The temptation to hail one of those taxis and get the hell out of Dodge rose within her as she spotted a lone male sitting at one of the tables outside the café.
She sucked down a breath and stoked her anger, bringing it up like a shield so he didn’t notice how nervous she was about meeting with him again. There was something about him that set her on edge, had brought her close to turning down the contract when she had first met him.
She should have rolled with her first instinct.
The contract had seemed like a miracle dropped in her lap, the perfect way of elevating her guild and getting more clients and more coin flowing in. She had known it was too good to be true, but she had convinced herself otherwise.
She didn’t have to work too hard to fan her anger towards an inferno. She only had to think about the insufferable bastard her client had also hired, one who had taken pity on her and let her live, as if he had the damned right to decide whether she lived or died.
That decision rested solely in her hands.
She was deeply aware of that, had faced death countless times.
Mackenzie stormed up to the black-haired man and yanked the seat opposite him out. She sat in it with as much spit and fire as she could manage. He arched an eyebrow at her. His impossibly blue eyes held a flicker of warmth as that eyebrow lowered, his firm mouth lifting into a hint of a smile.
As if her anger merely amused him.
He casually lifted the elegant white cup from its saucer, sipped the frothy coffee in a demure way that reeked of class, and lowered it again. He had come dressed for the wintry weather, pairing a black roll-neck jumper that reached up to his square, stubbled jawline with a thick woollen onyx coat that hugged his lean frame and looked as if it had been tailor-made for him.
Probably on Savile Row.
He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs, causing the fine material of his black slacks to pull tight over it and revealing an expensive-looking leather Chelsea boot. She bet her left tit that his boots hadn’t been made in a sweatshop in a poor country. This man had the air of one who demanded only the best and hired the finest craftsmen to make his clothes, no expenses spared.
Which was totally why he had hired her guild.
“You mentioned there was a problem in your message.” His posh English accent lent a regal bearing to him that wasn’t necessary to make her feel the vast difference in their positions.
She scraped and scrounged together enough coin to keep her guild running and this guy was probably sitting on millions he had no use for. She planned to relieve him of some of the terrible weight of his bank balance.
“I want more coin. Turns out you hired more than one guild. If I’m going up against that guild, I think I deserve a better incentive. Whatever you offered them, you’ll pay me when I fulfil this contract.” She was surprised she made it through her well-rehearsed speech without revealing the nerves running rampant inside her.
She told herself to be strong as she waited, to be firm. Syn had been coaching her all morning in how to be unmoving and how to not take no for an answer. She could do this.
“Or you could do the honourable thing and end your contract with them,” she snapped and grimaced.
Way to let her temper get the better of her.
He sipped his drink again, taking far too long about it, a blatant attempt to make her squirm, and then in a calm, measured, and unaffected tone, said, “If competition is a problem for you, perhaps you are in the wrong profession?”
He stood slowly, tugged his coat down and smoothed it.
His blue eyes lifted and locked with hers. “We can dissolve this contract now if that is what you want?”
Mackenzie blew it again, shot to her feet and lunged for his arm, grabbed it like some desperate fool. Beneath her fingers, his muscles tensed, and she went rigid too when he slowly looked down at her hand.
She was quick to release him.
She cleared her throat and straightened, shot for calm and unaffected too, but failed dismally judging by his raised eyebrow. “No, it isn’t what I want. What I want is for you to end your contract with the other guild.”
“I am afraid I cannot do that.” He smiled in a way that chilled her blood in her veins. “A little competition is a healthy thing. The other guild does not appear to have a problem with it.”
She clammed up on hearing that. Damn that elf. She wouldn’t be the one to back out of this or make him appear better than her.
Even when he was.
She shut down that thought, screwed it up and tossed it in a mental trash can and set fire to it, burning it to cinders. He wasn’t. She had worked her ass off building the reputation of her guild since she had inherited it and she was determined to lift it up to the place where it belonged.
At the top of all the assassin guilds in Hell.
“I don’t have a problem with competition.” She tipped her chin up. “I do have a problem with the pay. What are you paying them if they get this contract done? Double? Triple what you offered me?”
The smirk that curved his lips said it was more than that, that she had amused him by failing to negotiate, and had revealed how desperate she was. A dangerous thing. Desperate people could be manipulated, easily bent to the will of whoever offered them relief from whatever had them in its grip.
In her case, he had offered an extremely dangerous, but prestigious mark, and she had snapped his arm off without even caring about the remuneration. It was little wonder she amused him. Sensible assassins like the bloody elf had probably demanded he pay his weight in gold, if not more, for asking them to risk their lives by taking on such a powerful vampire.
Well, she was negotiating now.
Even when she knew it wasn’t the right time to do so.
The contract was in place and he was probably going to tell her to take a walk, and sure, she would deserve it for trying to change the terms of their deal.
“Very well,” he said, catching her off guard. She almost gaped at him. He reached down and lifted his coffee, taking one final leisurely sip of it. He saluted her with the white cup. “If your guild fulfils this contract, they will receive exactly what I agreed with the other guild.”
He set the cup back down and walked past her.
Mackenzie couldn’t hold back the words. “And how much is that?”
The man paused and she moved to face him. He turned his head to one side, revealing his profile to her, but didn’t look at her.
“Ten thousand gold coins.”
With that, he dipped his head and walked away, and she could only stare at his retreating back as he blended with the people coming and going along the busy shopping street.
Ten thousand gold coins.
A shiver rolled through her.
She had been way too low with her estimate. It was ten times as much as he had offered her guild. The things she could do with ten thousand gold coins. Excitement surged through her, a heady rush that made her a little giddy as she began writing lists in her head.
Mackenzie pulled back on the reins before she got too carried away.
There were two obstacles between her and all that coin.
Both of them were dangerous. Both of them were liable to kill her. One of them had to die. The other she could allow to live, but her gut said that wasn’t going to be an option. The elf had let her go and he had meant it when he had said he was looking forward to crossing paths with her again.
He was going to come after her.