The Boss's New Plaything

by Layla Valentine

  “Eva Johansen,” the man read. “Write that down on the incident report, Jason.”

  “Got it,” Jason—the married officer—said.

  “I swear,” Eva told them, ignoring the realtor for the moment, “I never presented any kind of fraudulent credentials; I got into the open house on my own and looked around, and somehow got into a bidding war. I didn’t expect the guy to back off.”

  “Is this what happened?” The officers looked at the realtor.

  “Yes, but that doesn’t make it any less of a theft,” the woman said angrily. “I’ve lost out on a contract because I took her bids at face value!”

  “Did she sign a contract?” the married officer glanced from the realtor to Eva.

  “Well—no,” the realtor admitted. “But she presented herself fraudulently!”

  “She played a game with you,” the non-married cop said with a shrug. “Technically, what she did wasn’t a crime; she didn’t actually steal anything.”

  “But—but…” The realtor looked as though she might throw herself at the cops, or maybe at Eva, and Eva stood as steadily as possible, almost hoping the woman would assault her; if the woman struck a blow, the cops would cart her off instead. “But she committed fraud!”

  “Did you ask her for identification?” the realtor shook her head. “Did she present credentials of any kind? Or write some check with a fake name?”

  The realtor shook her head again.

  The married cop sighed. “It sucks, but she’s technically not guilty of any crime that we can charge her with,” he said. “You should have vetted her more carefully.”

  “This is bullshit!” The realtor turned away from the police and looked at Eva, her eyes glittering with anger. “You can be absolutely sure that my people will track you down and you will be in the hole for as much money as I can make you pay.” She shook her head. “You’ll be hearing from a process server.”

  Eva’s heart pounded in her chest, and her blood roared in her ears. The realtor began gathering up her things and speaking with the police officers, demanding the report that they were writing, demanding Eva’s contact information from her ID. Eva took her license back from the officer and shoved it into her wallet and then into her purse, looking around the room. She had to get out of the apartment; she couldn’t risk the possibility of the woman finding something to accuse her of that the police would be able to charge her with.

  She spotted a business card on the mantelpiece. Ari Christodoulou. Her eyes widened and she looked to make sure that the realtor was still occupied in her tirade. She reached up and snatched the card off of the mantelpiece, slipping it into her purse next to her wallet.

  “If that’s all, officers?”

  The two cops nodded curtly, and the married officer held the realtor back as Eva darted past the group, opening the door with fumbling hands. She plunged into the hallway and followed the corridor to the elevator, shaking her head at the bizarre turn the evening had taken. Not only had she been fired, now she had narrowly escaped arrest, and might not escape a lawsuit. God, my stupid, big mouth, she thought as she waited for the elevator to arrive.

  The elevator pinged and Eva stepped through the opening doors, pounding the button for the bottom floor. How am I going to get out of this? What am I going to do? she knew that she would figure something out—she always seemed to, when the situation came down to the brass tacks—but for the moment she could only curse herself for having gotten in over her head once more, and for the fact that she’d become so wrapped up in the flirtatious revenge.

  She rode the elevator down, reviewing the previous hour in her mind. She sighed, realizing that she’d done the same thing that had always gotten her into trouble in the past. The image of the Greek man’s face flitted through her mind; he had been so handsome, so striking, and so infuriating that she hadn’t been able to help herself. One of her friends—or someone had passed for a friend when she’d been in the game—had told her more than once, “Eva, your temper is going to get you in trouble one of these days. You can’t let it stick to you—you have to let it slide off your back.”

  She had gotten better at it over the past year; the call center work had helped her, at least a little bit, in keeping her tongue still when it felt sharpest. But something about the man’s only-too-true assessment of her had rankled. Eva had known full well that he was right; she should have just left, and salvaged the opportunity she’d snatched at by looking into scamming one or two of the prospects the realtor had attracted. Instead, she’d let her temper get the better of her.

