Still, I had a job to do—as a waitress and otherwise—and I couldn’t afford to be away from the dining room any longer. I didn’t want to get yelled at for slacking off by Meredith, the event planner, but I also didn’t want Fletcher to worry about me. And he would worry. He always worried, about everything.

So I gave Sebastian a bright smile and started down the hallway a third time. But he stopped me again, this time going so far as to step directly into my path. I pulled up short, the glasses on my tray rattling ominously, but I managed to keep from spilling any of the champagne, which would have been a worse offense than disappearing from the dining room.

“What’s your name?” Sebastian asked, his tone sounding genuinely curious.

I should have been annoyed with him, but his voice was as perfect as the rest of him, low and strong, with a bit of a deep bass that rumbled through each and every one of his words. The sort of voice that you could sit and listen to for hours.

I thought about it, but I didn’t see the harm in telling him. I’d probably never see him again after tonight. Besides, I doubted that Sebastian lacked for female attention. He wasn’t the sort of guy who would remember a waitress, not even a lost one like me. I was a momentary distraction, a faint curiosity, something to alleviate his boredom for a few minutes before he returned to the dinner. Nothing more. Funny, though, how that cold reality made a faint twinge of longing stir in my heart, longing to step out of the shadows, longing to be something more.

“Gin,” I finally said. “My name is Gin.”

“Jen?”

“No, Gin.”

He frowned. “Gen?”

I shook my head. I had this same problem every time I told someone my name. Everyone always thought my name was something other than what it was. Frustrated, I shifted on my feet. The motion made a few bubbles fizz up in the champagne on my tray. A thought struck me.

“Gin,” I finally said, nodding my head at the glasses. “My name is Gin, like the liquor.” I hesitated. “Well, not this liquor, exactly, but you get the idea.”

His face cleared. “Oh, that makes sense.”

Well, if I’d known it was that easy, I would have started introducing myself like this to people years ago.

“So, Gin,” Sebastian said, his voice taking on a light, teasing note, “what’s a pretty girl like you doing working as a waitress? You should be drinking champagne instead.”

He raised his glass and toasted me, giving me a sly wink before his lips drew back into a small, knowing, devastating smile. Seriously, he practically oozed sex appeal, the way Mab Monroe had Fire magic, although being this close to Sebastian was far more enjoyable. Not even Finn was that charming, cute—or confident.

For a moment, I was dazzled speechless by him, but then I shook away the fairy-tale idea, the appealing mirage that he could somehow be attracted to me.

“Look, you’re cute and all, but I don’t date guys I meet at work.”

His smile widened, the expression causing a bit of heat to simmer in my veins. “Cute? Just cute? Is that all? I was hoping for handsome, at the very least.”

Despite my exasperation, I couldn’t help but return his smile. “Okay, okay, you’re handsome, sophisticated, gorgeous, even. Happy now?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Gorgeous?” He thought about it. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

My smile sharpened. “Egotistical too.”

With most guys, that would have ended the flirting right then and there, but not with Sebastian. The suave smile never slipped from his face, despite my pointed insult. Instead, he toasted me with his glass again. He didn’t back down from me, which made me like him more.

“Beautiful and witty,” he murmured. “I approve. But my earlier question stands. What are you doing working as a waitress?”

I shrugged. “It’s what I do. Here, there, everywhere.”

“Oh. You have a day job too?”

“Yeah, at a restaurant downtown.”

It was one thing to give him my first name, but that was as much info as I was willing to share. Fletcher always said that the best lies were mostly truth, and being a poor, working-stiff waitress fit in perfectly with the persona I’d developed for tonight. Besides, I could always have the bad luck of running into him at another party. On the off chance that Sebastian did remember me, all he would recall was some vague, slightly flirty conversation we’d had about my being a waitress. Nothing personal and certainly nothing important.

Nothing that would give him any clue to what I was planning to do to his father.

“Maybe I can come by your restaurant sometime,” he said. “Take you out after your shift is over.”

I snorted.

“What?”

I gave him a flat look. “Guys like you don’t go out with girls like me. At least, not for very long.”

“How long is not very?”

I snorted again. “Just long enough for you to get what you want, before moving on to the next girl. You might slum it for a few weeks out in the suburbs or even down in Southtown, if you’re feeling especially dangerous, but guys like you always go back to your rich Northtown honeys sooner or later. Besides, you wouldn’t want to risk pissing off Daddy and having him cut off access to your trust fund. No girl’s worth that, right?” By the time I finished, my voice was dripping with venom, disdain, and sarcasm.

His eyes glittered. “Well, maybe I’m an exception.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. But it doesn’t much matter.”

Sebastian stepped even closer to me, his voice dropping to a low, husky murmur. “Doesn’t it? Wouldn’t you like to find out? Because I certainly want to know more about you, Gin.”

I should have given him another derisive snort. Should have made some harsh, biting comment about his lame lines. Should have shoved past him and headed back to the dining room without another word. But something in his intense gaze made me hold my tongue, something in his handsome face made me take another look at him, and something in his tall, strong stance made me want to put my tray down, run my hands over his shoulders, and see if his muscles were as firm as they looked.

Sebastian must have sensed my hesitation, because he reached out, gently tugging on the end of my dark brown ponytail. “You know,” he said in that same husky tone, “I bet you would look even more amazing with your hair down.”

“Certainly. But that’s something you’ll never find out.”

Sebastian grinned and clutched his hands over his heart in mock exaggeration, as though I’d mortally wounded him with my words. If only he knew how easily I could do that with one of the knives tucked up my sleeves, he wouldn’t be giving me such smoldering looks. No, he would have been sweating, screaming, and running away from me as fast as he could.

