by Tara Brown
“Honestly? I don’t know. I’d need a minute to think about it.”
“You have a minute.”
“Okay. Uhhhhh. A website that couldn’t be hacked. A system of being paid that couldn’t be traced. A couple of girls who could easily blend in and not be recognized if they wore simple disguises. A way of recording every interaction as proof. An email account that’s linked to the website that could send the recordings of the guy being disloyal.”
“Have you given something like this much thought before?” I asked quietly, a little worried.
“Yeah, this is totally what I spend all my free time thinking about,” he said sarcastically. “It’s simple logic, moron.”
“Can you help me make this?” I closed my eyes for a second and really contemplated if this was a good idea.
“Probably. You would make your entire year of tuition and probably mine in the next two months of summer. I would totally be down for this.” He was too eager. “I legit have nothing better to do. But I have one condition.”
“What?”
“Hennie. You give me your blessing to ask her out. I will knock that website outta the park.”
“Fine,” I hissed, and closed my eyes and forced myself into a momentary chant of do whatever makes him happy before I continued with the regular worries. “Are we going to burn in hell for manipulating people like this?” Second-guessing was already starting.
“No. Dude. If girls are willing to pay you for this, that’s their choice, and you should take the money. And it’s the guy’s choice whether or not he acts like a dick. Not your problem. This is like being a PI for love. That’s what you should call it. PI for Love.”
“I was thinking Fidelity Tester,” I whispered, and checked the hall again.
“That sounds stupid.”
“You’re stupid.” We automatically slipped back into our brother-sister banter.
“Love Tester,” he offered, ignoring the name-calling game.
“Man Tester.”
“Dear God. Don’t you claim to work at a marketing firm?”
“Shut up. Test Dummy.” I laughed, thinking how insanely stupid this idea might be and how dumb I sounded even contemplating it.
“Winner!” He smiled. I could hear it in his tone. “Test Dummy it is. I’ll set up the email account now: thetestdummyNYC at gmail dot com. The address is available; no surprise there. I guess there isn’t a lineup of other creeps putting money on the name.”
“Okay.” I inhaled sharply. “I’ll go advertise it where all the girls look, kinda random and casual, like it’s on the DL.” I took a second deep breath. “Thanks.”
“No, no. Thank you for the chance to contribute my talents on such a positive, healthy, world-benefitting project, with the side perk being you forced to accept my adoration of Hennie. First order of business, stop the players; next up, save the whales. I’ll get started now.”
“Okay, doofus. I’ll see you later.” I hung up and held my breath for a second, noting that the mud was staring to cool a little. I had to do this now or I wouldn’t ever get the gall to.
I passed a lady who smiled, understanding what it was like to have to pee after they wrapped you. The humor in her grin told me that.
But I didn’t have to pee. I had something much more Machiavellian than that on my mind.
At the doorway that led to the front entry where the lounge was, I paused, peeking around the corner to see if anyone else was there.
It was empty, so I mummy sprinted across the room to the side hallway where the Post-it note wall was located. I glanced around as I quickly wrote a note, wording it in a way that might entice my friends. I cleared a spot on the wall in the middle and placed my well-worded ad.
“Trouble in love? Trouble with trust? Or just desperate to catch that man of yours in a sticky situation and have him publicly humiliated? We can help. Email thetestdummyNYC at gmail dot com for more info or check out our Instagram, thetestdummies.” I read it aloud and took a photo, then sent it to my brother, hoping that insta-handle would also be available.
My heart was racing as I returned to the room.
The walk back was less suspect. I was just a girl with a mummy wrap of mud coating her body and a garbage dress. Nothing out of the ordinary about that.
But on the inside, I was a storm of second-guessing and regret.
The idea was flawless, really. I could get a camera, something tiny and discreet, and do what Hennie and Martin both suggested: wear a hot disguise, hit on the guy I was being paid to track, and post the evidence to the girl who hired me. The camera wouldn’t ever point at me. I would remain anonymous.
