The young man cleared his throat. Loudly.

Amelie suppressed a grimace. Just how long did he intend to hover over her desk? Most people would have gotten the hint by now.

But not Robert le Casanova, with his dark hair curling around his ears and that irritatingly smug lift to his lips. He was disgustingly handsome and he knew it. Everyone in the vicinity knew it. They all stared when he sauntered past, and they all stared long after he left.

Amelia, on the other hand, had much better things to do with her time. Like go through her mail. Since she lived in a rather sketchy part of town, she had all her mail forwarded to her friend's bakery shop. It made for a great excuse to come over everyday and get free pastries, but on the downside, she had to deal with the shop's most annoying employee: Robert.

She pretended she didn't hear the sound he made, and set to going through the stack of mail. Most of it was just advertisements and other spam, but one immediately caught her attention. It was a plain brown envelope with printed address labels. In an instant, she knew what it was.

Her jobs always came in brown envelopes exactly like this one.

She hesitated, considering her audience, then decided it didn't really matter. The contents wouldn't mean much to people like Robert. She opened the envelope and tipped it over. Out came a handful of photos along with a typed note.

"Don't try to ignore me, Ames," Robert said.

Really. It must have been a slow day if he was lounging around in the shop's back office like this.

She picked up the note and read the two lines:

Alexander deBlanco
the fall of dusk

Her brows lifted a little. The name was that of her target. The second line was a simple code, containing the words "fall" and "dusk" which each alluded to the target's death. Including both meant she had to kill him and provide concrete proof of his death.

Simple enough.

Amelie tucked the note back into the envelope and picked up the first picture. She froze, the breath catching in her throat.

Her father's face frowned disapprovingly at her from the photo. It had been nearly eight years since she'd seen him in person, yet he hadn't changed one bit. His cold gaze could still cut her like a knife.

"Get out," he had said, and just like that, nineteen years of love and affection had been swept under the rug, replaced by a thin veneer of disgust and disappointment. She remembered weeping silently as Elias, her father's aide, escorted her off the property. The accusations were false, yet there was nothing she could do.

Her father's words were final.

The gates were slammed shut in her face, and that was it. She was no longer a daughter of the affluent van Rovensil family. The whole event had come out of the blue, with no warning or explanation. It had ruined her life and even now, she still didn't know why or how it had happened.

Amelie reached out to another picture, her fingertips gently brushing over the gaunt face of the woman standing beside her father. It was the only picture in the bunch that had her mother in it.

A wistful smile came and went. There'd always been a distance between them, and all of Amelie's memories growing up involved her father doting on her while her mother remained in the background. She'd grown up thinking her mother hated her. Though now, she thought maybe that was a bit extreme. Mother just simply hadn't cared.

Her marriage was arranged, her two children had been arranged, her entire life as the van Rovensil wife had been arranged. Her uninterested attitude made a lot of sense when put into that light. Rather than make Amelia feel hurt or angry, it just made her sad.

Perhaps it was for the best that she'd been thrown out of the family. That could have been her fate one day, too.

A long arm reached across her vision and snatched up the picture of her mother and father. Robert peered at it closely.

"Hey," he said. His eyes flicked from the picture to her face. "Who's this guy? Why do you have his pictures?"

"That's none of your business."

Amelia tried to take the picture back, but he lifted it out of her reach. Immediately, she contemplated breaking a few of his fingers.

"Come on, tell me. Isn't he a little too old for you?"

"Again," she said, disgusted, "none of your business."

This was her father they were talking about here. The sooner Robert shut his annoying mouth, the better.

"Wouldn't you rather have someone... younger?" His voice dropped half an octave on the last word, becoming strangely husky. It was entirely stupid, because now it sounded like he was coming down with a cold.

"No," she snapped. "I'd rather have someone rich, sensible, and smart enough to know the difference between his butt and his face. Because really, some people just make sounds and it's impossible to tell which end it's coming from."

Robert didn't get the hint. Big surprise. He probably wouldn't get it even if a submarine dropped out of the sky and flattened him.

He laughed. "You want to know something?"

Instead of answering, Amelie began to sort the pictures. The fact that her father was in so many of them meant the target was someone who was very close to him. She didn't know how she felt about that. Worried? Indifferent? Angry?

There was a complicated tangle in her heart that still hurt whenever she tugged on it. Why did this job have to involve her family? Why did they have to send her, of all people?

Her father had made it very clear that she was to never return under any circumstances.

Amelia nibbled on a fingernail as she considered the situation.

The man she was supposed to kill was in every picture, oftentimes lingering near her father. She didn't recognize him, which meant he was a new addition to her family's staff. She stared at one of the photos, studying him.

He was... extraordinary. Alexander had the kind of face that made Robert's look like a shriveled old leather bag: deep, broody brown eyes, a heavy dark brow, slightly smiling lips, a strong, smooth jaw, and thick black hair parted and combed back in a timeless style. His skin was flawless and dusky, with a hint of a shadow about his jaw. If she had to guess his age, it would have been close to thirty.

