Pas de Deux: Entrée (Dalton and Anastasia)

[Jacob Dalton]

The cold breeze of a January evening bit at Dalton’s ears as he stepped out of Big Blue and onto the curb. The “Golden Moments Jewelers” shop was still alight. He smiled and entered. The bell at the door rang in the near silence, and he felt the swish of the breeze behind him as the door swung shut.

The diminutive bald but mustachio’ed gentleman who came out from the back had on a spotless white apron and a monocle mounted on his glasses frame. He beamed at Dalton as he saw him. “Ah, Monsieur! Your present for the lady: it was well received, I hope?”

Dalton was quite beaming himself. “Indeed it was, Monsieur Alchaine. Your craftsmanship was truly inspired. I wished to thank you again, and let you know it turned out well. Not that I ever had the slightest doubt.”

Monsieur Alchaine smiled and bowed. “It is always a pleasure to receive a commission from the heart. Please, do remember me should any similar needs arise in the future?”

Dalton chuckled. “Of that you may rest assured…”

[Anastasia van Drakke]

Honeypot. The term was flashed around in those silly Bond novels, but there was more to a seduction job then having a pretty face. It took expertise in body language, an exact knowledge of the mark’s tastes, and a willingness to do anything to get what was needed. Luckily, Anastasia’s particular talents made the job that little bit easier, and her own love of, well, role play made the honeypots all that sweeter.

The files were stacked on her desk, and Anastasia had gone over them all three times with a highlighter, something she rarely bothered with. This was important: Hammel’s newest Teacher, originally from England of all places. A small smirk graced her lips as she scanned the notes again. They were very good: well worth the few g she’d paid for them. Divorced after his daughter drowned. He was a hydro meta and his daughter drowned? Fascinating...

Putting the papers aside, Eva pulled forward the photographs that doll of a bartender had been kind enough to provide and scrutinized them carefully. He was handsome, in an old world way. Lovely bone structure. Very nice hands.

Unconsciously, Anastasia clenched one fist tight enough to for her nails to cut into her palm. Ivan had hated the honeypots. He’d put up with them as long as no one touched her... maybe that was why this had been set up now. With a deep breath, Eva pushed back the <worry,anxious,lonely> that pushed at her brain and examined the woman her Mr Delton had been so, as the bar girl had put it, “starry eyed” for.

Well, she was classy. She could see why they’d been so drawn to each other; they looked like they’d been transported straight from Prohibition.

Her tip was for tonight, it was time to snare.

Time to prepare...

It took Anastasia about three hours to powder herself into readiness. Her hair in Veronica Lake-esc waves cascading down one shoulder, a deep gold dress when a neckline that hinted sensuality, and a low slung back that did more than hint. A sable stole, and finally, Matte powder, matte red lipstick and black lashes and liner created a picture that would have slid perfectly into the past, along with the dashing Mr Dalton.

Now, to work.

Anastasia slid out of her car and followed the english teacher into the jewelry store, glancing with intent at the clerk who had given her the tip. The mark was radiating <happy,content,excitement>, and as she strode past she made sure to plant a hint of <intrigue,attraction> in his mind.

”I need a watch for my father,” She said slowly, an expression of helplessness on her face. ”I’m so lost, I have no idea where to even start!”

On cue, the cleck shrugged. “Sorry ma’am. I don’t do men’s watches. Maybe one of the costumers?” Anastasia sighed softly, then turned to look over one bare shoulder at the mark/Delton. ”I’m so sorry, I’m very embarrassed but would you know anything about men’s watches?” she turned fully, planting a little more <intrigue> into the man’s mind.

[Jacob Dalton]

The bell at the door rang again, and Dalton automatically stepped out of the way. Once more the chill breeze gusted a final blast as a lady dressed to the nines made her entrance. Evening dress, furred stole, classically waved hair concealing one eye: for such a small town, apparently Pilot Ridge attracted a quite high class of ladies.

Dalton had not so much as doffed his fedora yet. He did so now in respect for the lady, one gloved hand removing it with a flourish.

As she stepped past Dalton, her one-eyed glance caught his gaze and a rush of attraction smote him with almost physical strength. He suppressed a gulp, gazing after her with surprise. There was no denying that she was gorgeous, but until Clarisse he had felt virtually immune to the charms of a lady.

So: first Clarisse, now this lady? Had his emotional reserves utterly collapsed? He had no wish to explore the possibility that Clarisse might also be the jealous type. He was happy: happy as he had not been in many years. What kind of idiocy would jeopardize what he had already found?

