Page 13 of Business vs. Pleasure

“It certainly does,” Bremmer agreed, almost jovial now that they’d come to an agreement. “Does eight o’ clock work for you?”

“Nine would be better.” It would give him time for a catnap between now and then; August was still on Malta time, and his body was reminding him very firmly that he was supposed to be asleep right now.

“Nine, absolutely.” He gave August the address that August had expected him to, a modern skyscraper with plenty of windows for Ricardo to make good use of, then shook his hand and hustled out of there.

Off to prepare for his date with destiny, if destiny was a bullet to the head.

August didn’t linger in the steam room now that plans had been made. He showered and dressed, deciding after a reluctant moment to go ahead and wear his glasses until he got back to the hotel. They were as fashionable as they were practical, of course, but they were one more reminder that his body was changing. Fatigue made his vision blurry, and as fun as setting up Bremmer had been, August was also just plain tired. Plus, he missed Ricardo.

You’ve been apart from him for less than three hours, you baby. Get over yourself.

Easier said than done, seeing as how they’d been living in each other’s pockets for three years. But it was fine—it was fine! This job would be over by the end of the night, Ricardo’s itchy trigger finger would be satisfied for a while, and they could spend some time traveling to banish the rest of the doldrums.

He could find a new postcard to send L’Avia, too; he was more than happy to buy her fine jewelry, designer clothes, anything her heart desired…but she desired postcards. “Happy ones,” she’d said, patting August’s cheek as he stared at her. “From places that make you happy, meu nét.”

Feeling a little more settled, August finished putting himself together and headed for the front desk. The clerk smiled over at him, a young man with a narrow face and an ill-advised moustache. “Did you enjoy your visit, sir?”

“I very much did,” August said. There were no gauche questions of bills or payment; everything had been finalized before he stepped through the door.

The clerk nodded. “Wonderful. I hope you have a productive stay here in Chicago, sir.”

August grinned. “I certainly plan to.” He headed for the private elevator and pressed the button that would take him to the ground floor. Just as the doors closed, he suddenly shuddered like someone had walked over his grave.

Odd. He must have spent too long in the steam.

CHAPTER 5

Ricardo would say one thing for the plague of vacation rentals that had sprouted up everywhere like malevolent mushrooms—it meant a lot of access to strategically perfect apartments and condos with no questions asked and no one seeing his face. They were predatory and had royally fucked up the real estate market for the average working class family trying to get by, but they were sure convenient for an assassin trying to keep a low profile.

Right now, he was setting up for tonight’s job in a “sleek, sophisticated high-rise condo with a panoramic view and access to all the amenities.” It was indeed a high-rise condo, but “sleek” and “sophisticated” were a stretch. Or maybe “sleek” was code for just enough bare bones furniture to prevent a guest from having to sit on the floor, “panoramic view” meant a hundred and eighty boring degrees of buildings, and “sophisticated” meant an enormous laundry list of absurd rules and chores to avoid paying an additional $900/day fee. What bullshit.

Good thing August wasn’t here with him. He’d have had a coronary over the chore list.

“What the actual fuck?” his husband would undoubtedly be saying. “Since when do hotel stays come with required peasantry?”

Ricardo snickered as he continued assembling his rifle. August wasn’t above doing housework or even landscaping, especially if it meant fortifying their already fortified fortress of fortified insanity, but he was far too rich to be given a chore list. Particularly in a place where he was paying for the privilege to sleep.

Hell, now Ricardo kind of wished he had brought August here. The fireworks alone would be worth it.

“They charged how much money for this place and they still expect us to run the vacuum cleaner? I will run it right off the balcony, I swear to fucking God.”

“Who the fuck charges people for the privilege of washing someone else’s sheets? Is that the whole point of this? So people can cosplay as the help?”

“I’m going to rent a herd of goats and let them destroy this place. The cleaning fee would be fucking worth it.”

Ricardo chuckled to himself. It would definitely be entertaining. Not tonight, though. August had somewhere else to be, and focusing on the vacation rental bullshit kept Ricardo’s mind off worrying about his husband. Yes, August could take care of himself. But Ricardo had nearly lost him a few too many times to take for granted that it wouldn’t happen again.

He wondered briefly if taking this job was a mistake. It didn’t matter now, though—they’d agreed to it, they were here, and they were taking out the mark tonight.

Please keep yourself safe, August.

Right then, his phone pinged, and Ricardo cursed in several languages. It wasn’t Heidi or August. He knew exactly who it was, because that person had been pestering him almost nonstop since he’d checked in four hours ago—the owner of the goddamned condo.

The cameras still aren’t working. Are you sure you didn’t unplug them?

Ricardo rolled his eyes. No, he hadn’t unplugged them. He had plugged in a jammer that ensured no cameras in the vicinity were recording a damn thing.

I didn’t touch them.