There’s nothing I hate more than a blonde prince.
Delicate and pale, a man’s hair should be a reflection of their soul, not a fucking charcuterie board. The darker the better is what I always say because at least then you know their intentions going in.
I don’t think I’ve seen hair darker than Christopher Deville’s.
Nobody would fool themselves into thinking that man is a prince. All scruff and shaggy hair, one look at the British bad boy tells you everything you need to know.
Here for a good time. Not a long time.
The only permanence a man like him will ever know is the ink covering his body. Dripping from his neck to the tips of his knuckles, Christopher is a walking montage of bad decisions and even bigger regrets. Wanted in nearly every European countryfor theft and fraud, he’s got the skillset daddies warn their little girls about.
And just the one I need.
“What do you think?”
I direct the question to Vector Vin, my latest recruit. He’s a brawn in training, my newfound muscle after the last one went up in flames.
Well, his daddy did anyways.
“Of the new guy?”
I nod slowly, still not entirely sure where Vector’s brain capacity lies. He’s grumpier than my last brawn, bit of a dick with an attitude who doesn’t mind making it clear he would rather be anywhere but here.
I like him more than Gus already.
“He’s going to rob you blind.” His lips tilt up in a smirk, “Besides that, I think he’d make a good Ken doll.”
“Mm, you two would make a cute couple.”
The blonde Hulk bristles beside me, his inflated ego learning the hard way that I don’t tolerate disrespect.
Especially not from men.
“Not what I meant.” Grumbling under his breath, Vector turns and watches Christopher make his way through the crowd.
All strut and stride, the latest transplant weaves through the college parking lot like he owns the place. Confident and cocksure, Christopher walks like a man who needs to be bumped down a peg or two.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
An incoming call lights up my phone, the name of my longtime conspirer flashing across the screen.
“Christopher Deville is going to be a problem.”
“So lovely to hear from you today, Marlin.” I coo the words, knowing full well the exasperated expression they will leave on his face.
A man of high judgement and even higher taste, Marlin Seaborn is an asset that has been well worth the cost of doing business. He is the equivalent of a human algorithm, all numbers and data in lieu of genuine emotions.
Marlin is not what you would call a prince, but he doesn’t exactly fall into the bad boy category either. He’s more of a… unique character, shall we say.
A little psychotic, a lot narcissistic, and has a terrible tendency to stab anyone who touches his most prized possession.
The last one makes for the most entertaining of evenings.
Ignoring my pleasantries, Marlin cuts straight to the chase, “Did you look at the report I sent over?”
“I did.” Putting him on speaker, I open up the report in question, “And I fail to see how this makes Christopher a problem. I thought we agreed he’s got the skillset we need.”
“I managed to hack into his system and found a copy of the blueprints he’s carrying around.” He pauses, “Drache Manor isn’t the only house on the list.”