If there was one thing the upper echelons of society hated, it was scandal. I would be paid to be discreet, and the revelations wouldn’t make front-page news.
As I nestled back into my chair and watched Marcia sleep, I got more and more comfortable with my decision. I grabbed my phone and texted Martin to make sure he got the spelling correct.
The Test Dummy was brilliant. It was even a genius name. Why couldn’t the bug bars be just as easy a sell?
While I was providing a service that would earn me the money I needed, I was also vigilante-style saving my friends from shitty guys their parents forced on them. At least, that was how I was choosing to justify this to myself.
Guys like Theo were crappy boyfriends because they could be, and they deserved to get caught and outed. Not just because they were doing terrible things to girls they were supposedly in love with, but also because they were bringing down the names of guys like Monty, who would never stray. Everyone sort of assumed rich guys were dirtbags, and that wasn’t the case 100 percent of the time. Monty was amazing and loyal and sweet.
The ones like France and Theo deserved everything they got, and I was happy to serve them their just desserts.
For a price.
Not that the price tag would be anything to these girls. I could charge a thousand dollars a guy easily, and they wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. Marcia spent more every week on different face creams and perfumes.
She bought thousand-dollar sunglasses last week, for Christ’s sake.
If she knew I was stuck for school tuition, she would have paid it without asking a single question, which was precisely the reason I never told her.
I wouldn’t ever ask her or anyone else for money, but I wouldn’t mind earning it fair and square.
The anonymity of it all kept the transaction honest and me protected.
A small part of me, likely the common-sense side, whispered warnings of this being the worst idea I’d ever come up with. And that if I ever got caught, my link to this world would be severed. Even Marcia might not defend me and my actions. As an outsider, I wasn’t allowed to take certain liberties or cause major ripples, and reporting on the sins of the rich was number one.
But the cons of the case were weak compared to the pros.
And by the time Marcia was awake, I was set in my resolve to go through with it.
Nothing was going to bring me down from this high, not even the stupid party I had to go to with Marcia tonight, even though it was a friggin’ Wednesday. Who had parties on Wednesdays?
The rich.
They could afford to take work off the next day. And those of us who needed to be in their good graces couldn’t afford not to show face.
Chapter Fourteen
CINDERELLA’S FIFTY BUCKS
Jordan
The party was packed, considering it was a Wednesday. I didn’t understand how anyone thought this was a good idea, partying midweek. But it was summer vacation now, which meant days of the week were just a suggestion. Nothing was off the table as far as partying and socializing was concerned. If the party was good enough, Dad, Grandpa, and Stephen would work from home the next day. I would be the only one going in. And it wouldn’t be the first summer where that happened every week.
Scanning the room, I sighed, thinking more about my book at home and less about the group of p
eople I was with.
Dad was with Mr. Weitzman, parading his prize around the room. He peacocked like no other. Since the Amy thing started, I realized how hard everyone had been vying for the Weitzman fortune. And, yet again, our family was winning.
And everyone in the room knew why. Eyes landed on me, likely wondering if I was in on this, then likely assuming I was. And wasn’t I?
Amy was with her friends, laughing and animated in a way she hadn’t been with me. But the conversation was one I wouldn’t have kept up with. She was talking about that band again, the one she was obsessed with.
“Holy shit, look at the talent over there.” Stephen nudged me. “That chick is so hot.”
I followed his gaze to someone we both knew too well. She was a year younger than me and a lot younger than Stephen, not to mention a complete flake. “Marcia La Croix?” She dated one of my friends, Monty, so I tried not to see her in that light. She was a knockout, but only if you didn’t talk to her. I didn’t know how Monty did it. The guy was either really turned on by a lack of awareness, or he was so in love he didn’t notice.
“No, not spoiled little Marcia.” He nodded at the girl on her left. “The girl next to her. Look at that ass.”
I parted my lips to say something about him being a pervert and married, but paused because Stephen was right. The girl looked good from behind. Long dark hair to her waist that looked silky and smooth, like I could run my hands through it. Her tight dress hugged her form beautifully. Long legs, a slim waist, a perky ass. Not too tall so her high heels didn’t make her an Amazon.
