You leaned back against the bar, sipping your martini and gathering yourself. Weeks of work, of careful planning and observing. All of it was finally going to pay off tonight. It wasn’t nerves you needed to battle, no. It was excitement. The prospect of a plan coming together, of a big score finally landing in your hands always made you like this.
A man took the seat next to him, and you barely spared him a glance. A gaunt face, with shrewd blue eyes. Expensive clothes, fashionable. Not the sort of choice anyone from old money would make. He would be an easy mark, if you were feeling up to it. Respectability. That was what a man like him wanted. A taste of what it was like to be old blood, to be important. A daughter of a Duke, or something along similar lines. New money would always be kept on the outside. All he wanted was a glimpse of the inside.
“I have to say,” the man drawled in a thick brummie accent, “I’m impressed.”
Such an easy mark. Really, he would be. But there was no time for that now. Not with the money about to change hands.