One Night Wife (The Confidence Game 1)

Cal raised a brow at him. It got a laugh, and it curdled in his stomach.

“What’s this charity she’s got going?”

He put his glass down. “Microfinance.” He knew Alington didn’t want any details. “If you kick her something, it’s going to get me laid with extra vigor tonight.”

That got a bigger laugh, because it was the kind of thing they wanted to hear. It’d never irked him so much to playact the asshole before. It didn’t feel right to disrespect Fin this way. He stood. He’d had enough of the way men were always measuring their dicks but calling it money and influence. He had enough gains to call it quits, and he was irritated with himself for letting thoughts about Fin influence him.

You used a tool, it didn’t use you.

He made his excuses; a suitable lie and went to pay his regards to Bette before leaving.

“I like your Finley,” Bette said when he found her in the kitchen.

She’d gotten her long string of creamy pearls tangled in the gold chain she used for her glasses. He took them both from her and unknotted them, then ran her glasses under hot water, using a smidgeon of soap on the lenses. “I like her, too. Thank you for letting me bring her along.” He used a linen napkin to dry Bette’s glasses.

“This one makes a better partner for you.” Bette looped her pearls back over her neck.

“It’s early days. We’re only new, and you’ve known her for…” He looked at his watch and didn’t finish the sentence.

She laughed. “I’d known Clem ten days. Ten days, and I knew we were going to be together forever, and here we are seventy years later, and I haven’t kicked him out of my bed yet.”

“There’s still time.”

Bette took her glasses from his outstretched hand. “I don’t want to kill the old man off. You’re not impulsive like Ronald. You’ll do a better job of choosing a partner.”

Ronald was on wife three and child six and had looked at Fin as if she were property he’d like to own and trash. As if Fin would ever look at Ronald with interest. Well, not while she was with him on this job, anyway. But once they were done, she was her own agent, could do what she wanted, with who she wanted, and that was going to be a test of his desire to knock out at least half the men he associated with if they so much as blinked in her direction.

“You want someone steady to love, and I like this girl for you. She’s real.”

Oh yeah, she was real; she was out there acting up a storm, and as a couple, they were the very definition of a scam. He bussed Bette’s check. Called for his car and went in search of Fin.

“Those wives will all talk about me now,” she said while they waited for their elevator ride down to the foyer.

They would dissect her into a zillion pieces because she was fresh and vulnerable and not one of them.

She sighed, but when they were closed into elevator, she said, “See this face? Is this a face that looks like it cares?”

The face she had him look at was frozen into the horrified expression of the Home Alone kid.

“That is a face that looks like it’s had a terrible surprise.”

Her hands came off her cheeks, and she grabbed the lapels of his suit. “I made half a million dollars tonight.” She let go of his coat and turned in a circle. “Half a million dollars.” She stopped, blew on her fingers, and polished her knuckles on her dress. “How’d you do?”

“They have cameras in here you know,” he said.

She froze. He put his hand to her shoulder. “I’m kidding.” And he would’ve kissed her, but they were back in the foyer, and they did have cameras there, and he wasn’t supposed to be so drawn to her. It was a live wire in his circuit board, giving off sparks and threatening to blow. “Half a mil. Not bad.”

“Not bad.” She slapped his arm. “It was fucking awesome.”

She gave him a play-by-play in the car, barely able to sit on her side of the seat, her hands gesticulating wildly, her knees knocking into his thighs. He kept it to himself that it was a pittance. That he’d help her make much more.

When they pulled up outside her building, he got out of the car with her and then remembered he shouldn’t walk her to her door; it would send the wrong message. He was her boss, not her date.

“When do we do it again?” she asked.

“Next Saturday night. Something a little more fun. We’ll send you a briefing.” She looked disappointed. “That’s not a face that says gee whiz wow.” If she had plans, she’d have to cancel them. He should’ve made her not having a relationship while they worked together a condition.

“Saturday night is a whole week away.”