  Eva stepped off of the elevator on the ground floor. Unlike her first attempt to leave the building, she put one foot in front of the other, and continued straight to the exit, unwilling to dawdle lest she somehow run into the realtor or the police on their way out of the building. She knew she had to do something.

  Chapter Four

  The following afternoon, Eva sat down at her coffee table, reaching into her purse for the business card she had snagged from the mantel at the open house. She opened up her laptop and waited for it to load. She glanced around the living room, sighing as she compared it with the penthouse she’d seen the night before; she almost wished that she hadn’t even gone to the open house. All it seemed to have done was start trouble for her.

  Turning her attention back onto her computer, she unlocked the laptop and opened a browser window. Eva typed the Greek man’s name into her search engine, checking the business card twice to make sure she was spelling it correctly. Now, let’s see where I’ve seen him before.

  Results came up quickly: a Wikipedia article, along with a long list of headlines. “Well apparently he’s at least somebody,” Eva said to herself, opening results in new tabs. A picture of Ari Christodoulou confirmed at least that the Greek had been who he said he was—something that Eva had, in the back of her mind, doubted.

  She began to read, starting with the Wikipedia page. Ari Christodoulou was apparently a very wealthy man indeed; he was worth billions. The son of wealthy parents, he had come to America and expanded on the fortune they had given him. Most of the man’s money had come from an international shipping concern that he’d built up in his twenties. That answers why he would be able to bid tens of millions of dollars without batting an eye, but not why he looked so damn familiar. Eva turned away from the Wikipedia information and pulled up the news items about the man.

  A quick look at the headlines informed Eva that “news” about the man mostly centered on his social life; Ari Christodoulou was a person of interest to at least half a dozen tabloids, and as Eva read bits and pieces of the articles on him, it was easy to see why. Billionaire Shipping Magnate Spotted Leaving Exclusive NY Club. Ari Christodoulou Seen with Rising Supermodel. Christodoulou Takes Out Fourth Girl in Two Months.

  Eva grinned to herself; the headlines finally put the issue of the man’s familiarity into context. She had heard of him before, seen him in the gossip rags at the supermarket. He was a well-known womanizer, rarely seen with the same date twice, often spotted at clubs, bars, and the most important parties in the city.

  She delved deeper into her research, trying to think of a way to get in touch with the man. Eva skimmed articles about Christodoulou’s tumultuous, party-driven life, filing away names and references. She noticed that the most recent gossip stories about him had been a few months before, and wondered what had changed in the man’s life to make him decide to take a break. Addiction? Heartbreak? It was impossible not to wonder.

  Eva scribbled a few references down on the pad she kept on her desk, thinking hard about the best way to go about what she wanted to do. She needed to talk to Christodoulou; that much was clear. He had wanted the apartment—and he might, possibly, be able to help her get out of trouble by buying it up, if she put it to him the right way. But the difficulty would be getting him to meet with her at all; not only had Eva not given her real name at the open house until the police had come, but even if she gave the name that Chris
todoulou would recognize, she didn’t doubt that he’d dismiss her and refuse to meet.

  Eva used one of her favorite sites from her grifting days; her credentials still worked on the private investigator site that she’d learned how to use under Jared’s tutelage. She put in Christodoulou’s name and a few details began to come up: people he had been seen with more frequently than once or twice, his preferred haunts, and even a few of the hotels he had previously lived in for weeks or months at a time. Eva compared the list to the names she had scribbled down; it seemed there were a few women in Christodoulou’s life that he might be willing to meet with again.

  She quickly narrowed down the list of possibilities; if she were going to pose as one of Christodoulou’s previous ladyloves, it would make sense to pick one she could at least convincingly imitate for a few minutes over the phone. The phone part isn’t that hard. If I can get him to meet somewhere, it needs to be a place where he won’t want to make a scene. A strategy began to come together in her mind and she found a few videos of interviews with one of his previous lovers.

