17. JIM

Has anything ever tasted as good as she does? Any murder, any scheme, any expensive suit? The scariest part is the way my stomach flutters and contracts when my hands are on her. It's ridiculous, and it shouldn't be happening. It's too much.

I push her away from me, and she looks startled. When I was holding her, the way she relaxed into my arms and leaned into the kiss told me what I already knew: she feels it too.

It's disgusting how much I want to never let her out my sight, shameful even. I grind my teeth to keep the words from slipping out - I want you, I need you - and I quickly make my way back to the living room. I get dressed, and she never follows me. I hear nothing. She's probably not even moved. I fix my tie and hang my jacket on my arm, and when I leave I slam the door behind me. Except I don't leave. I stand outside the door and every inch of me wants to go back inside and hold her.

I'm gripping my jacket so tightly my knuckles are white. Why do I keep running? How does it make any sense at all for me to be in this much pain, when all it takes to make it stop is to go back to her? I'm being so fucking stupid. When I want something, I just take it. So why can't I turn around and knock? I want her, so why don't I just take her?

It's already light out, I hadn't even noticed.

What do I have to lose? God, that's the question that always comes to my mind whenever I'm about to do something insanely moronic. I turn on my heels and raise my hand to knock. Is it weird that I feel like a high school kid asking his crush to the spring dance? Yes, indeed, it is.

I knock.

Nothing happens for a very long 5 seconds.

I knock again.

I hear footsteps getting nearer, but then they get far again. The bitch walked right by the door and into the living room and ignored me. I hear the telly. She's watching the morning news.

I knock harder. I want to break down this stupid door and snap her neck in two.

She turns the volume of the television up.

I want to kill her so much I might even do it for free.

Fine. Fine, okay. If this is how she wants to play it, then fine. Fucking brilliant. Suddenly, I remember why I didn't want to knock. Stupid bitch is gonna get her just desserts, trust me.

I call the car and have it drop me in Conduit Street, then I head straight inside the Vivienne Westwood shop. The sales assistant is a pretty blonde in her mid-twenties, and to her I'm Mr. Smith. I see her more often than I see my mother, basically. She says they have a new collection of ties.

"I'm looking for an evening gown, today," I smile politely. "Not for me, of course."

She chuckles, but looks a bit saddened by the implication that I have a lady friend.

"Right this way then, Mr. Smith," she smiles with all her teeth. I pick out a long red dress with a V-shaped décolleté that extends on the sides into mid upper-arm straps, fitting all the way to the calves and then looser, longer on the back.

The sales assistant was happy to model it for me. Gwineth is a bit taller and less busty, so it'll fit her a lot better than it fits poor Cathy here.

She keeps waving at me through the window until I get in the car and can no longer see her flashing her teeth.

The longer I stay away from Gwineth, the angrier I'm getting. I get home and place the neatly wrapped box on the kitchen table. Sebastian is cleaning is gun on the other side of the room.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, annoyed. He's supposed to be working today, isn't he? How is it that he lives in my house more than I do?

"Finished early, thought I'd drop by with the booty, but you weren't here," he explains. "So I waited."

"Such a good boy," I purr. "Give it, then."

He hands me a flash drive, still hot from being used. There's a drop of blood on it. I pull a face and give it back. Moran rubs it on it shirt to clean it and gives it back to me. Sometimes I wonder if he grew up in the jungle.

I put it in my pocket as he eyes the box on the table suspiciously.

"What's that?"

"It's a present," I grunt.

"For me? You didn't have to, Jimmy..." he squeaks. I give him the dirtiest look, and he stops grinning like an idiot.

"It's not your size, anyway," I reply dryly.

"Is it for her?"

"That's none of your business. I've changed the schedule for tonight, I won't be needing you."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm always sure."

"Alright. Call me if you change your mind."

"I won't."

Sebastian snorts, but leaves without any more complaints. I was supposed to go to another tedious Christmas party with him tonight, to deliver the flashdrive he just brought me and to take care of some foreign ambassador whose name I've forgotten. Instead, I will take Gwineth with me.

She wants danger? Oh, I'll give her danger.