, go on.”
“You’ve heard of Jupiter Technologies?” Reaper asked.
“Everyone has one of their phones or computers.”
“It’s the CEO, Simon Daniels, and his daughter and Vice President, Scarlet.”
“How much is he offering?”
“Three million American dollars, but of course, I would take my customary five percent.”
“Of course.” Shadow didn’t bother to ask who had ordered the hit. Reaper was the only one with that information, and he didn’t share. Although, Shadow had his suspicions.
“Do you think you can do it?” Reaper asked, sounding amused. “I can call someone else, or you know, you’re always free to reach out to another member.”
Being a member of the club was the highest honor for an assassin, but it came with a few rules: You never revealed the club’s existence; Reaper always took a cut of the profits; and if help was required in any way, the other club member was to always agree… for a price—either another favor down the line or for money.
“I can handle it,” Shadow snapped. “There’s a reason you called me. You need the best, so that’s what you’re getting. But I want the money as soon as the job is finished.”
“Of course. I’ll deposit the money into your specified account, as usual. This is a big job, Shadow. Don’t disappoint.” With that, Reaper was gone, and the line went dead.
As Shadow shut the phone, he couldn’t help thinking about the job at hand. He knew exactly who had just hired him. Gregory Aspen had been trying to acquire Jupiter Technologies for years. It was public knowledge. Shadow couldn’t help thinking, from the news and papers, that Aspen was definitely unhinged and that, if he truly were the one who had hired him, he was a fool, given that his hatred of Daniels was very well known.
Personal feelings about his clients aside, Shadow had accepted the job, and he was a man of his word. It was time to get to work. It wasn’t every day such high-profile targets were named, and the money being offered was unheard of. It was more than enough to set him for life, even with Reaper’s portion taken out.
He walked across the floor to his desk, pausing to pour himself a drink before he sat down, ready to begin. Downing the whole of his scotch, he turned on his laptop and looked up the two people who had unknowingly made his early retirement possible at the ripe old age of thirty-two.
Google yielded quite a lot of information about the father/daughter pair: personal histories, business deals and acquisitions, even where Scarlet had gone to school.
As Shadow looked into the duo, searching for a way to reach his goal, he couldn’t help admiring the girl who had worked her way through the ranks, earning her role as vice president. It was unheard of for an heiress to actually earn their fortune. A close-up photo showed a raven-haired beauty with gorgeous bright eyes, though he couldn’t decide if they were blue or violet.
He felt something strange come over him as he looked at her pictures. Lust, definitely, but there was something else, as well. A feeling he was unfamiliar with.
He kept digging, and it didn’t take long before he found her wedding announcement. He wasn’t at all surprised to see that it had been cancelled only a few months later. The article detailing the story had a picture of the girl getting into a limousine, her hand covering her face from the many photographers. The image struck a chord in him, and Shadow felt inexplicably protective. He wanted to shield her.