She turned around, glancing at something and then smiling wide. My insides tightened, and butterflies went crazy in my stomach. “Holy shit.” It was her, the girl from the boat. That smile.
“Oh, wait, that’s the friend of Marcia’s and Monty’s whose name I can never remember. What’s her name? I don’t think I ever realized she was this hot. Which seems impossible, right? Like, how did I miss that?” Stephen whistled softly. “Or maybe I’ve just been too drunk every time I see her to notice.”
“Lacey.” I smiled.
“Right.” His eyes were glued to her, likely to that ass, as he mumbled like a pervert, “So hot.”
But she was more than an ass. She was funny and sort of rude in a disinterested and yet engaged way. She was the girl who left as I was about to have my way with her. I could feel her in my hands still if I thought hard enough. Fortunately my brother kept nudging me and saying dirty words, so I didn’t get too into the memories.
That dark silky hair and those bright eyes, full of humor and maybe bliss. Maybe that was what freedom and euphoria looked like. Her smile was wide, and her body, dear God. That skin-tight dress was giving me heartburn. She looked hotter tonight, less makeup and more natural beauty.
I almost took a knee seeing her again, but this wasn’t the place to act on that. Not in front of my family.
“Man, if I weren’t married to the second-hottest girl in the world, I’d already be peeling that dress off.” Stephen glanced over at his wife, who was glaring at us both and smiling tightly. She didn’t hear the conversation, but she knew her husband well enough to guess what was happening and wasn’t pleased. I didn’t know how Cynthia did it. She was like Monty, some kind of saint.
“You need to go grovel. Now.” I nudged him back. “Before she realizes she’s about to lose her status as the second-hottest woman in the world.” To Stephen, the hottest woman in the world was Wonder Woman. Wonder Woman in all forms, but mostly the cartoon one. I suspected he whacked off more to cartoons than he cared to own up to, but there were things I didn’t want to know about my brother, so I didn’t ask.
“Yup.” He slapped me on the arm. “On it.” He left me alone and sauntered to his wife, kissed her cheek, and whispered something.
She smiled wide and hit him in the stomach. He feigned that it hurt, and they nuzzled into each other’s cheeks.
It was weird watching my brother, of all people, be in love. I’d wanted that for him, but I never expected he would find it. And not with someone like Cynthia. She was a score. She saved her drama for later, like a lady, like Stephen was supposed to. She smiled at the right people and tolerated the ones she wanted to kill, like our father. She was exactly the right kind of someone a family like ours needed, except she wasn’t one of us. She was from a middle-income family and worked hard for everything she had. She was better than us. I always imagined Stephen liked that she wasn’t from this world and hadn’t dated half of it, the way he had.
I realized, seeing them together, that I wanted it too.
First I had to get rid of the burden I was saddled with, though.
The burden currently laughing her face off, looking lit up and happy. She and her five closest friends were discussing stalking the band across Europe all summer.
A bit defeated by the whole situation, I turned back to the bar and sipped my scotch, ignoring thoughts of Amy and Lacey and my brother.
“Can I get a water?” a woman shouted, accidentally bumping into me, spilling my scotch on my fingers. “Oh my God. I am so sorry.”
I turned my gaze, hoping the unimpressed glare was adequately spread across my face. But there she was, the girl Stephen and I had just determined was the most beautiful creature in the world, standing next to me. The one I’d kissed on the boat and dragged to the bathroom. The one with blushing cheeks and a cringing face. I lightened instantly. “It’s you.” Clearly the fates intended for us to talk. Or had she spilled my drink on purpose?
“Sorry about the drink.” The joy on her face disappeared.
“It’s fine.” I glanced behind me, ensuring no one saw us talking.
“No, it’s not. I spilled your drink, and you guys always go for that scotch that costs a kidney per glass.” She slapped her tight stomach. “I have a spare kidney. And actually my grandma on my mom’s side has three kidneys, so you never know. I might have enough for two glasses.”