Lyrics from an old pop song rang through his head:

“If I'd have met you sooner
I'd be talking to ya and playing the game
But the best thing for me to do
Is get up and leave without knowing your name…”

He smiled wistfully. It never rains, but it pours. Perhaps serendipity was simply playing out a repeated refrain, one beautiful lady following the other. So be it: but he would not join the chorus. Whatever might have been, he would not take that path. He clamped his jaw shut, and turned to go.

<< ”I need a watch for my father,” She said slowly, an expression of helplessness on her face. ”I’m so lost, I have no idea where to even start!” >>

There was something about a damsel in distress that always tugged at Dalton. A bad habit, he supposed, but he couldn’t help but watch for a moment longer. He was quite sure the store owner would help her out quickly.

<< On cue, the owner shrugged. “Sorry ma’am. I don’t do men’s watches. Maybe one of the customers?” >>


Dalton paused. Did Monsieur Alchaine not have connections to whom he could send the lady? Was he imagining it, or did the gentleman glance in his direction? If the Monsieur required a favor from him, he was certainly in the gentleman’s debt: the commission had been flawless. Though to be requested to assist in this instance, when the Monsieur knew Dalton had a lady to whom he was quite devoted…

Of course. For whatever reason, the Monsieur needed someone to assist the lady, but who would be safe and not take advantage of her dependent nature. In a way, it was an honor that he had appealed to Dalton. And no doubt any time with this lady would remind him of all the qualities he found so captivating in Clarisse, and which he was sure to find sadly lacking in any other lady. Not that he had yet noticed any specific faults in this lady: but surely he would?

Apparently the lady had also noted the glance directed towards him, for she too turned her gaze immediately his way.

<< ”I’m so sorry, I’m very embarrassed but would you know anything about men’s watches?” >>

There was a coyness to her pose, glancing over one shoulder at him: oh, yes, this lady was accustomed to persuading men with her charms. Clarisse would have been far more frank and direct – but as the lady’s eye caught his once more, any criticism of her wiles vanished. What did men expect? Had they not made it a man’s world, all but crushing the spirit of women under the heel of the collective masculine ego? Was this not the reaction the male collective required, and punished more willful women for failing to provide? Who could blame her for fitting to the mold society demanded?

He cleared his throat lightly. “I doubt I can be much service, Miss. I arrived but recently in town: I am hardly familiar with the local establishments. However, I believe I saw a shop window at the mall which displayed several watches. Have you checked there?”

It seemed far too little to offer, given the lady’s distress. Surely he could be more helpful? He felt rather awkward, but removed his gloves and pulled back his sleeve to show her his own watch.

“I find classic elegance to be desirable: no Baroque designs or edges to catch and chip, nothing gaudy or out of place. As with shoes, a lady may have one for each outfit: a man rarely has more than one or two. Thus fine craftsmanship and a neutral tone that works with any clothes would be imperative. Hopefully you know his preference between gold and silver?”

Again, he felt he must be giving the poor lady short shrift: and there he was running off at the mouth yet again. All for the good, he supposed ruefully: if he found no cause to consider her less enchanting, yet she must surely run from such a babbling old fool.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

He was a gentleman. A tiny smile tugged the corner of Anastasia’s mouth as her mark removed his hat. Gloves too. It would have been quaint if he had not pulled it off with aplomb. Her own <attraction> had seeded well, but this <reservation/wistful/determination> was not boding well. Anastasia’s mind quickly recalled the face of the woman from that Christmas party, and with her back still turned, one eyebrow rose. Already he was on the defense? Not good, not good. The line of Eva’s jaw tightened for a heartbeat.

As she had expected, the helplessness coloring her voice stirred chivalry. The rush of <affection/captivation> that was clearly not aimed at her was not so welcome. It set her teeth on edge. Honestly, Anastasia had hoped that, after so short a time, it would be a bond she could easily break. The tall elegantly clad woman was not deterred though. Eva had always liked a challenge. As she turned, she felt a brush of <cynicism> that set her teeth on edge, but with her help the <attraction/intrigue> was back. It felt... odd. Ivan’s attraction had felt like a high wind, but this felt more like... standing in the surf, perhaps? He had not recognized her, which could be either a boon or a problem. He was too old to sleep with a celebrity for the thrill of it, but it never hurt...