Of course, I wasn’t exactly being smart right now either. I should have meekly excused myself from this conversation long ago, not stood here trading mocking insults and flirty banter with the son of the man I was planning to kill. Fletcher had taught me better than that. He would have been horrified by how many of his rules I’d broken in the last five minutes: Don’t be memorable. Don’t do anything to attract attention to yourself. Don’t engage potential enemies or targets in any way.

But for some reason, tonight, I just didn’t care about the old man’s rules.

Maybe it was how handsome Sebastian looked with the light glinting off his black hair. Maybe it was the way he focused all of his attention on me. Or maybe it was the simple fact that I enjoyed being with someone who actually gave as good as he got. But I liked talking to him—far more than I should have.

Other waiters and waitresses enjoyed quick dalliances with guests at these dinners all the time. Tonight, for the first time, I wanted my own seven minutes of heaven, and it took me longer than it should have to quash this wild, reckless feeling that Sebastian stirred in me.

He gave my ponytail another gentle tug. “I don’t know, Gin,” he murmured again, his dark gaze locking with my light one. “I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it.”

And I could be very deadly, although I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I tightened my grip on my tray.

“I’m sure you can be . . . on some other girl. Now, I really have to get back to work. Please excuse me.”

This time, I finally did move past him, careful not to spill the champagne. I strode down the corridor as fast as I could without rattling the delicate glasses. All the while, though, I was aware of Sebastian standing behind me, and it almost seemed like I could feel his eyes on me, tracking the soft swing of my hips. More heat simmered through my veins at the thought of him watching me.

“You’re going to change your mind about me, Gin,” he called out. “I’ll come by your restaurant and take you out one night. Count on it.”

I reached the end of the corridor. The smart thing would have been to keep right on walking, but I stopped and turned around to face him.

“I never count on anything. Especially not promises from cute rich guys.”

He grinned. “Not just cute. Gorgeous, remember?”

Oh, yes. Sebastian Vaughn was far too handsome and far too egotistical for his own good. Still, I found myself grinning back at him before I shook my head and hurried around the corner.

I made it back to the dining room without running into anyone else, including Meredith, the event planner. The cocktail portion of the evening had come to a close while I’d been talking to Sebastian, and I had to hustle over to where the chefs were set up so I could get in line with the other servers.

Sebastian came strolling into the room a minute later. His gaze zoomed over to me, and he flashed me another cocky grin. A few of the other waitresses gave me sour looks, no doubt thinking that I’d been off f**king one of the guests instead of doing my job and jealous that it had been someone as handsome as Sebastian. I ignored their petty stares and disapproving sniffs. Let them think what they wanted to. It didn’t matter to me in the slightest.

But there was one person’s opinion that I did care about—Fletcher’s—and the hard set of his wrinkled features told me that he wasn’t too happy with me. He stabbed his index finger at me, then jerked it to the right. I sighed, knowing that I was probably going to get a lecture, but I followed him over to the far end of the serving line, out of earshot of the other chefs and waiters.

“Where have you been?” he asked, plucking the champagne flutes off my tray and replacing them with baskets of hot buttered bread. “I was getting worried.”

“Recon,” I murmured. “Vaughn snuck off to have a secret meeting with Mab Monroe in the library.”

I glanced around, but I didn’t see Mab in the dining room, although Dawson and Slater had both returned and taken seats at the head of the table. I wondered if the Fire elemental had left as soon as she’d delivered her threats to Vaughn. While Fletcher piled baskets of bread onto my tray, I quickly and quietly told him everything that Mab had said to Vaughn and all the shaky promises that he’d made to her in return. Fletcher would want to know, and I hoped that the intel would cut off any potential lecture before it ever got started.

“Do you think that Mab is behind the hit on Vaughn after all?” I asked when I’d finished.

Fletcher put a final basket of bread on my tray. “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t put it past her, but she usually prefers to do that sort of dirty work herself. She likes the message that it sends to all of her enemies about how powerful she is. Besides, if she really wanted Vaughn dead, she could have used her magic, killed him in the library, and gotten Slater and Dawson to dispose of his charred remains. I’ll see if I can find out any more information about who wants Vaughn dead. Now, scoot. You can tell me the rest of it on the drive home.”

“The rest of what?”

He arched his eyebrows. “Like why Sebastian Vaughn is eyeing you like you’re part of the dinner menu.”

I should have known that I couldn’t get anything past Fletcher. He could be annoyingly perceptive at times. I also knew better than to glance over my shoulder, but I did it anyway. Sebastian was staring at me. He raised his wineglass to me in salute before giving me another sly wink. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I had a difficult time looking Fletcher in the eye.

“It’s nothing,” I mumbled. “I ran into him in the hallway outside the library when I was heading back this way. He flirted with me, so I flirted back so he wouldn’t think too much about what I was doing there. That’s all.”

Fletcher didn’t say anything, but disapproval radiated off him like the heat from the bread. He didn’t tell me that I should have known better, that he had taught me better, because we both knew that he had. One of the keys to being an assassin was being as invisible as possible. Not only when you did the actual hit on your target but also in all the moments leading up to that final, fatal one.

More than one assassin had been caught because he’d made himself too visible in the target’s world. Like being the recently hired mechanic who’d worked on the target’s car hours before the brakes had catastrophically failed and the car had plunged off the side of a mountain road. Or being the new pool boy when the target had slipped, hit his head, and drowned in the shallow end. Or even being seen out on a date with the target the night he mysteriously got mugged and beaten to death walking home from dinner.

Killing someone was easy—getting away with it was what was truly challenging.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him. He probably would have thought it odder if I had completely brushed him off.”