  It was almost six o’clock when she unplugged her phone from its charger and checked the number on Christodoulou’s business card one final time. Eva took a quick, deep breath and dialed.

  “Hello? Who’s this?”

  Eva’s lips curled in a smile and she pitched her voice low, mimicking the woman she was pretending to be.

  “Really, Ari? You lost my number so soon?” Eva let her voice ripple with the suggestion of a French accent.

  “New phone,” Christodoulou said. “Who is this?”

  “Laurette,” Eva said. “I can’t believe you didn’t put my number into your phone.”

  “Well, maybe there was a good reason,” Ari said, his tone amused. “You are trouble on two legs.”

  “I’m trouble?” Eva laughed, keeping her voice pitched low. “I thought you were the one with the party on speed dial.”

  “That might be true,” Christodoulou admitted. “I never expected I would hear from you.”

  “Well, I’m in town,” Eva said. “Thought it might be nice to catch up. Besides, I have a proposition for you.”

  “A proposition?” Christodoulou clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Considering the day I’ve had, I can’t help but be intrigued. Are you free tonight?”

  “As a bird,” Eva replied. “Where can we meet?”

  “Let’s say…” Christodoulou seemed to consult something. “Mise en Place, in an hour. I’ll get my usual table.”

  “I’d expect nothing less,” Eva said, letting her voice crackle slightly. “One hour. I’ll see you there.”

  She barely waited for Christodoulou to say goodbye before she hung up, setting the phone down on the desk once more. She considered the situation ahead of her: she needed to blend in at the restaurant the Greek had suggested.

  Eva stood and strode into her bedroom, heading directly for her closet. There were still a few items she’d been able to keep, a few things that hadn’t been taken as evidence of the crimes Jared had committed. She chose her favorite dress from the back of the closet, sighing with a mixture of pleasure and regret at the sight of the lace and fine fabric.

  She stripped off her clothes and brought the dress with her into the bathroom. Eva took a quick shower and redid her makeup—not her usual professional, subtle look, but more akin to the way she’d worn her face when she’d been in the game.

  Letting her hair cascade around her shoulders, she slipped into the fine designer dress, along with the heels she’d gotten to go with it. Eva looked at herself in the mirror; if she didn’t know better, she’d almost have thought she’d never even left the con world. “Either he’ll hear me out, or he won’t,” she said to her reflection, turning her head one way and then the other. She didn’t think that Christodoulou would make a scene—he would just leave, if he decided not to speak to her. But a man like him would hopefully be at least a little intrigued.

  Chapter Five

  When Eva arrived at the restaurant, she felt the familiar tingle through her nerves that she’d gotten every time she’d pulled off a con: her heart beat faster, her body felt strangely alive and numb all at the same time.

  More than once as she’d made her way downtown, she’d considered the possibility that Christodoulou had set her up; that he had known she wasn’t who she said she was, and wanted to further humiliate whichever pretender had called him. “Never give a mark too much credit,” one of her friends had told her, once upon a time. Eva had learned from experience that it was just as bad to not give a mark enough credit: there were at least half a dozen people in jail from Jared’s operation—Jared included—that could attest to that fact.

  She stepped up to the hostess stand and kept her polite, wealthy-woman smile on her face as she waited to be noticed by the skinny blonde in charge of the book.

  “Good evening, and welcome to Mise en Place,” the woman said, returning Eva’s smile. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “I’m meeting someone, actually,” Eva said, instinct taking over. Her voice remained perfectly cool, her body language confident. “The reservation should be under Ari Christodoulou.”

  “Yes, of course,” the blonde said, her expression warming up slightly. “We’re always happy to have a friend of Mr. Christodoulou’s as our guest.” The woman plucked a small sheet of card stock off of a pile next to her stand, and gestured for Eva to follow her.

  “Has Ari arrived yet?”

  The hostess shook her head.