But a note was jarring the chords she was trying so very smoothly to compose. This Mr Alchaine she’d bought off was nervous. The <regret,fear,hesitation> was making her jittery. Anastasia sent a wash of <calm/relax/helpful> towards him until her own nerves felt less frayed, then with a shy smile sitting smoothly over her face, Anastasia glided over. With one blood red nail, she smoothed her hair so both bright eyes were exposed. He spoke, politely. The accent was there, and he spoke with excellent diction.

”Oh, you are new to Pilot Ridge?” Anastasia’s head tilted ever so slightly in curiosity, then let her face fall a little as he suggested the mall. Inwardly, Anastasia was cringing at the very idea of going to the mall for anything, let alone a time piece. Still, she kept the disgust off her face and voice as she shook her head.

The <awkward> would have to go. Anastasia smiled as he showed her his own watch. Perfect. Slowly, barriers in place, Eva grasped his wrist and made a show of studying the watch. Foreign emotions crash against her like waves, clear and strong. His position was understood in an instant, and instead of just rough waves of feeling, Anastasia could be much more persuasive. Even as he continued talking to her, she was sending tendrils of <relax/calm> to counteract the reserve she felt, and to give her touch that extra little tingle, she planted a nice buzz of <anticipation>.

Half listening, Anastasia looked from the watch back to it’s owner, letting his wrist slip from her fingers with only a slight touch of reluctant. An appreciative smile greeted Dalton’s advice. It was true, Eva herself had rather a lot of watches. But not as many as she had shoes. ”It would have to be gold,” she said slowly, eyes contemplative. ”It’s my grandparent’s gold wedding anniversary, you see, and his own keeps stopping, but he’s had it for twenty years or so”. She raised a hand to her mouth, ”I’m sorry, I don’t mean to talk your ear off. But yours is lovely!” she laughed lightly, then looked back up at it’s owner. ”I do hope you can tell me you found it somewhere near,” she added, ”A bit of a long shot, maybe?”

[Jacob Dalton]

<< …with a shy smile sitting smoothly over her face, Anastasia glided over. With one blood red nail, she smoothed her hair so both bright eyes were exposed… >>

Quite without realizing it, the lady had just made a dreadful error in her attempted seduction. The magic of that moment at the dance involving Clarisse’s hair and a rose was etched powerfully in his mind. Seeing this lady perform the same gesture recalled that magic strongly, and for a moment Dalton shook off any compulsions but his own. No: she might be quite beautiful, but Dalton was a man who understood loyalty. He was hardly about to violate that now.

<< ”Oh, you are new to Pilot Ridge?” Anastasia’s head tilted ever so slightly in curiosity, then let her face fall a little as he suggested the mall… >>

“Indeed I am,” he replied, in simple courtesy: at this moment he would have frankly preferred this awkward conversation to be quite over. “Just arrived last month.”

He correctly interpreted her expression of distaste, and it did nothing to increase his sympathies. During the early months with Delia he had been introduced to quite a number of ladies and gents from the true upper class, interested in meeting the new celebrity. But their disdainful attitudes towards anyone less than a total blueblood had grated on his nerves, and this contempt for a decent mall was of the same ilk. Again: Clarisse would never have stuck up her nose at a trip to the mall, he was certain. And if this lady judged common life so harshly, how long until she would disdain him? Just how revolted would she have been to meet Martin, a common stray cat? He could almost picture her shrieking in horror, clutching her furs to avoid “contamination.”

In truth, there was no chance he would ever have regarded the lady so harshly except for his determination not to stray concerning Clarisse. But that ardent passion stoked a fire under every possible criticism he might find here.

Whatever favor he might owe Mr Alchaine, it certainly did not include escorting a prima donna about town in search of exclusive watch shops she was likely to find only in New York or overseas. Not that Mr Alchaine had asked: why would the thought of doing so even have crossed his mind?

<< Anastasia smiled as he showed her his own watch. Perfect. Slowly, barriers in place, Eva grasped his wrist and made a show of studying the watch… …instead of just rough waves of feeling, Anastasia could be much more persuasive… >>

Was it her perfume, the caress of her touch, the vulnerability of her being so close? Dalton didn’t know, but realized to his chagrin that he had been most unfair in his attitudes towards the lady. Guilt set in: she was merely looking for a present her (obviously wealthy) father would appreciate: and no, such a man would probably never stoop to wearing a watch from a common mall. She wasn’t being priggish: she simply understood her father’s tastes.

