Femme Fetale

One.

The music was pounding in my eardrums as I made my way up across the club, towards the V.I.P section. My target was there, sitting among the other A-Listers. The only way for me to recognize him was the photograph in the gallery of my phone. I pull it out now from my jeans pocket, quickly flicking through the pictures. I stop when I spot the perfect smile of my target gracing my screen. Quickly, I scan the face, imprinting to memory the light platinum curls and light grey eyes. All in all he's handsome, big build and sculpted face, but something about the gleam in his eyes set off my alarm bells.

I walk up to the bodyguard at the entrance to the lounge and nod at him. By now, my name should be on the list as my client had promised. So far I've been after this man a whole week, jumping from New York to Vancouver to Jamaica and finally landing in Beirut, Lebanon. A large city right on the coast line that came alive at night fall, lights, music and moving bodies. Quickly checking my I.D the security guard waves me through and I smile gratefully, trying my best to fit in. Clubs were definitely not my scene, but a person in my line of work should feel comfortable in any and all places. You never know where the job may land you.

The room I walk into is dimly light with flashing neon lights in the middle where I suppose the dance floor should be. But no one is really dancing, people are just milling about, drinking, laughing and shouting to be heard over the music. My eyes zero in on Mr. Gastoff, sitting in the corner with a very bored expression on his face as he listens to the woman beside him talk. She's a brunette with a pixie cut that complinents her small figure. Her eyes are a mystery to me, the dark room and flashing loghts nearby distorting any colour I might have seen. She seems to be oblivious to the boredom she's generating. I walk closer to the pair, grabbing a glass of some sort of alcohol. Swinging my hips slowly, I manage to catch Mr. Gastoff's gaze, and send him a small smile before taking a hard right and seating myself at a neighboring couch. He watches me settle down, and I make sure to avoid further eye contact, until I know he's about to look away. Quickly I glace at him, looking him over and sending him a secret smile. He mutters something to the woman he's with and walks over to me. He swipes two glasses of what I assume is champagne and takes a seat beside me.

"What's a gorgeous thing like you sitting in a club all alone?" He asks, grey eyes looking almost silver in the light. His chiseled jaw clenches slightly as he looks me over. I suppress a shudder of disgust and instead turn myself to face him, smiling slightly. He hands me one of the glasses. I set the previous glass down, completely untouched. It's better to have a clear head on jobs like this. And who knew who had access to that drink before me. Not that the new drink was any safer.

"I'm just looking to make some friends," I reply, raising an eyebrow at him. "You didn't look all too happy over there."

"She's been talking about the price of gold dropping for the last twenty minutes," He says, rolling his eyes, then focuses on my own eyes. "Is that your natural eye colour?"

I smile, nodding while knowing full well they're contacts. My own eyes were a shade of bright cerulean blue.

"Such a unique shade of green," He comments. "Almost luminescent in this lighting." His gaze scans over me agaib, taking me in from my auburn hair to my studded five inch heels. I want to retch but instead I lean a little towards him, encouraging him.

"Thank you," I murmur, wonder what he would say if he saw my true eye colour. Feigning shyness, I look down quickly,then lift my gaze to the party around me. People had begun to dance. "I know this will sound like a pickup line, but do you come here often?" I ask. From my information this wasn't his usual club.

He shakes his head, smiling slightly. "No, in fact I don't frequent Beirut that often. Your accent tells me you're not American but you're also not a local. Where are you from?"