Wanted: Wren Kelly

Chapter 2: No mimosa for me

"Blend in." I advised Dimitri, who now sat behind the wheel.

He didn't even raise an eyebrow when I shrugged off my white trench coat, and shimied out of my white sleeveless high neck dress. Yep, my bodyguard had seen me in my underwear enough times that he didn't question it.

I slipped into a cerulean asymetric dress, that clung in all the right places, nude pumps, and put my hair up in an elegant updo, all while Dimitri kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead.

Disapointing. But predictable. Dimitri had an eternal poker face. If he was even a tad as attracted to me as I was to him, I wouldn't know it.

It was particularly frustrating for someone who like me, easily read people. Read their intentions, emotions, and thoughts. That ability is one that has proven useful time and time again, and has definitely gotten my sorry little ass out of tight situations.

Dimitri was mysterious, and therefore infuriating and intriguing. That infuriating, and intriguing mystery however, only made him more attractive.

Call me cocky, but I was positive that sooner or later, somehow, I'd figure out the puzzle that was Dimitri Alexeev.

I switched my pearl earrings for dangling diamond ones and a diamond cuff, and scrutinized my complexion, for the imperfections I knew weren't there.

"The meeting should be benign, but you'll be around anyways for precaution. You'll be seated across the restaurant, far enough to not be conspicuous, but seated at an angle where you can use a gun if needed, and close enough to intervene." I informed Dimitri as Le Royal Monceau came into view.

As soon as the car pulled over in front of the luxury hotel, an eager valet was there to take the car, and a doorman was there to help me out of the car.

Yes it was all unecessary, but I felt like an english princess, or an old-school movie starlet.

Dimitri stayed behind as I walked into the lobby, breathing in the pleasant odor that vaguely reminded me of what old books smelled like.

I didn't bother lingering to take in the magnificence of the lobby, I had been in so many beautiful hotels and they were all the same, besides, one did not keep Sophie waiting.

The hotel had three restaurants, one of which was Le Bar Long, which I knew for a fact was Sophie's favorite restaurant.

The restaurant was bright an open, with small tables dispersed across the wood floor, an open bar that served as a place for both men and women to drink away their problems, and grand chandeliers.

It was never busy, but when I walked in and saw only a handful seated at the bar, and an elderly couple seated I knew Sophie had reserved the place, allowing a few people in and out to not be too suspicious. She had the best table in the place, in a corner seperate from the rest of the place, next to the huge window, that shed light on her worn out beauty.

She was in her late forties, early fifties -I could only guess- ,with metallic grey eyes and a stylish pixie cut. She was undeniably beautiful, but the stress, the years, the morally iffy things she'd done, and whatever crap she'd been through were catching up to her.

"Bonjour Sophie." I greeted, using the french I'd picked up after years of working with french clients, and partners, as I made my way towards the table, leaning down to kiss her cheek, her customary greeting. Pretentious I know.

"N'est ce pas?" She replied, smiling lightly, glancing out the window that had a view of the gardens.

I shrugged nonchalantly, sliding into the seat opposite hers. "Let's get down to buissness." I said  primly, direct and right to the point as always. I loathed small talk, though it was a skill I was working on.

She directed her full attention on me and our deal. And when those piercing gray eyes stared at me, I couldn't help but feel as if she could see right through me, read my thoughts, see my very soul.

I shifted uncomfortably and cleared my throat, "I have the painting as promised."

"Very well. Our agreement stands?" She asked through her thick accent, reaching for her mimosa, while eying my untouched mimosa.

I carefully ignored the drink. I didn't think Sophie would try to pull anything, but better safe than sorry. "The painting for the information." I nodded. "You will receive the painting when I hear the information I want."

She didn't bother with any of that, 'No I get the painting then tell you!' crap. She knew what I was willing to do for that intell. And I knew just how badly she wanted to get her manicured paws on that painting. If she was smart -and she was- then she would leave out a part of the information and only give me the rest when she got her precious painting.

"Alright." And with that she slipped me a green piece of paper, where in spidery handwritting was written the information I'd been wanting to get my hands on for years.

I won't lie. My breath hitched. But I was barely given the time to process that information before she impatiently taped her fingers against the table.

"The False Lover?" She reminded me, raising an annoyingly thin eyebrow.

I kept the glaring to a minimum, as I looked in Dimitri's direction, and stood.

I don't know when it happened. But I started walking towards Dimitri and the exit, when I looked behind me to see if she was following.

She wasn't.

She lay limp, blood dripping down her face from where the bullet had met her skull.

Once again, I didn't have time to process before Dimitri had pulled me away.

As we sprinted out of the hotel, I felt so numb, I barely heard the screaming from horrified guests and employees.