Still, Dalton had no idea where an exclusive watchmaker was to be found anywhere in the state of Vermont, let alone Pilot Ridge. But he smiled at the thought of how delightful it might be to search for one, with this lady at his side…

<< ”It would have to be gold,” she said slowly, eyes contemplative. ”It’s my grandparent’s gold wedding anniversary, you see, and his own keeps stopping, but he’s had it for twenty years or so”. >>

That explained it: of course she was concerned to get something truly fitting to the occasion. Surely he could spare an hour or so to assist her?

<< She raised a hand to her mouth, ”I’m sorry, I don’t mean to talk your ear off. But yours is lovely!” she laughed lightly, then looked back up at it’s owner.”I do hope you can tell me you found it somewhere near,” she added, ”A bit of a long shot, maybe?” >>

“Indeed it is,” he replied. It had been some time since he consciously considered how elegant and practical the watch was, or it’s source. “Long shot? I fear so, by a wee bit. Purchased in Switzerland: Jacob & Co. The lady took great pleasure in purchasing something high end that already bore my name…”

Indeed she had. They had known each other less than a month: he had rescued her, then the tour had taken a short delay while fire damages were repaired. Delia had been so in awe, she wanted to know everything about him. And so when he explained about the school in Switzerland, she had paid for tickets for the two of them to fly there. A romantic weekend consummated at a Swiss Chalet, a whirlwind tour of one of the premiere watchmakers, and this gold watch as an extravagant present: it had been the stuff of dreams.

How had it all gone wrong? Everything had been so perfect, and yet had fallen apart. So many dreams lying dead in the dust, and this watch served as an ever-present reminder…

Enough! Time to slough off the past. Why was he dwelling on it anyways? Wasn’t obsessing over some past love as much an infidelity as finding a new one?

Suddenly he realized that serendipity had stepped in yet again. Was this really the answer? It seemed quite right.

“You truly like this watch? Do you think your father would?”

He unbuckled the watch from his wrist, and proffered it to Mr Alchaine.

“Monsieur? Would you be so kind as to assist us to determine fair market value for this watch in its present condition? I would greatly appreciate it…”

[Anastasia van Drakke]

The drawbridge was rising. He was like a stubborn fish, dragging away the minute she let her guard down. Anastasia’s smile remained soft, but behind red lips her teeth were clenched so tight her jaw ached. It was bad enough she was simpering like some sort of southern belle, he was drawing away from her.

It stung, a little. Rejection was not something Anastasia had to deal with often, and usually it was within her power to let the wounding party know exactly how unhappy they were making her. Ivan would never let someone cause her unhappiness...

The reassurance that flooded through her when she felt the obvious change at her touch was exhilarating. It had been too long since she’d practiced, was all. A tad rusty, though Anastasia liked to think gold never rusted. When, at last, <refusal/stubbornness/rejection> began to give way to <guilt/appreciation/faintdesire> the satisfaction was like a hit of coke, all the sweeter for the struggle.

So, she would need to stay nice and close. It was possible. It would be such a pleasure to bring someone so stubborn to their knees.

”Switzerland?” Anastasia sighed in dismay, biting down slightly on her lower lip. ”I suppose there is always international shipping, but it takes so long...” Appearing to drag herself out of her contemplation, the tall blonde gave that fun fact the soft smile it seemed to require.

”Jacob, then? A very distinguished company,” with a shy glance, Anastasia let her eyes hint how well she thought it seemed to suit and to make sure it was accepted, pushed out a hint of <enthrallment/temptation/fascination>. ”I’m Anastasia,” She pronounced it the proper, Russian way and held out a soft hand to shake. The last name could stay on hold; he was bound to recognize the brand name.

Threads of <regret/nostalgia/woe> were beginning to color the careful emotional map she’d sewn. This lady seemed to be the one responsible... it was surely too early for that Clarissa to have spent so much (the watch was a decent time piece, worth over ten thousand easily) and there was no chance a woman who seemed to be constantly preventing Anastasia getting into this man’s mind properly would make him feel so low. Perhaps it was that ex wife Anastasia had read about in her files. It would explain enough. A topic to avoid, then.

For now.

<resolution> crept out, but Anastasia did not anticipate his next step. The surprise that widened her eyes was genuine as she watched Alchaine study the gold watch under a small magnifier. ”No, no, I couldn’t,” she rested a hand on his now bare wrist, making sure he would take the reaction positively.

Mr Alchaine glanced up and cleared his throat. ”Ah, estimated value is fifteen thousand dollars, Mr Dalton.” the man said a little nervously, sliding the watch back across the counter. ”A beautiful piece, by the way.”

