One Night Wife (The Confidence Game 1)

“No point, the transaction won’t be done till Monday.”

Eyes on the low-slung vehicle in front of them that was having trouble navigating around a crater in the broken concrete, Cal said, “Come on, Sia, do it for me.”

She pulled out her phone and logged in to the donation whatsit not expecting to see anything and saw a row of zeros that shouldn’t be there.

“There should be half a mill there from Keith—”

>

“Belling.” It told her. “How did you know?”

“You’re my lucky charm, Fin. He’s the blue whale I never thought I’d get.”

“That’s—”

He bounced the heel of his hand on the wheel. “Fucking brilliant.”

Not possible. “I never even spoke to him.”

“You spoke to every VIP there tonight, and Belling didn’t want to be upstaged by the new-money geeks.”

And that’s what accounted for Cal’s mood. Not her impromptu performance or the dancing, but that he’d gotten one of his big whales to do him a favor. She closed the website down. She’d made two million dollars tonight with his help, and she should be delirious with joy.

“That’s incredible.” She sounded flat to her own ears.

His hand landed on her thigh. “You were amazing. You were delicious. Utterly delicious.”

Oh…

“Friday night. We have a gallery event. Not as much fun as this. Long drive.”

Friday night, another week away. At least Cal thought tonight was fun. She reframed her thinking again.

Working with him was torture.

Chapter Fourteen

Cal sat in his hired car and watched while Fin entered her building. What a fucking great night that turned out to be. He wanted to call her back and take her out for a late supper to celebrate their victory, hold her hand, listen to her laugh, then stay with her long enough to take her to breakfast.

The biggest whale was in his net.

He liked the Aston Martin. Get Belling on his hook, nudge him into an investment in Everlasting, and he’d be able to buy one like it instead of hiring it. Get Belling and Alington would fall, too, and he could secure his own future.

All because of Fin.

She was his secret weapon, his magic potion, and if he thought about having her ass in his groin one more time he was going to need to claim insurance for slamming the Aston Martin up another driver’s rear.

Fin was spectacular, everything he’d hoped in his wildest plotting she’d be. But he’d forgotten himself tonight. He’d been careless with her. He should never have danced with her like that. They’d both enjoyed it too much, and his change in temperature when the lights came up had confused her. It confused him. If his adrenaline had spiked any higher, he might’ve blacked out from the sheer overload of sexual tension.

Those house lights coming on reminded him how in the dark Fin was about who he was and what he was doing.

He was awestruck by her performance and hated having to send her away in the VIP room, but he’d needed to concentrate on his whales, and she would have split his focus too easily. Once Belling asked about Fin’s charity, he’d had to use the right amount of nonchalance and keenness to tip the man’s inquiry from curiosity to conviction before the techno funk music forced Belling to quit the event.

As soon as that happened, he’d set off in search of Fin, not worried he wouldn’t find her, because she stood out in any crowd, and there was an unfathomable pulsing pull under his skin whenever she was around. It worked like a divining rod. But he should never have put his hands on her like he did, and now he’d have to pretend it was nothing, simply two people enjoying the music, acting the part.

Red Light. He braked hard. Tires squealed. Fuck.

Fin shattered his attention without being anywhere near.