Con Artist

Unable to help myself, I’d googled him after I got home last night. He isn't just a rich guy like I first thought, he’s a level of wealthy that I would never be able to comprehend. I spent so long looking over his life that was filled with privilege. Though I only spent a moment in his company, it seems my first impression was accurate. Everyone thinks he’s an asshole.

It should be against the law to be that handsome, that rich and an asshole. There should be a bigger flaw than only being an asshole. That’s something a person could fix if they wanted, though with the kind of money he has, I guess he doesn't have to.

I reach under my hoodie and into the zipper pocket on the inside. I left his wallet at home under my pillow. It’s got his credit cards inside, but I kept his license in my pocket. I don’t want to think on it too much as to why I did it, but when I run my finger along the edge I feel a connection to him. Normally I feel guilty after lifting someone’s wallet, but with him the guilt never came. I was actually a little pissed it only had a grand inside of it once I figured out who he was.

I jump to my feet as Bradford’s office door opens and I slide the license back into my hoodie. I pretend to be casual as I lean up against the wall and watch Josh leave his office. I give him a bright smile knowing he can’t say shit to me so close to Bradford’s office. All he does is glare at me before he passes and then reaches out and tugs a strand of my hair. I grit my teeth, wanting to stick my foot out and trip him, but instead I ignore him. I was hoping that if I didn't play into his stupid games he’d leave me alone. It doesn't look like that’s happening.

“J,” Bradford calls.

“I’m coming,” I say as I walk into his office.

He nods to the door for me to close it and I do before taking a seat in one of the old leather chairs. They’ve been here for as long as I can remember, but even when I was a little girl they looked old then, too. Bradford never has anything flashy, but I think he’s one of those people who stuffs money into his mattresses or buries it out in a field. At least that’s how I picture it.

“Everything go okay yesterday? We didn't get time to talk.” I sit up a little straighter at his question.

“Yeah. Everything was fine. Did something happen?” Yesterday was easy. I had to slide by a list of places and collect some money owed to him. Then I had to stop at the store for his mom and grab some groceries. I left the money I collected with her and I didn’t run into problems. I never have any issues when I collect dues, either because I’m lucky or Bradford gives me people he knows won't be an issue.

“Ma said you had dinner with her.”

I nod because I often do whenever I stop by. She’s always trying to feed me and telling me I’m too small. I helped her cook dinner and she asked me to stay because I always enjoy spending time with her. I don’t know how old she is, but I guess she has to be in her late eighties. She sure doesn’t look like it, or act it for that matter.

“You look like you have something you want to talk to me about.” He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure nothing else happened yesterday?”

The man I’d lifted the wallet from comes to mind. I never try and do that shit so close to where I live and work. I’d only done it because I knew he wasn't from around here. Besides, he had it coming with all that manhandling. Maybe next time he won’t underestimate someone because they’re smaller than him. And have a vagina.

“No, all my pickups went good, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” I try not to fidget in my seat. I trust Bradford, but I’ve always hated that his office is at the end of a long narrow hallway and there are no windows. His office door is the only way in or out and it makes me feel trapped. I think it gives Bradford the opposite feeling because he faces the door and god knows what kind of guns he’s got stuck to the underside of his desk.

“Out with it, Jelly Bean.”

The name he used to call me when I was a little girl puts me more at ease. I lean back in my chair. He hasn't called me that in a long time. Maybe he can see how anxious I’m feeling. The tingling that lingers isn't helping though. Nor does the suited man who keeps sliding into my thoughts.

“I want bigger jobs. Something that will make me more money,” I say, and he raises both his graying eyebrows at me. “Not that I’m not thankful for what you give me or anything, I—”

He lifts his hand to silence me. “I don’t think you’re not appreciative, I know you are. I know when I ask you to do something you’ll get it done. I never have to worry about the things I ask you to do.”

“Thanks.” I smile, not caring that I’m being given praise for doing things that might be wrong in the eyes of the law. It still feels good to be acknowledged for hard work, even if it isn't on the up and up.

“It’s actually why I wanted to talk to you; I think it’s time for you to take on bigger jobs. In fact, I think you could make us both a lot of money.” I perk up at that and move closer to the edge of my seat. “I know you want out of here, and I also know that I have a soft spot for you. I want what’s best for you, and if that’s away from here then so be it.”

My chest warms at his words. I have to fight back tears. It’s silly, I know, but I’m not used to someone caring about me even in the smallest of ways and it feels nice.

“You weren't meant for this kind of life, Jelly Bean, but it’s the hand you were dealt. You’re good at it, though. You could pick my pocket without me noticing.” he laughs, sounding proud.

It’s not something I thought I’d be good at, but I am. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do, but hearing Bradford’s praise takes the sting out of some of the petty crimes I’ve done. It doesn't take away all the guilt, but it sure helps.

“This could get you out of here,” he tells me as he leans forward and taps a folder on his desk.

“And you?” I ask, wondering why he still does this.

“I’ll never be out of here. Unlike you it’s in my blood. Besides, I’d go stir crazy sitting at home and this keeps me busy.” He shrugs.

“There are other things you could do,” I offer.

“Maybe,” he says, but we both know he isn't going anywhere.

He opens the folder and I lean into his desk as he turns it towards me. I can feel the blood drain from my face as I look down at a picture of the same man I haven't been able to get out of my mind. The one I tried to knee in the balls and then stole his wallet. Those blue eyes are as blue as I remember and it sends a warm shiver down my body.

“Bennett Hughes,” Bradford says, but I’m more than aware of who he is. “He has something I want and you’re going to get it for me.”

Chapter 4

BENNETT

I take a drink of my wine as I stare at the glass case against the wall. Inside is a single object that James is coming for. It’s an interesting name for a girl, and when I asked Bradford about it he said that she was named after her grandfather. He didn’t give up much information beyond that, and though he didn't act like she was important to him, his silence spoke volumes.

When I got to his office last night I told him who I was looking for. I was surprised to see his eyes light up right away when I gave him the description and the location of the incident. Bradford doesn’t normally play his cards so close to his chest with me, and I could tell that she meant something to him. I can’t help but wonder why he gave her up at all if she was important to him. It doesn’t matter either way, because money is the most important thing to him and I’ve got as much as he wants. I would have drained my trust fund to find her and he knew it.

The priceless Fabergé egg lies nestled in a pillow of velvet with lights on around it. It’s been in my family a century, but I’ve never really looked at it like this before. It’s always been here in its case and I walk by it almost every day without noticing it. But now I see it with new eyes because this is what’s going to bring her to me.

It’s late, but I can’t exactly sleep out here in front of it to see when she decides to pay me a visit, so I drain the