Anastasia shook her head, looking at Dalton in not completely feigned amazement. ”I’m not sure I understand,” she said cautiously. ”It was a present to you.” She offered a small smile, ”It’s even named for you.” While her expression was amazed and a little worried, behind wide brown eyes Anastasia was thinking fast. This was.... unexpected. She did not like unexpected on such a delicate operation. As a personal reassurance more then part of a well thought out strategy, she quickly sent a thread of <affection/fondness> before slowly releasing Dalton's wrist again.

[Jacob Dalton]

<< ”Switzerland?” Anastasia sighed in dismay, biting down slightly on her lower lip. ”I suppose there is always international shipping, but it takes so long...” >>

Perhaps that comment was one of the sparks that had suggested it. But he knew the underlying source of his decision, and he was confident that it was quite sound.

“I daresay we may be able to solve that hurdle for you…”

<< ”Jacob, then? A very distinguished company… …I’m Anastasia,” She pronounced it the proper, Russian way and held out a soft hand to shake. >>

“Indeed.” He nodded. “Jacob Dalton, at your service.” He accepted her hand in his with a small bow. “A pleasure, Miss Anastasia,” he replied, being sure to follow her pronunciation. He understood a few of the rules of Russian and a tiny smattering of words, but could never have attempted to converse in it. Score yet another for Clarisse…

<< ”No, no, I couldn’t,” she rested a hand on his now bare wrist… ”Ah, estimated value is fifteen thousand dollars, Mr Dalton.”>>

Hearing the actual price quoted, his heart quailed for a moment. Out of respect for the gift he had never actually priced the watch until now. He had been positive it was worth at least three thousand, but had not been aware -- he had been wearing the value of a new car on his wrist? Granted not a Porsche, but still…

And yet as Anastasia set her hand on his wrist he felt a renewed surge of confidence in his decision. He had it framed very clearly in his mind. More than logic, this was a true decision of the heart.

<< ”I’m not sure I understand,” she said cautiously. ”It was a present to you.” She offered a small smile, ”It’s even named for you.” >>

He nodded. “So it was. A souvenir of love grown cold: of hopeless hopes and sleepless nights. A memento in tribute to tragedy, commemorating a catastrophe.”

He thought back on the gift to Clarisse: to the moment she had open the box, and to her expression.

“But now I am the man who has found a pearl of great price: and for it, I would willingly sell all that I own. Such a souvenir as this -- you do me a favor to take it.”

<< As a personal reassurance more then part of a well thought out strategy, she quickly sent a thread of <affection/fondness> before slowly releasing Dalton's wrist again. >>

There was something almost tangible about the lady’s appreciation as he explained. Another romantic? He was pleased that even a stranger could understand and approve. As surrounded as she must be by wealth and the trappings of aristocracy, had she ever found love? How sad if she had not. But that was not a matter over which to concern himself: “leave her to heaven,” the quote popped into his mind. Though this seemed quite a different context, the sentiment was suitable.

“Thank you, Miss. I am glad you understand.” He knew he had that near-idiotic smile beaming across his face now. “She is truly quite the lady: I am a very lucky man.”

He cleared his throat. “I suppose now all that remains is the matter of payment. What means do you propose?”

[Anastasia van Drakke]

It was somewhat laughable: it was not necessary to be an empath to see Dalton had had no idea of the value of his trinket. But, as he went on (so very poetically) it was clear his wish to rid himself of the watch was not bred from material means. Anastasia supposed she could give the watch to Gabe... Ivan already had a gold watch, one that was much nicer and much, much more expensive.

But she could worry about little details like that at a later date.

”I’m sorry to hear it doesn’t represent a happy time for you, Mr Dalton,” Anastasia offered, then clenched her jaw as the now well known and slightly nauseating wash of <love/happy/grateful> that was not directed at her drowned out everything else. A tiny muscle above her top lip twitched slightly. It was too much, and too soon. If she had known he had already developed feelings that would lead to such resistance... She should have tried this sooner, but Ivan...


Enough. Ivan was deep in the Russian meta underground. She would do what she had to.

It was hard not to slap the smile from his face. Very hard. But instead, tossing blond hair back to give her dazzling smile full effect, Anastasia said ”I’m sure she’s very lucky too.” To make sure his thoughts did not completely cut her out, the heiress brushed a hand over her stole and looked quickly at Dalton, sending a nice little buzz of <lust>. Her own expression remained sweet and sanguine though, lips still curved into a small smile.

