“You should know,” Rebecca said, her voice smug, “Grace never does jobs as a counter, even if that’s her talent. She’s one of our most skilled blades. And her price is steep.”
Enne withered. Slumber parties with would-be assassins, indeed.
“And I’m not sure she’d want...” Rebecca’s eyes wandered to the ruffles slipping out of Enne’s trench coat, and she pursed her lips.
Enne’s caution and restraint snapped like brittle cords. The North Side had a host of unspoken rules: how criminals looked, how they talked, how they behaved. If Enne was about to become a street lord, then she could make her own rules. The City of Sin would learn that a pistol painted pink was just as lethal.
Without a word, she marched herself toward Grace. What did Enne care if Grace Watson dressed like a harlot at a funeral? If she was a killer? Enne had killed, too, and if Grace was reading a three-time award-winning romance author, she could hardly be that bad.
“That’s one of my favorites,” she told Grace, nodding at the book. “I’ve read it four times.”
Grace ripped her gaze away from the page with an annoyed expression. She squinted at Enne’s mask. “I’m not interested.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”
“I don’t know who you are, but I’m not interested in killing your ex-boyfriend.” She glanced around the courtyard. “Are you famous or something? Why is everyone looking over?”
“I killed the Chancellor and Sedric Torren two days ago.” Unlike earlier, she now spoke clearly, confidently.Speak up, her instructors at finishing school had often snapped at her.Ladies do not mumble.Not even about murder.
Grace snorted and looked over Enne’s clothes. “Right.” She returned to her book.
Enne mustered up every bit of frustration she’d felt over the past few days and pressed the assassin further. “I’m going to sit here.” She wedged herself between Grace’s leather boots and the bench’s railing.
Grace held the book up to her face and said nothing.
“The love interest dies at the end,” Enne told her.
“Nice try,” Grace said, sounding bored. “But I’ve read this bookfivetimes.”
“Have you read the author’s other work?”
“I’m not looking for a job right now, so you might as well stop trying.”
“I want to hire a counter.”
“How boring.” Grace licked her finger and turned the page. “Hire one of the other counters. They come much cheaper than me.”
That was undoubtedly true, but at this point, Enne was determined. Hiring Grace didn’t need to make sense anymore. She’d pay top voltage if it meant wiping the sneers off Bryce’s and Rebecca’s faces. If it meant proving to herself that she could earn the respect of anyone in the North Side.
“Tell me what it would take.”
“Hmm.” Grace smirked and drummed black-painted nails on the glossy cover of the paperback. “You can find me a licentiously rich South Side man to dote over me and cater to my every expensive whim.”
Of all the requests she could’ve made, that had been the one Enne had least expected.
Without thinking, Enne reached into her purse and removed one of Vianca’s salon invitations. She tossed it to Grace.
“Deal,” Enne said.
Grace looked over the invitation with interest. “You said the job would be boring.”
“Yousaid that. The job will be permanent, it will involve counting, but it won’t be boring.”
Grace handed her back the invitation and returned to her book.
Enne’s stomach dropped with disappointment. She’d thought she’d managed it.
“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Grace muttered.
