Fool Me Forever (The Confidence Game 2)

“You do make a superb dance partner,” she said with an eye roll.

He never made a bet he could lose. He’d never desired a partner so much it made him greedy and incautious. He could’ve learned what he’d needed about Cookie Jar without coming here. He couldn’t help himself but want to see Lenny again, even though it would annoy her.

What would it be like to have her by his side off the dance floor, to work a con with a partner he liked and respected? Cal’s most infamous cons were the ones where he’d had a partner by his side. A One Night Wife they called it. Halsey always worked alone and until now had never questioned it. Now he questioned it in every pounding pulse point and pore of his skin.

Yeah, he could rationalize it as if it were a professional consideration. Still, he needed to acknowledge that the more time he spent being the butt of Lenny’s annoyance, the more he liked it and desired her. She wasn’t starry-eyed, she knew the charity circuit, the galas and the balls and the fundraisers were a game, and she wasn’t overly paranoid for someone whose father had betrayed her and whose business partner had fallen in with a bad crowd.

Apart from this teasing romantic interlude, all he had with Lenny was conflict and dislike with a good side serving of plain old-fashioned distrust. Yet, arguing with her, hanging up on her, and anxiously waiting for her to call back or show up for coffee she wouldn’t accept and scowl at him, and now waltzing with her while she looked like a fantasy woman, made him feel alive in a way that his work generally didn’t.

They danced two more songs before Lenny pulled away with a flush on her cheeks he found delectable.

Fun, it really had been fun, and now he was turning into a pumpkin. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets to stop from reaching for her again. If it would do any good, he’d leave a shoe behind in the hope that Lenny would come looking for him. But she wasn’t a princess anymore. She’d dealt with her own ugly brother, and she wasn’t looking for a hero.

He understood Cal’s breakdown, after Fin learned the truth and left him, better now. At the time, he’d been perplexed that his normally on-the-mark brother had fallen apart. Now he had an inkling what it might be like to lose a partner. And if that’s how he felt after dodging glassware, phone hang-ups, being consigned to spam, and deemed too untrustworthy to pour a glass of water all because they’d danced together, he was in a state of disquiet that made him want to forget the big picture, hotwire the Merc, and drive it too fast away from these awkward feelings.

“My feet thank you for the dance,” Lenny said. “I’ll read your info. I won’t promise any more money in the short term, and I hope you have a nice life.”

It was an unexpected victory. A bittersweet triumph.

He watched Lenny walk off, jeweled pins winking in her hair, stopping to introduce herself, to catch an eye, to work the room like every Sherwood had learned to do, making those she spoke to smile and neatly avoiding those inclined to snub her with turned shoulders.

He went in the opposite direction. He made the acquaintance of members of the Ossovia government, including the most rebellious person in the room. He had a lengthy discussion with Baiba Jansons in which she indicated a certain desire for change in the political environment of Ossovia, and Halsey indicated a certain dissatisfaction with the running of the United Heroes League. Together, they had a meeting of the minds about both topics and the need for change.

It was the kind of wink-wink, nudge-nudge discussion that could get an honest man into trouble, but Ossovia was already in trouble and Baiba Jansons was a formidable woman. The kind who would make a great leader.

He left the ballroom the same way he arrived. The pin in his lapel was just the right width that when pressed against the air valve of the Merc’s front right tire, made it deflate. It was the least he could do for Lenny and only the beginning of what he’d do to Cookie Jar.

Chapter Eight

There were dozens of ways to worry about Mallory, and since Mom had re

fused to deal with her truancy, it was all on Lenny. Mom at least had attempted a trip to the market. They had food in the house, even if it wasn’t necessarily food that would go together in a decent meal. Like attending the United Heroes League gala, it was a start.

Lenny paced the apartment. She couldn’t put off a showdown any longer and had left the office early to wait for Mal to arrive home, not entirely sure what to say, becoming increasingly resentful she had to say anything at all, and knowing that wouldn’t help in the least. The fourteen-year age gap between them had never felt more of a barrier.

Somewhat wistfully, she’d already packed her gala gown away. The dress wasn’t new, and despite having the bodice let out, it was so tight it’d discouraged deep breathing. That had to explain why she’d gone soft enough on Halsey to agree to dance with him. Not enough oxygen to keep her head straight.

He’d looked damn fine in his tux, and he was a superb dance partner. It had been no surprise to see him, and she could’ve avoided him easily enough. It’s just that a lot of people had been avoiding her: eyes sliding, bodies turning, subtle stay-away gestures that’d kept her super vigilant all night. She’d been spoiling for a fight, and Halsey had offered just the right opportunity to have one.

He was so oddly safe—he wouldn’t slight her, embarrass her, or call undue attention to her.

When he’d hit her with the shock invitation to dance it was a choice of going back to braving the room alone and playing deaf to the gossip or taking respite in the music where she didn’t have to smile through stilted small talk.

And then she’d almost forgotten he was the enemy. For all his social reticence, he was dangerously smooth and likeable, and that was a threat she preferred not to think about. It went with not wanting to think about what Mallory was doing when she wasn’t at school.

Still, it made sense to read Halsey’s email on Prime Minister Ozols, if only to be as well-informed as possible, and if the United Heroes League used money improperly, she’d be asking questions.

If she survived the question asking she needed to do with Mallory.

The front door banged as Mal came in. She did an almost comic double take to see Lenny waiting.

“I’m not staying,” Mal said, sensing the trap and stomping down the hall to her bedroom, forcing Lenny to follow.

“We need to talk,’ she said to the back of Mal’s head.

“You need to talk. I need to change and go.”

“Where are you going?”