Fool Me Forever (The Confidence Game 2)

He closed his eyes and sighed like he’d been pricked with a pin and was deflating. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He focused on her. Like Dad, he had a way of looking at her that made her feel like she was the most important person in the world to him. “I asked you here and I didn’t think you’d come. It was only polite to offer to get you something, but you hate me so much you’re interpreting that as a terrible thing. I don’t wish you any ill, Lenny. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s not in my interest, or the interests of my family, to have you anything but safe and happy.”

“Happy, you want me happy?” She felt rude and disagreeable, prickled with it. Happy was the family that didn’t know they were living in a fairy tale. Happy was for trust-fund princesses who never learned their existence was based on a lie. And safe, no one was ever truly safe. It was an illusion.

“You look remarkably unconvinced,” he said.

“You can’t possibly blame me for that. Thank you for the water.”

“You’re welcome.”

“We’re not friends. We’ll never be friends. You don’t have to spare a thought for my welfare, and I don’t want you or your family anywhere near me or my business ever again.”

It would be bad enough she’d have to come to terms with Fin’s continued involvement with Cal. If she had to keep seeing Halsey Sherwood, she might be ruined for perving at any other men.

“I understand, and I respect that.” His nod had a thoughtful quality about it.

She laughed. He looked genuine. That was impossibly annoying.

“What’s funny?”

“You’re good. I never imagined my dad was a con, and I didn’t pick Cal, either. I get that’s the whole special sauce of it, but you”—she made a clucking sound—“you have that butter wouldn’t melt, I’m so sincere my shit doesn’t stink thing about you.”

He twisted a silver cufflink. “I get it. It’s an unusual situation for me, too.” He did the peripheral check again and then looked her straight in the face, as if he could see every calorie she’d ever consumed. “Outside of family, no one knows about what we do.”

The weight of that hit her hard enough to make her push back in her chair. “Are you saying that as a threat?”

“Oh no. Jesus. We’re not like that.” He pressed his palm to his chest. “I’m not like that. We don’t make threats, and we don’t hurt people. We’re not into aggression or violence, only retribution, and it’s always financial and always against people who deserve to lose and are so deeply crooked they can’t complain about it.”

It was Lenny’s turn to break eye contact. She’d known that about the Sherwoods, heard from Fin about the way their company worked to take money from rich jackasses and divert it into social welfare and environmental programs. She knew they weren’t exactly the mafia or a murdering drug cartel. They were still crooks, and there was no way she could forgive the same crime committed more perfectly to the one that had engulfed her family in strife.

“I don’t really think you were threatening me.” She took a sip of her water. “I don’t think you’d poison my drink or set me up. I don’t want anything to do with you after you explain why you stole my mail.”

“Let me tell you about Sonny Ozols, and you won’t ever have to see me again.”

“I know who Aleksandrs Ozols is. Prime Minister of Ossovia. Patron of the United Heroes League.”

“And the owner of a 1970 forest green Mercedes Benz coupe he bought two days after your donation hit the Heroes League account. I followed the money. We have our own welfare projects in former Soviet states and Ozols is known to us as a fraud.”

“What do you mean, known to you?”

“We keep tabs on people who’ve accumulated wealth, especially when it happens quickly. If they got it suspiciously or don’t use it responsibly they deserve to be brought to account. Sonny is a big fish in that got-wealthy-fast pond. We usually work Stateside, and he doesn’t generally leave the Baltic. He’d never normally be one of our targets, but he’s here for meetings at the United Nations, and he’s hosting a gala fundraiser. I’m not keeping you safe or protecting D4D’s interests if you go to that fundraiser and pledge more money for Cookie Jar’s personal gain.”

“Cookie Jar.” She huffed. “That from you, who stole my invitation.”

“It wasn’t subtle, I’ll admit that. I don’t do what we call fieldwork, and the situation with you is highly unusual. I can’t effectively con you because a successful con depends on winning trust, and you won’t believe anything I say. It’s a quandary. Cookie Jar is what they call Sonny back in Ossovia because he has his hand in too many pockets.”

She studied him, trying to block the signals his good looks sent. He was sigh-worthy, melt-inspiring. Halsey could earn a fortune in Hollywood. Or steal one. “I’m wondering why you’d make that story up.” She folded her arms. She needed every barrier she had against his believable earnestness. “Is this a reverse con? You tell me you can’t con me. I’m confident I’m free and clear, and you con me anyway.”

He tipped his chin up and laughed. “Cal could pull that off. Zeke, my dad, my mom, but not me. There’s a reason I run a pyramid investment scheme. I’m much better faking out numbers than I am people.”

He had a terrifyingly engaging laugh. He’s not a good guy, he’s not a good guy. He was a bad influence, but he was making it hard to hold on to that knowledge.

“I can prove Cookie Jar is a thief, a liar, and a psychopath.”

“You see psychopaths everywhere.” Easton could be a manipulative piece of shit, but he wasn’t irredeemable. Halsey had judged him after eavesdropping on a single argument and that was hardly fair. Everyone was probably a psychopath to a Sherwood, especially if they wanted justification for conning them.

“I can show you the money trail, and I’ve got no reason to lie about this. Let me email you a document.”

It was worth accepting an email from him to see the proof. “You’re saying the money we gave the Heroes League didn’t go to a scholarship program.”