"May I kiss you now?"

Part 1

Tap Tap Tap  on the door - and Maybelle tries her hardest to breathe, yet her lungs feel utterly depleted of air despite her ragged attempts to inhale. Her throat is dry, and with a quick glance over her shoulder, she pushes into the dim-lit room.

She's been warned about the monster that inhabits the liquor and smoke smelling room.

"He's despicable," one of the girls had whispered early that morning.

"He is older than dirt, and he has rather peculiar methods when handling a lady," huffed wickedly another.

"His looks will make you regret you were born."

The parade of their vicious, sweaty and ill-intended faces wasn't helping her, not at all. The echo of their over-the-top laughter, their pointing of fingers - the unrestrained mockery. It was a deadly cocktail that now nested in the pit of her stomach, making it clench and twist and turn and she was sure the very little dinner she had hours ago - an apple and some soup - somehow was going to blast out of her mouth.

Maybelle discerns the defined silhouette of his back - taller and slimmer than expected as he stands in front of his office's window.

Palms sweaty - and he doesn't speak when she slides the lock home with a quirked brow.

"I've heard so much about you." Voice velvety smooth, yet there's a distinctive raspiness underlying each word.

A hand to the chest to confirm her heart didn't just burst and she blinks - fighting the faintness brought on by sheer nerves.

She opens her mouth to speak, yet words are not coming out.

Her eyes skate around the very rustic, extremely traditional, yet elegant place. A colossal oak desk, saturated with thick tomes and a lantern stretches beyond her.

She leans over to inspect the sprawled-open book facing away from her. Several names are sloppily written in it. A list of some kind - perhaps all the poor souls that owe the monster?

A hit list?

The mere suspicion unleashes a shiver down her spine.

"Cat got your tongue?" The man - if he could be called that - asks amused.

An involuntary jolt, coupled with a step backward when he turns around. The sound of his shiny boot spurs makes a subtle clicking noise against the wooden floor as he steps into the flickering, golden light emanating from the lantern.

Icy blue eyes, barely concealed by a fine-looking black cowboy hat, a dimple in a slightly unshaven chin and that smile. It's a smile that promises the fiercest of challenges. The kind that harbors the power to dissolve and to render a smart gal into a stuttering idiot.

The first few buttons of his dark shirt are open under his leather vest, revealing a glistening, creamy collarbone and in the smugness of his smirk, she can tell he's used to having this sort of effect on the poor unsuspecting dames.

"I'm here for Mr. Stan." As hard as it was proving to be, she is successful at keeping her gaze aimed at him.

"Elijah. Please have a seat." Another little bemused puff out of him and she is relieved to finally give her legs a bit of respite.

"They tell me your name is Maybelle." He strides around the desk and sits on the very edge of it, right next to where she is.