Page 3 of The Diamond Thief
2
Jade
Iswear the doorman gives me a knowing look as I head into the building where the text message directed me less than an hour ago.
By the man’s disapproving expression, I assume my client for the night does this often. I pull out my phone and glance down at the text one more time. Apparently he is known only by an initial. H. I repeat it to myself so I won’t screw up. H.
I’m amused that this is all he provides. Privacy is hard to come by these days. It’s funny that H is even trying to sustain it. Unless you’re a politician or a preacher, nobody cares if you pay for sex.
The building is posh, though. I cross the gleaming floor to a bank of elevators. H does not live in the penthouse. Not that they usually do. But the guys who can afford Sylvester’s girls tend to have plenty of money in the bank.
Sylvester’s escort service is wildly upscale. A night with one of his women will set a client back well into five figures. If a girl becomes a regular, there are perks. Cars. Cash. Jewelry. Perhaps I will get a bonus tonight.
I almost laugh. Of course I will.
I step into the elevator. It smells faintly of wildflowers. Not cloyingly so. Classy. Like they care in this building what you think about when you’re riding up to someone’s apartment. I like that.
I glance up at the security camera inside the elevator. I wonder who’s watching. I try to always be aware of when I’m being recorded. Occupational hazard.
The back wall of the elevator is a mirror, so I take the opportunity to make sure I fit the description I was provided.
Long dark hair, preferably curled. Not so much hairspray that he can’t slide his fingers through it. Elegant black dress, above the knee. Stilettos as high as my shoe size will allow. And makeup that won’t rub off on the pillow, in case he wants to keep me for the night and gaze upon me in the morning.
Good luck with that. I won’t be staying all night.
I step out on the thirty-second floor, my heels sinking into the thick carpet of the hall.
Beautiful gold sconces line the walls, softly illuminating the corridor. There are only two doors on this level, which indicates that the homes here are rather large. I stand in front of his, pulling myself together before I push the buzzer.
This is an important night. I have to make everything work perfectly. Especially this first inspection. It’s the most critical element.
I’m taken a little by surprise when the door opens before I buzz. Figures someone would know I was outside.
I’m expecting a butler, but it’s the man himself.
H is rather intense-looking, with penetrating blue eyes. He has a head full of hair that, like mine, per his order, you can run your hands through.
He wears a suit, mostly—the shirt is unbuttoned and open at the throat. He smells freshly showered with an expensive cologne, lightly applied. In any other circumstance, I might have been smitten.
He looks me over. “Perfect,” he says. “Want to come in?”
I hold back my sigh of relief. “I think I’m expected to,” I say. “I believe that’s my job.”
“Ah, a saucy one.”
I can’t tell from his tone if he likes that or not.
He leads me through a rather impressive foyer for an apartment. It’s gray and silvery, with marble floors and elegant metal side tables. Everything gleams like the housekeeper just walked out.
The living room is completely different. Leather sofas, wallpaper, and random vases and other pieces of art are all shades of red. It’s a little unnerving, like a serial killer’s den. I turn back to look at the man, a little less certain than I was when I walked in.
“You want something less colorful?” he asks.
“Not necessarily,” I say. “It’s not everyone who decorates with the blood of their enemies.”
He laughs, then catches himself, and looks me square in the face. “No one makes me laugh.”
“Welcome to tonight’s bonus feature.” I give a small curtsy.