The matter of payment... It was getting harder for Eva to focus. The sickly sweet romance radiating off her mark, the anxiety from the plump little jeweler.. it was starting to press against her brain. This was not working. This would not work. Even if she could grasp his wrist and command him to come back to her estate, she would be in no condition to interrogate or seduce...

”Let me think....” the woman stalled, tapping her index finger against her bottom lip. Pay... money... cash... Her cash. Her safe. A bright smile broke over Anastasia’s face as she realized an opportunity she could take advantage of. ”I don’t trust banks and checks,” she said somewhat apologetically, then laughed softly. ”It’s a Russian thing, my father tells me. Is cash alright?”

Her eyes flicked to Alchaine, ”I’m sure a receipt could be drawn up?” Quickly, her eyes were back to Dalton and she sent as strong a wave of <trust/acceptance/anticipation>. ”I have the money in a safe at my house.” Carefully, Anastasia started to pull her fur back over her shoulders and smooth her hair down. ”Does that suit, Mr Dalton?”

It would suit. She made sure of that.

[Jacob Dalton]

<< ”I’m sorry to hear it doesn’t represent a happy time for you, Mr Dalton,” >>

He shook his head. “Please don’t concern yourself. What’s past is past: you are assisting me to let the dead bury the dead. And for that, I thank you.”

<< ”I’m sure she’s very lucky too.” >>

Dalton beamed. Clearly he had misjudged her. It was so nice to have met someone so supportive. Granted, she was also quite gorgeous in her own right: but supportive…

<< ”I don’t trust banks and checks,” she said somewhat apologetically, then laughed softly. ”It’s a Russian thing, my father tells me. Is cash alright?” >>

Cash? Fifteen thousand dollars in cash? What, the woman was made of money? And why was she here in person then, instead of having sent the butler, maid, personal assistant or whatever? Wsa she that sentimental about finding a watch for her father? Perhaps that spoke well of her, after all…

He nodded. “If you can pay with cash, I have no objection.” He would make a beeline for his bank at the next available opportunity, but he had no objection to receiving cash.

<< Her eyes flicked to Alchaine, ”I’m sure a receipt could be drawn up? I have the money in a safe at my house. Does that suit, Mr Dalton?” >>

“Understood. If you might include your address on the receipt, and an appropriate evening when I might stop by, that would be most satisfactory.”

His head was starting to be in a bit of a whirl. What was he thinking? This watch had been a true love gift: the only thing good he had remaining after years of sorrow. He had owned it for seventeen years, and now he was simply trading it off for cash?

A glance at the lady: of course. She was in need: he needed to let the past go. It all fit… didn’t it?

She mentioned an appropriate time and date, and he nodded somewhat woodenly. “Certainly. I shall see you then. And a good evening to you for now.”

He donned his fedora and gloves once more, and ventured forth into the chill night air.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

He was sweet. Anastasia beamed right back even as the muscle above her lip twitched again. The <surprise/skepticism/respect> was not unusual when the fur heiress did something that could be seen as a somewhat obscene display of an obscene amount of money.

Again, that insipid sweet smile reared its head. ”I’m so glad,” she said happily, then turned to Alchaine. He’d started sweating slightly, and the sight of him churned Anastasia’s stomach. ”If you’ll write up the receipt, please?” she asked, then accepted the pen the little jeweler offered and wrote down her address, the date for the coming up Friday, and just in case, her phone number.

His tone was starting to sound overly formal. What had happened this time? Why was he making this so hard? Honeypots were not supposed to be hard, not for her. He was tense too, the <whatif/regret/unsure> swirling like juice in a blender around his head. It was preferable to that sick and sweet romance crap Dalton oozed every now and again.

”I’ll see you then,” her voice followed him as he donned his hat and gloves and started through the door. A small wave, a cheery smile and a dose of <excitement/anticipation> to make sure he would come back, and be better behaved too. This would take a little more planning...

The smile slid off like melting ice, and Anastasia looked flatly at Mr Alchaine. There was steel in her eyes that had been strangely absent while Mr Dalton was on the premises. ”If he calls you, visits you, if you so much as see him in the street, you will call me,” she said softly, feeding and amplifying the <fear> she felt like beautiful sparks fizzing in her skull. A bundle of green notes were dropped on the counter, and silently Anastasia van Drake glided from the tacky little jewelry store and into her waiting car.

She had some serious planning and smoking to do

And she really needed to break something.