  “He should be here within minutes. Feel free to peruse the menu while you wait.”

  The hostess pulled out a chair and Eva seated herself at it. She glanced at the menu, trying not to feel conspicuous as she thought back to other dinners at high-class restaurants, a year or more before. All of that had gone away, along with the money she’d earned; it was hard not to feel a twinge of resentment at anyone who could afford to eat at a restaurant like Mise en Place on a regular basis without resorting to con games or other semi-criminal activities.

  Reading the options on the menu made Eva’s mouth water. If Ari wouldn’t help her, then she was screwed—but if he at least heard her out, she might get a good meal out of the situation. Braised leeks with hazelnut brown butter…scallops with porcini mushroom dust…chilled lobster with crab and cod roe. Everything on the menu sounded like the most delicious thing that she could put in her mouth. Eva sighed as quietly as possible.

  Movement in the corner of her eye pulled Eva’s attention away from the menu. She set it down and looked up in time to see the hostess bringing Ari Christodoulou to the table. His gaze landed on her and his eyes widened; Eva’s heart beat faster in her chest as she considered the possibility that she might—once more—have overplayed her hand. For an instant, she worried that he might out her, might disgrace her. Instead he merely sat down at the table and thanked the hostess for her attendance.

  “Where did you get my number?” he asked quietly.

  “Business card,” Eva admitted.

  “That was pretty clever,” Christodoulou said. “Laurette would be appalled, of course—but somehow I doubt that you care very much about that.”

  Eva smiled wryly. “Means to an end,” she told him.

  “So tell me why I shouldn’t get up and walk away? Maybe tell the hostess that I’m being stalked?” Christodoulou looked in the direction the blonde had gone in.

  “I’m in a predicament.”

  “I figured as much,” the Greek said, smiling slightly. “Tell me about it, and let’s see if it’s something I might be interested in.”

  Before Eva could explain, however, the waiter arrived. Eva hesitated, holding Christodoulou’s gaze with one eyebrow raised in question.

  “I think we’ll take the tasting menu,” Christodoulou told the man, setting the menu aside. “With the white Bordeaux.”

  “So,” Eva said, pressing her lips together as she fought down the sense of pride that rose up in her, paradoxically, in re
action to having to expose herself. “You were right about me being a faker.”

  “Of course,” Christodoulou said with a shrug. His lips twitched with amusement. “I’m surprised no one else caught onto it.”

  “I’m pretty good at faking,” Eva told him. She took a quick, deep breath and drank a sip of her water. “Anyway, I obviously don’t have a hundred million dollars to spend on an apartment.” She sighed. “I don’t even have the ten million that the deposit would require.”

  “How much do you have to your name?”

  Eva snickered softly. “When my last paycheck from my job posts, I’ll have about three thousand dollars in the bank—if that.” She cringed at the idea of it; the pay would see her through maybe another month of rent, bills and food—but she knew she was going to have a difficult time after that, especially since she knew it would be near impossible to find a new job.

  “Well, obviously you won’t be living in that apartment then,” Christodoulou said with a shrug.

  “The problem is deeper than that,” Eva admitted. Their first course arrived and she waited for the waiter to explain the food on their plates and the wine he was pouring into their glasses before she continued. When the waiter bowed out, Eva looked at Christodoulou once more. “The realtor tried to get me arrested.”

  “For pretending to be a rich person?” The Greek laughed quietly. “That’s not a crime.”

  “She tried to claim it was fraud, but the police didn’t go for it.”

  “So if the police wouldn’t arrest you, what’s the issue?”

  Eva took the first bite of her food; it was an amuse-bouche made of quick-cured fish, finely diced radish and micro greens. The flavors spread over her tongue and Eva sighed with pleasure.

  “The issue is that the realtor is going to sue me,” Eva said. “She thinks that I’ve ruined her sale—and I guess technically she’s right about that, since you were the only one willing to put up the amount she wanted.”