I laughed, even though I was trying to act cool and not flirt or be too excited that we were talking again and she was funny. God, she was funny. “It’s honestly fine. Why don’t I buy you a drink so you don’t have to give up your kidneys?” I leaned in. “And to be honest, this scotch has some serious markup on it. I’ve had better for less. I’d hate to see a kidney wasted on it.”
“Oh, yeah?” She widened her eyes, making me tense everywhere as her lips curled up into that beautiful smile. “You’d think in a place like this, they’d give you rich folk a discount. I mean, your glitzing up the place attracts the commoners like me.”
“Us rich folk? Right, the lower levels. How is it down there? I hear it’s fairly relaxed. No expectations or demands.” I cocked an eyebrow. Her comments on the boat about being on the lower decks made sense. She really wasn’t rich. Monty had spoken of her before, only I hadn’t paid attention.
“No demands? Not me,” she said, clearly with a chip on her shoulder. “I have loads of expectations and demands. Unlike you rich punks, I put them on myself. Which means I get to be what I want. I get to date who I want.” She jabbed right for the weak spot, like she knew what it was like being me. She leaned in closer. “And honestly, we have spines on the lower levels. Sure, we’re the odd ones out at the ball, but it’s worth it.”
“So you’re a Cinderella? The working-class beauty at the ball, and on the boat?” I accidentally let a little charm slip out and recovered with a disappointed question. “You know who I am, don’t you?” Being friends with Monty meant she had to.
“Of course.” She blushed and glanced down, sweeping her long black lashes as modesty and embarrassment over my compliment smothered her. “But you should know, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And your eyes might be polluted by the drink.” She recovered fast, no doubt accustomed to being hit on and for some reason not wanting to discuss the boat or the fact that we had very close friends in common.
“Then maybe I should be drinking this piss-poor scotch all the time.” I sw
allowed hard, forgetting myself.
She narrowed her gaze on me, and not in a positive way. Her gaze darted back to Amy and her friends. “Or maybe you should slow down on the drinking so you don’t confuse Cinderella for your princess.” She slapped down a fifty-dollar bill. “For the scotch, and if there’s any change, buy your girlfriend a drink too.” She turned with her water bottle and left me there, my mouth agape and stomach aching.
Stephen came over a moment later. “Tell me that hateful look she gave you at the end there wasn’t you blowing it?”
“Oh, I didn’t blow it.” I laughed and drank the last of what was in my glass, pocketing her fifty-dollar bill and letting the bartender fill me up on the account I always had open here. “But she did.” I glanced back at Amy. “Cinderella knew I had a new girlfriend and rubbed it in my face.” I couldn’t stop myself; I turned and searched the party for Lacey again.
When I found her, she wasn’t smiling like before. She seemed less jovial, like I’d ruined some aspect of her night by hitting on her or by merely existing.
“Your pretend girlfriend is cock blocking what might be the greatest experience of your life. It’s weird her name’s Cinderella, though,” Stephen muttered, making me laugh.
I’d already told him her name was Lacey. God, he was bad with remembering people he wasn’t in business with.
“Yeah, I need to hurry up and end this. I’m dying here.” I stared at Cinderella, feeling a sudden gravity in the situation. Her eyes and the way they lit up, even in rage. Her mouth and how soft it had been against my lips. Her body in that dress or in my arms in the bathroom, pressed against me. The conversation we’d had on the boat deck.
All of it was going to haunt me.
“We still on for massages tomorrow?” Stephen changed the subject but still stared at the girl. We both did. “The spa?” he prodded.
“Yeah. I could use a massage.”
“You look like you could use a happy ending. If you want, we could go to this place—”
“You’re married,” I reminded him.
“Shit, right. Jesus. I can’t believe I almost said that. I need to slow down on the drinks.” He put his drink down and fingered his wedding band. “I still have a business card if you’re interested. Best service in town.”
