Breaker - A Fake Boyfriend Romance (Criminal Passions Book 3)

by Layla Valentine

  I’d been worried about the conversation, but the longer it went on, the more I wanted to figure out just what the hell was the story behind Caleb. He was a body-language expert, a great actor, and had some ability to fish out details that he had no reason to know.

  “Like I said,” said Dad. “She’s got a mind like a steel trap.”

  “And more than that, she really wants to do some good in the world. Hell, we both do.”

  “All right,” said Dad. “So, what—you’re planning on starting a charity or some such?”

  “Sort of. We came up with the idea for a restaurant, but not just any restaurant—one that employs foster kids from the community. I had to work when I was growing up, and as much as I might’ve hated it at the time, it really helped teach me the value of hard work.”

  I jumped in. “And these kids…all a lot of them need is someone to give them a chance, a place where they can prove themselves.”

  Not my best performance, but Caleb was doing so much heavy lifting that I barely needed to say a word.

  “And you’ve looked into all of this?” asked Dad. “Employing minors is no small thing. All sorts of legal concerns to be worried about.”

  “I have plenty of friends in the legal profession,” said Caleb. “We’re going to make sure all the bases are covered.”

  He took my hand again. “But this is all in the planning phases. Sierra’s been talking about possibly going to business school to finish her education there.”

  “Is that right?” asked Dad.

  “That’s right,” I said, surprised at how easily the lie came out of my mouth. “But I don’t want to get too ahead of myself. I’m not sure what the future’s going to hold for me, but the important thing is that I’m ready to do it on my own terms. Dad, I know you want what’s best for me, but there comes a time when I have to make my own decisions.”

  He said nothing, and while Caleb was really selling it all, the fact of the matter was that I was telling Dad that the last decade of his plans for me were all going in the garbage.

  “Well,” he said. “You seem to think you know what’s best for you. Needless to say, this will be the end of my financial support for you. You’ll have a month left, and at the end you’ll be responsible for your apartment, your bills, and everything else.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I don’t want to be one of those spoiled adults who still relies on her parents for everything.”

  “And more than that,” said Caleb. “I’ll be here to help her. She’ll be staying at my apartment. But she’s been very insistent that she pay her own way. You should be proud, Mr. Finch. Most people would be terrified of being cut off by their parents, but Sierra…she’s been thrilled about it. Sure, she’s been worried about disappointing you, but she’s ready to strike out on her own now.”

  “I think this all sounds great,” said Mom. “Caleb, we’ve only just met, but I can tell you really care about our daughter.”

  “I do,” said Caleb. “And I’d do anything for her, just like you would.”

  Then Caleb did something that shocked me. Underneath the table he placed his hand on my leg and squeezed it.

  What the hell?

  But before I could react, the waiter brought our food.

  “Now,” said Caleb, “let’s eat!”

  Chapter 6

  Caleb

  I was relieved when the food finally arrived. Sure, bullshitting like that came naturally to me, but it was still work. Think of it like a muscle—even if you’re the strongest guy in the gym, there’re only so many bench presses you can do before you start to feel worn out.

  When the delicious-looking steak was placed in front of me, I had to suppress my smile. I’d overheard the specials while I was at the bar, and it was a pretty solid guess that Sierra’s father would’ve chosen it.

  One look at the guy made it clear he was a meat-and-whiskey sort of guy. Gaining someone’s trust was all about appealing to their tastes.

  I stabbed the meat with my fork, using my knife to cut into it. The meat was as soft as butter, reddish liquid pooling below it as I sliced it open. The smell was heavenly, rich and deep.

  Every job had its perks, and one of mine was being treated to fabulous dinners by the wealthy types I often chose as marks. I’d made sure to let the bartender know to add my tab to Mr. Finch’s table, which meant the evening was going to be on him. Hey, least he could do for his daughter’s new beau, right?

  “So,” said Mr. Finch after dabbing the corners of his mouth with his linen napkin. “You’re in business, Caleb?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Harvard Business School. One of the youngest graduates, if you don’t mind my bragging.”

  Harvard Business School was one of my go-tos when I needed a background story. I’d done plenty of research on the topic, memorizing the names of some of the professors—even a few of the students who would’ve been in my graduating class. If he happened to have gone to it too, I’d be able to hold my own in a conversation about the subject.

  “Wharton man myself,” he said. “What sort of business are you in?”

  Wharton. Good. Meant the conversation would be a little easier.

  “Restaurant equipment,” I said, launching into another one of my fabricated background stories. “I work as a middleman of sorts.”

  “So you don’t actually make the equipment?” asked Mrs. Finch.

  “No,” I said. “Too much overhead. Not to mention you have to manage the employees, the factory space, the shipping—lots to worry about.”

  Mr. Finch gave a knowing nod. “That’s right—the real money is in being the middleman. Find people who make a product, and people who need it. Link them up, take a little bit of money for your trouble.”

  I gave an approving nod to reflect his body language. “There you go. I like to keep things simple, stay nimble and light. Last thing you want to deal with is a factory strike or an increase in pay because of some union.”

