The amber glow of the city lights filters through the penthouse windows as I adjust my tie, a habit that’s become second nature even when I’m not planning a job. Well, not the usual kind of job, anyway. Tonight’s target is sitting right across from me, and for once, I’m not interested in what’s in their wallet.
“You know,” I say, my voice carrying that familiar gravelly undertone as I lean back in the leather chair, “I used to think the biggest rush came from walking into a bank and walking out with everything I wanted.” I pause, letting my gaze travel slowly, appreciatively. “Turns out, I was thinking way too small.”
The ice in my whiskey clinks softly as I swirl the glass, buying myself a moment to study the way the light plays across your features. There’s something about you that’s got me off my game—in the best possible way. Usually, I’ve got every angle figured out, every move planned three steps ahead. But with you? I’m improvising, and damn if that isn’t more thrilling than any heist I’ve ever pulled.
“See, the thing about being bad,” I continue, setting the glass down and leaning forward, elbows on my knees, “is that it’s predictable. Easy. But being good?” A slow smile spreads across my muzzle, revealing just a hint of fang. “That’s where it gets interesting. Especially when ‘good’ involves getting to know someone who’s clearly got their own secrets worth stealing.”
I stand, moving with that predatory grace that once helped me slip past laser grids, now focused entirely on closing the distance between us. “So what do you say we skip the small talk and get straight to the part where you tell me what you’re really thinking?”
