Page 50 of Business vs. Pleasure

“Um… I think something’s wrong with this one,” the lady called over to the front desk. The woman there was already on her way over; it was time to move. August headed for the stairs.

“It seems that perhaps he can,” he snarked as he entered the stairwell and looked up. Great. Seven floors to go.

“Not really,” Ricardo said. “It looks like he cut the power to the elevator… got its emergency supply too, but there are mechanical brakes built into the system to keep it from falling far. I think he wanted to isolate him.”

Well, leaving Darrow suspended in an elevator shaft would do that. It was a decent idea for a hit, but August didn’t trust it. “You check there, I’m going to Darrow’s room.”

“You think it’s a feint?”

“It might be.” That was good enough for August. Either way, they had the NightPigeon covered. Darrow was a secondary objective right now.

“Keep the line open.”

Aww, that was one of Ricardo’s ways of saying “I love you.” It was sweet, if overbearing. “I will, but don’t feel the need to be a knight in shining armor. I know what I’m doing.”

Silence. That was about as good as August could hope for. Now he could save his breath for the stairs.

In the time it took to get to the seventh floor, August had plenty of time to rue his decision to cut back on cardio. Swimming just wasn’t cutting it under the circumstances.

Not that these jobs are going to become a habit, he promised himself unconvincingly, but fuck you, laissez-faire, holiday season August. Fuck you and your chocolate addiction.

And of course August’s feet were less than thrilled about climbing even one flight of stairs, never mind hurrying all the way to the seventh floor. Ouch.

He made it, though. With a lot of wincing and swearing, sure, but he made it.

Outside the door that would lead him out onto the seventh floor, August paused and calmed his breathing, listening for signs that he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t going to get taken out like goddamn Bremmer.

Nothing. He eased the door open as quietly as he could, glanced down the hallway, and⁠—

There was a long, lanky form standing right outside Darrow’s room. As August watched, the light on the lock turned green.

There you are. He opened the door the rest of the way, gun at the ready. “Hey, Birdie,” he called out down the hallway. “Smile for the camera.” The camera that Ricardo had better have blocked the hotel staff from seeing. Problem for later.

The man froze for a second before slowly turning to look at August. He was sporting a mustache straight out of the eighties, but that calm, assessing gaze…yeah, that was him. “You’re supposed to be napping right now,” he said, hand frozen on the knob.

“You should be glad I’m not,” August replied, letting the door go while keeping NightPigeon firmly in his sights. “Because then you’d be dealing with Ricardo, and he prefers to shoot first, ask questions later.”

The hitman smiled. “Are you fighting over me?”

Oh, you’d love that. “Only over where to leave your body.”

“Then why am I still standing?”

“Because we want to have a little chit-chat with you first, honey,” August cooed as he closed the distance until he was five feet away. “I’ve got some very cozy restraints for you to try on, NightPigeon.”

The smile fell away. “Don’t call me that.”

August was about to give into the urge to taunt him again because he wasn’t a fucking saint, all right, when the elevator dinged. August immediately tucked his gun out of sight, and a second later the same pair of kids he’d seen downstairs charged into the hall, followed by their frazzled mother. “Slow down!” she called after them as they ran to a room a few doors down.

“I want to use the key!”

“It’s my turn! Mom, give it to me!”

“I have to find it first,” she muttered as she trailed behind them, staring into the depths of her purse.

August stared at NightPigeon, who was smirking in a way he didn’t like. It took a moment for him to realize what had happened in the time it took for the family to pass him by.

The other hitman was armed now, only his gun wasn’t pointing at August. It was aimed squarely at the woman who was currently head down, oblivious to her tussling kids as she tried to find her door key.