Amelia disliked him immediately. He looked too perfect, like an artist had handcrafted him with careful attention to every single detail. Even worse, his broody eyes captured one's attention and the hint of humor lurking in his slight smile invited one to stay. It was all a trap.

She sneered inwardly. Killing him was going to be easy.

The hard part was going to be getting into her father's property without being recognized. There was no way she could waltz in as the long lost daughter of the van Rovensil family. Especially when she was there to kill someone.

"Amelieee," Robert sing-songed. "Oh, Amelieee."

Her eye twitched. Couldn't a girl plot her next assassination in peace? Was that so hard to ask?

She turned her thoughts stubbornly to her target. Why was he so close to her father, anyway? The only other person she'd seen in such a position was old Elias, her father's ever loyal aide and bodyguard. Yet there was no sign of him in any of the pictures.

She paused, her heart sinking in sudden anxiety. Had something happened to him? She'd loved old Elias as much as she had her father. But eight years was a long time and many things could have happened. A twinge of sadness tugged at her. What if-?

Her thoughts were interrupted by another loud, exaggerated throat clearing session from Robert. Despite her wishes, he continued to exist like a stinking dog turd on her front step.

She groaned. "What do you want, Robert?"

That was the signal he'd been waiting for. He dropped the photo he'd taken on her desk, so it landed right in front of her.

"So what if he's rich? That might look good on paper," he said, before he leaned in and whispered, "But I'd look good on you."

She promptly placed a hand on his face and shoved. He stumbled backwards.

"Gross. Go away. I'll tell Lydia you're bothering me again."

A new voice pierced through the office. "Who's bothering Amelie again?"

"One guess," Amelie retorted. She glanced up at the newcomer, who was a five foot tall woman with hair as red as a fire engine.

Lydia was one of Amelie's oldest friends. She was also Amelie's best friend, although some days, Amelia wondered why. The two of them couldn't have been more different.

Lydia's blue eyes narrowed as her attention immediately settled on Robert. She was like a hunting dog catching sight of her prey.

"Robert," she said pleasantly.

He visibly winced. "What?"

"We talked about this, remember? We all know Amelia needs a boyfriend, but you are not it. Got it?"

Amelia threw a glare at them. "I do not need, nor want, a boyfriend. We talked about that too, remember?"

"You just need to find the right guy, Ames." Robert ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. His smirk practically screamed, 'look at what you're missing out on!'

Amelia rolled her eyes. All she was missing out was catering to the ego of a big-headed annoyance. Besides, Robert ran after nearly every woman he saw, even if he was already 'dating' another. No thanks, she didn't need any of that.

"Exactly," Lydia said. "You need to get out more. You can't just hang around my shop's office forever, y'know?"

Warning bells rang in the back of Amelie's head. When both of her friends—she used that term very loosely in Robert's case—agreed on something, that only meant trouble. Big trouble.

"I do get out," she informed them. "In fact, I'm going away this weekend."

"You are?" Disbelief colored Robert's tone.

At the same time, Lydia went, "Oh, really?"

Amelie smiled and held up one of her father's pictures. "Yep. I'm going to go see this guy."

The look on Robert's face made her smile grow. It was almost enough to make her forget that she wasn't about to go home for the first time in eight years.

"Come on," Lydia scoffed. "Now you're just spouting crap. Girl, we're going out this weekend. Just the two of us."

"What about me?" Robert protested.

"We're locking you in the car."

"Hey!"

Amelia grimaced. "I mean it, guys. I really do have to go see this guy. He's my next client."

Well, not exactly, but it was close enough. Her friends didn't need to know the details. If they did, she'd have to kill them. Probably.

"Your client," Robert scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"Just because you're not old and rich and have a house to decorate doesn't mean other people don't," Amelia told him. "I've been contracted to help this guy update the interior design of his house."

"Then why did he send pictures of himself and not his house?" Robert demanded.

That was a good question. Amelia had told her friends that she was a professional interior decorator. It was a fake job that fit well with her having to travel all over the world for extended periods of time, and so far, her friends never really questioned it.

She shrugged. "Maybe he's a lonely old man."

Inwardly, she wondered if he even missed her. Had he forgotten how she perched on his knee for hours while he worked in his office? He'd never tired of her constant questions or demands for hugs. She'd adored him for that. And he had adored her back. Until that one day, where everything had changed in an instant.

"Ames," Robert's expression twisted. "You can't be serious."

She slipped the rest of the photos into the envelope. "Oh, I don't know. You guys are always whining about how single I am. Maybe this is my chance to get a rich boyfriend."

The disgust on Robert's face was almost enough to mask the knot of growing anxiety. She put on a bright smile. "I've got to get home and pack. I need to be there for Saturday morning."
 
"But where is there?" Lydia demanded. "Ames, you never said-"

"I'll text you," Amelie promised. Then she slipped past them and out of the office before they could ask any more questions.

They were her only friends. And she really didn't want to have to kill them.