  The slightest hint of a smile formed on Mr. Finch’s lips. Again, I was appealing to his nature—in this case, his capitalistic instincts.

  Something that I’d always found fascinating in my line of work was how people seemed to like you more the more you were, well, like them.

  “All right,” said Sierra, folding her napkin on her lap. “The less shop talk, the better.”

  “Right,” said Mr. Finch. “I’m more concerned about your futures. So, you really want to go from supplying restaurants to running one? That seems to fly in the face of your ‘keeping things simple’ practice.”

  “You’re correct, but I think it’ll be worth it. I’ve got plenty of lines on equipment, so it’ll be no problem supplying the place with everything it needs. And then…there’s more.”

  “Is that right?” asked Mr. Finch. “More how?”

  “More in that…while you’re right that being a middleman is good money, you’re not really making anything.”

  “Other than money,” said Mr. Finch with another small smile. “But I see what you mean.”

  “Right. Opening a restaurant would give me a chance to produce something tangible, to have something concrete that would be mine. And if I can give something back to the community while I’m at it, then so much the better.”

  “And hiring teenagers will help you keep payroll low,” he said. “Smart.”

  Damn, this guy was ruthless. I’d been sizing him up as a potential mark, but I was beginning to get the impression it wouldn’t be easy.

  “We’re going to withhold some of their paychecks,” said Sierra. “Put it in a college fund and profit-match it with what we earn from the restaurant. So, when they turn eighteen, they’ll have a college fund to get started with.”

  Mrs. Finch liked this, offering a warm smile. “I think that’s so nice, giving these kids a chance they might not otherwise have.”

  I smiled myself, impressed at this little improvisational flourish on Sierra’s part. I began to wonder if maybe she m
ight be cut out for this line of work.

  Well, whatever. Maybe after I took her and her family to the cleaners, she’d come out the other side a little savvier about these sorts of things.

  The dinner went on, the Finches asking questions about my business plan, along with getting to know me a little better.

  “Are you an only child?” asked Mrs. Finch as the waiter cleared the plates away. “Sierra, have you gotten a chance to get to know any of Caleb’s family?”

  Her eyes went wide for a moment, as she realized she hadn’t learned anything about my family. That was by design, of course.

  “She hasn’t,” I cut in, “because there aren’t many of them to meet.”

  “Is that right?” asked Mrs. Finch. I could tell Sierra was relieved at me picking up where she might’ve fumbled.

  “Sadly, yes,” I said. “My parents passed when I was young—lost them in a car accident.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Finch. “Go on.”

  That part wasn’t bullshit. But the sadness I took on at revealing the information was. My parents were hardly parents, both of them small-time crooks who were barely around when I was growing up. They cared more about their next big score than caring for me.

  “Happened when I was ten.” Again, more truth. That was the key to a good load of bullshit—sprinkle in some truth here and there.

  I took Sierra’s hand again and this time, she squeezed it back. There was real sympathy behind the touch. I had her hook, line, and sinker.

  Mr. Finch, on the other hand, continued to regard me as if he might catch me in a slipup at any moment.

  “So,” said Mrs. Finch. “It’s just you? No brothers or sisters?”

  “I have a little brother,” I said. “Billy. He’s all the family I’ve got, and I love him to death.”

  Mrs. Finch smiled, but her husband remained impassive.

  “And what line of work is he in?” he asked.

  “It’s…hard to say. We both reacted to our parents’ deaths in different ways. When it happened, I realized how important it was to be self-sufficient, to be able to look out for yourself. Billy, on the other hand, took it as a sign that life was chaotic and unfair, so why should he have to play by anyone’s rules? To him, that meant petty crime.”

  “Sad,” said Mrs. Finch.

  “Indeed,” said Mr. Finch.

  “I try to look out for him as best I can, but you can only do so much.” I shook my head and looked away, sending the signal that I didn’t want to talk about the subject any longer.

  In truth, Billy and I were partners in crime. But my assessment of his personality and his reaction to our parents’ deaths was true. He was a wildcard, and while I did my best to keep an eye on him, it was hard at times.

  The waiter returned, this time going over the dessert menu. Mr. Finch ordered for the table again, along with a round of espressos. By this point I was ready to get away, to have Sierra on my own. The con job was just beginning, and I had a lot of work to do.

  “So,” said Mr. Finch. “You’re going to be letting my daughter stay with you while she rethinks her plans?”

  “He is,” said Sierra, beaming. “And it’s working out great so far. Caleb’s got a nice, big apartment downtown, and he’s giving me all the time I need.”

  I smiled, squeezing her hand. “It’s her future we’re talking about here, right? How can you rush something like that?”

  “Be that as it may,” said Mr. Finch. “I’d prefer she didn’t spend too much time ‘figuring things out.’ Youth is a precious resource, and squandering it will always come back to bite you in the end.”

  “So true,” I said. “But don’t you worry. I’m keeping a fire lit underneath her.”

