Fool Me Forever (The Confidence Game 2)

“Thank you.” Why did he sound relieved?

They agreed on the place and time, and she disconnected without saying goodbye. He could sweat on her showing up.

Two hours later, she watched Halsey through the window of Stumptown Coffee Roasters from her vantage place behind a Tiffany aqua taco truck. If she didn’t know he was a bad person she could be giddy about him. He was truly a gorgeous looking man, once again beautifully dressed. This time in a French navy suit she knew he’d have had tailored for him. He wore it with a shirt so white it almost hurt to look at that required cufflinks and a platinum silver tie, and there wasn’t a hair out of place.

Even when she’d had her unusual forceful glass-throwing tantrum, he’d been all smooth and unruffled, taking her apology as graciously as he moved to clean up her mess.

He hadn’t raised his voice once in person or on the phone, and apart from arriving in her office unexpectedly, and his annoying habit of telling her what to do, he’d been a gentleman. Even to the point of hanging around unnecessarily to see that her situation with Easton didn’t turn into something awful. He’d said he wanted to keep her safe and dug his heels in over it. It was almost gallant.

And then he stole her mail.

Looking at him, you couldn’t tell he was a filthy crook. Same as her father. The only difference between the two of them, apart from the fact that Halsey was a free man and Dad was in prison for the rest of his life, was that she knew the truth about Halsey almost from the first. There could be no rug pulling, existence-shattering revelations about him. Halsey couldn’t wreck her life. She was fully aware he was a thoroughly bad person who was rich from the profits of his crime, wearing the armor of a corporate maverick, ready to deceive the unsuspecting with every word and gesture.

Just like her father.

And like Jeffrey Bradshaw, Halsey had once fooled her into thinking he was a nice guy. He’d never fool her again. Her default position with him was open suspicion, and the only giddiness she’d ever have about him was the kind that came with happiness from walking away from him forever.

That was the thought that made her step out from her hiding place. Once inside Stumptown, she made for his table. He sat with his back to the wall, which was probably some con man’s tactic for reading the room. Dad did that, too. He had a copy of the Wall Street Journal, coffee, and a glass of ice water in front of him. She planned to be out of here before the ice melted and the bottom of his cup showed.

“Why?” she asked, taking the seat opposite. “I’m listening.”

“Hi, Lenny.” He folded the paper and pushed it aside. “Thanks for agreeing to meet. Can I order you something?”

Oh, he was not going to make her feel rude by being so damn polite and sounding so pleased to see her. “No, thank you. I’m just here for your thrilling confession.”

He smiled, and she had a fierce reaction to it. An unwelcome swooping low in her stomach. She’d have called it indigestion if she’d recently eaten and she didn’t know better. God, his handsomeness was irritating.

“First off, I want to say that your accounting is essentially clean.”

No surprise. She’d paid for expensive professional advice knowing it was highly irregular.

“There is one problem, though.”

“You stole my mail.”

He smiled again.

Wish he’d stop that.

“Two problems. You made a donation to the United Heroes League.” He shifted forward, his eyes moving left and right, as if checking to if they could be overheard. “That charity is a front for a corrupt government.”

She leaned back because she’d caught a whiff of his ocean fresh cologne, and that felt intimate, somehow. Also, he was wrong. “Do you know anything about on-the-ground welfare organizations in developing countries?” He went to reply, and she cut him off. “I imagine not. Th

ey sometimes don’t cross all the T’s on administration. I’ve vetted every organization we fund personally. The United Heroes League does good work.” She planned to give them more funds as soon as she could raise them.

“Your donation bought a 1970 forest green Mercedes Benz Coupe from an auction held in Jersey City. Beautiful car.” He sat back. He might as well have made that dusting your hands gesture as if that explained everything.

She tapped a fingernail on the table. “I don’t know what your issue with the Heroes League is, but it’s not my problem.”

“Let me get you something to drink, or eat, or a glass of water?”

She shook her head. He got up and went to the counter and poured water, adding ice and a mint leaf, and put it in front of her. He was unreal.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

He frowned as he sat again.

“Now you’re telling me when I’m thirsty.”