One Night Wife (The Confidence Game 1)

She didn’t think he’d hurt her, and she’d given him plenty of opportunity to be an asshole. She could easily cause him trouble, so he was taking a risk on her as well.

“Absolutely no drugs, Cal. Don’t ask me to inhale, snort, swallow, or inject anything that’s going to fuck me up.”

“I won’t ask you to do lines off someone’s antique table. For the record, I don’t do that, either.”

“Don’t call me some silly pet name.”

“You got it, snookums.”

She kicked him, and he winced.

“Don’t make me eat sushi.”

“No raw fish, check. You done?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me this is a smart thing for me to do.”

He reached for her hands and pulled her out of the chair. Everything in his body that had broadcast amusement while they’d traded quips dropped away.

“You’ll get the money you need to make D4D a success, and you’ll be set up with a donor list to keep doing that when we’re over. And that’s what you want. But if you’ve changed your mind, or you don’t trust me to guide you towards that, then thank you for the picnic.” He changed his grip on one of her hands and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it. “It was lovely to meet you. Good luck and have a nice life.”

She pulled her hand away. That was the most aggressive thing he’d done to her. A kiss to the hand that was a kick up the butt. A reminder he was a power jerk. Any final doubt she had that he was simply hedging his bets about not wanting more of a relationship with her were cancelled like a promising first season on Netflix.

This was business for him. He might send a car, do that thing with a hand hovering at the small of her back she loved so much; he might open doors for her, pull out chairs, compliment her appearance, listen to her respectfully and teach her his persuasive arts, but he wasn’t joking about all of that being business. No more illusions. He would point her to the exit sign once he was finished with her.

It was the perfect reminder of who they were to each other, and in many ways, it was more honest than her relationship with Win had been. She knew exactly where she stood with Cal. Partners, potentially friends with their own spark, and a mutual business interest. It was simple. It was a good plan at the right time. She was not allowed to feel any grizzle of disappointment.

“You’re not shaking me off that easily. What’s next?”

He gave her a smile she wanted to interpret as, good decision.

“Next, you get briefed.”

Sounded like a chore until he showed her to a meeting room and said, “This is Rory. She’s going to brief you in,” and then it sounded like a traffic accident, because Rory with her flawless symmetrical face, forest-green eyes, and wig-perfect hair was the reason the standard for female beauty was impossibly high.

And then Rory opened her mouth. “Nice to meet you, Finley. I’ll be helping you prepare for the events you’ll attend. I’ll walk you through wardrobe, makeup, hair, and jewelry, and train you in lie detection. I’ll deep background on the targets, including which ones are free with their hands and how best to avoid that, and fill you in on the dynamic of the wives. I’ve made a list of approved designers for you to shop with.” She pushed a sheet of paper over the table. “This is for your company credit card. What would you like to do first?”

First, Fin wanted to stab Rory to death because of course the woman was professional, competent, organized, overwhelming. Second, she needed a moment to collect herself. Rory was Cal’s ex, the woman he didn’t love enough. Rory was the reason the spark she and Cal had between them was never going to become a fire. If he couldn’t love Rory, he’d never want her, because even with award-winning acting, Fin would never be as beautiful, as poised, as awesome as Rory.

An hour whipped past while Rory talked through how Sherwood established their investment targets. They had a manual with photographs for identification, with information about family background, education, likes, dislikes, political affiliations. They knew what movies these people watched, what books they read, where they shopped, ate, and hung out. But what made it truly incredible was the dirt they’d collected. Affairs, illegitimate children, bizarre habits, pet peeves, kinks, and worse, hateful behavior, discrimination, bullying, abuse, crime, and cover up.

It was everything Cal had been talking about but in graphic detail. And she’d need to attend parties with these people. This was the fine print she should’ve asked to see first.

“Give us a minute, Rory,” Cal said.

Rory left, closing the door behind her, and Fin was grateful for the chance to be alone with Cal. “I never imagined this was how you did it.”

“This is how high-end sales works. It’s also how influence, politics, and business come together. We dig a little deeper than most.”

“But how does knowing Bob Kepsy has a second family in Beijing, or Victor Rennie is a coke addict help?”

“It’s leverage. It tells us Bob has a roving eye and Victor can be erratic at best.”

There was a tornado of information in her head. This was social media stalking, data scraping, and doxxing set to stun, and she didn’t know how to process it.

Cal pushed on the arm of her chair, and she lifted her feet to let him swivel it to face him. “You’re rattled,” he said.

“I know everyone has secrets, but you know everyone’s secrets.”