  After dessert and our coffees, Mr. Finch paid the bill without a moment’s hesitation. I suppressed a grin—even if the con didn’t pan out, I’d still managed to get a free dinner out of it all.

  We left the table, making our way out to the front of the restaurant. The evening was well on, and the lights of downtown Baltimore shined in the distance. It was a beautiful night, fresh spring air all around us.

  Mr. Finch squared up to me. Tall and imposing, he stood in front of me. But I was tall too, and I could tell that he was used to looming over people. Small things like that were important in negotiations; even in civilized matters, sometimes it all came down to who was literally the bigger man.

  “Well,” he said. “This evening has been a surprise. I’m not pleased that Sierra has chosen the path that she has, but, at least for the time being, she seems to be in all right shape.”

  “I’m better than that,” said Sierra. “I’m feeling better about life than I have in a long, long time.”

  “I suppose we’ll see if your enthusiasm has been misplaced.” He turned back to me. “Caleb, we’ll be speaking again soon. But it’s been good to meet you.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Finch,” I said.

  “Call me Dan.” He extended his hand and I took it, his eyes locked onto mine as we shook.

  I bid Mrs. Finch farewell, and Sierra did the same for both of her parents. Then they left, hailing a cab and disappearing down the block.

  Relief washed over me as they drove off, and Sierra’s reaction was the same.

  “Holy…holy crap,” she said. “That was something else.”

  I grinned. “Definitely deserving of a drink, I think.”

  “No doubt. Let’s go.”

  We started down the block. The neon lights of a bar called out to us from the corner, and moments later we were inside seated at the bar. I ordered a pair of drinks, the two of us saying nothing until they were in our hands.

  “How the hell did you do that?” she asked. “How did you know just how to get on my parents’ good side?”

  “They’re old money,” I said. “And I’ve worked with people like that before. They’re big on formality and manners and all that. Easy peasy.”

  “But how did you know that my parents only dated for a few months before getting married?”

  “Well, they’re older than us. Dating for a few years before getting married is kind of a new thing, really. I guessed, and the odds were in my favor.”

  “But what if they’d said they hadn’t gotten married right away?”

  “Then I would’ve said something like, ‘oh, the way you two are so obviously in love, even if you didn’t get married soon, I bet you knew right away,’ that kind of thing.”

  She smiled, clearly impressed. “You know, this is all kind of a unique skill set for a businessman.”

  I shrugged. “Being in my line of work, you have to be good at these sorts of things. Gotta be a people person.”

  Now I was back to conning her. It was another trick that worked in my favor—she was thinking she was in on a lie with me, so anything I told her was the truth. Getting someone to think you two were partners in crime, so to speak, was a reliable tactic.

  “And the thing about the restaurant for foster kids,” she said, shaking her head. “That was a stroke of genius.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Good stuff, right?”

  Little did she know it wasn’t bullshit. Opening a place like that had been a dream of mine for years, something I could do to give back after I finally got out of the con game. But Sierra didn’t need to know that. Hell, not even Billy knew about it.

  She glanced away, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertip. There was something on her mind, and I had a feeling what it was.

  “Okay…you remember when you put your hand on my leg?”

  I grinned. “What about it?”

  “What was that all about?”

  “You know about method acting, right?”

  “I mean, I’ve heard of it.”

  “It basically means that when you’re playing a role, you really get into the character. In our case, we were both playing the part of happy boyfriend and girlfriend. And little touches like that are things happy boyfriends and girlfriends
do, right?”

  She smiled, a sliver of pure white visible between her sexy lips. “It sure is. I mean, not that I’d know.”

  “Crazy that you’re not having guys trip over themselves to get to know you.”

  “Aside from that sleaze at the bar. That’s part of the problem with med school—you study, you sleep, and there’s not much time for anything else. No dating, as much as you might want to.”

  “Well,” I said, raising my glass. “Maybe now that you’re out of that world, you’ll have a chance to meet someone special.”

  Another smile. “Maybe you’re right. I suppose we’ll see.”

  “I suppose we will.”

  The two of us tapped rims, a soft chime sounding out.

  I was still running a con, that was for sure. But the longer I spoke to Sierra, the more I began to get the impression there was something else going on between us.

  Among all of the lies of the evening, was there something real?

  Chapter 7

  Sierra

  I couldn’t quite believe it. What should’ve been one of the most stressful nights of my life was turning out to be one of the most…fun.

  Caleb was charming. Actually, that would’ve been an understatement. There was something about him, something that made it impossible to take my eyes off him. Sure, he was handsome as hell, but that was only part of it. The way he talked, the way he moved, the way he flashed that perfect smile—it was like he was specially designed to catch my eye.

  But the handsome part…damn, that was something else. With his jewel-like green eyes and thick dark hair, the man was stunning, good-looking enough to make a living off his appearance. But he was a businessman and seemed to make a decent living at it.

  “Okay,” he said. “So, what’s your dream? We kind of got into it when we were talking about your parents. I know you don’t want to be a doctor. But I can tell you really want to help people.”