"Oh, and the jet. The jet too."
"The jet," Raven repeated, brows scrunching together. "Okay. We will get back to that. And the fact that I wasn't in on any of that. Which is a problem. But I want to get to the most important thing first."
"My bad tan lines," I quipped, but there was no levity in my voice.
"Wasp, look at me," Raven demanded, voice sad, hollow, drawing my gaze to her face, finding her blue eyes wide, panicked. "I am going to need a straight answer from you right now, okay?"
"I can try," I admitted, not wanting to promise her anything I wasn't sure I could give her. Because I was too confused about this whole situation—and my reaction to it—to give her any kind of rational explanation about it.
"Did something happen?" she asked, words heavy, hanging in the air like summer humidity, thick, hard to ignore, making breathing difficult. "Did the job go south? Do you need me to come with you to the police station?"
"The police station?"
"Did he hurt you?" she asked, point-blank, making guilt kick me in the stomach.
Of course her mind would go there. Mine likely would have too if a once lively, carefree friend suddenly took to the bed, barely eating, unable to bring themselves to do basic daily necessities.
"No. No," I added more firmly, sitting up against the headboard.
"You can tell me if it happened. Or not tell me, but let me take you somewhere to tell someone."
"It's not that, Raven. But I appreciate that."
"If it's not that, what is it? I really don't understand. I want to understand. This is not like you. I don't recognize this person. And I know you inside and out. What happened?"
I took a deep breath, swiping my knotty hair out of my face, shrugging my shoulders.
"I think the con was so good that I fell for it myself."
"I don't understand," Raven said, shaking her head. "What was the con? Who was the mark? What went wrong?"
"It was a sweetheart scam."
"You make them fall in love with you."
"Exactly."
"To what end? For money? For access to information? What did the client want?"
"They wanted me to break his heart."
"Oh," Raven said, head jerking back. "That's not a common one."
"No," I agreed, nodding.
"He must have really hurt someone to make them want that kind of revenge."
"I wasn't provided a lot of detail. Just a bottom line. And it was too good to refuse."
"Who was the mark?"
I should have kept it to myself.
But this was Raven. I never kept anything from her for long.
"Fenway Arlington."
"Fenway Arlington. Fenway... that sounds familiar."
"He's very rich. And very generous. And known for being a bit of a playboy."
"I think I've heard Roman mention him. You know how men in business like that are," she said, shrugging. "They all know each other. If by nothing else but a common friend or something like that. So you followed this Fenway guy to Paris."
"Yeah. And he brought me to Bali and Australia. He's a bit... impulsive."
"Gee, that sounds like someone else I know," Raven teased.
Impulsive.
Yeah.
That was part of the problem, wasn't it? I hadn't given a single step of this job nearly enough thought.
"So what happened between Paris, Bali, Australia, and you showing up on our doorstep?"
"At some point," I started, feeling the truth like a boulder in my chest that needed to be chipped away at, made into smaller, more manageable pieces. "At some point, I stopped acting," I admitted, wincing. "It was fun," I admitted. "It was fun and we had a good time at the monkey sanctuary and the marketplace. And in the cave. God, the cave," I groaned, closing my eyes, trying to force the images away, trying to focus, not let myself go back there.
"What happened in the cave, Wasp?" Raven asked, knowing me too well, knowing there was a story there. "Wasp?" she pressed when I sat there with my eyes closed, finding the words harder than they should have been to admit.
This was my best friend.
We talked about sex all the time.
But this was different.
Because, I guess, in the past, sex had always been a power move on my part.
Sex with Fenway was perhaps the only time I'd been with a man and given even a small bit of my power away.
"I slept with the client," I admitted, finding that the separation, the choice not to use his name made it easier to admit.
"Okay," Raven said, trying to process this information. "You slept with the client because it was good for the job, or because you genuinely wanted to do it?"
"I wanted it," I admitted. "And then I continued to want it. Day and night. For about a week," I told her, shaking my head at myself.
"I think we both know that sex is sex. It doesn't have to be more than that unless we want it to. So my question is this. Was it just sex? Or did it mean something to you?"
"You know the answer to that."
"I want to hear it."
"It meant something to me. And it was more than sex. It was everything. We fucked in that cave, and then suddenly, I wasn't a conwoman and he wasn't a mark. I was just a person. Who was kind of into this other person."
"Into," Raven repeated as though the word didn't make sense. And, to be fair, it didn't make sense. Not as it related to me and the opposite sex.
"Yes, into. Like a normal woman is into a normal man."
"Wow. Okay."
"That's it?" I asked, feeling my lips curve upward slightly. "That's all you have to say to this revelation?"
"I'm processing," she told me, taking a deep breath. "If someone asked what phrase I would be more shocked at coming out of your mouth—that you were going to shave your head, forsake all material things, and dedicate your life to meditation in a hut in the woods all alone, or that you might have feelings for a guy, I'd consider the former the much more plausible option. And you'd have to be barefoot to do that, and we both know how much you like your heels."
"I know it's crazy. It took me a long time to see it too." I was still processing it, if I was being honest.
"So what was it about him that was so different?"
"I honestly don't know," I admitted. "He was utterly ridiculous. He was not someone I should have been into."
"Utterly ridiculous sounds interesting. You've always had a thing for interesting."
"That's true."
"How was he ridiculous?"
"He is just over-the-top in every way. He decides at the drop of a hat to hop onto his private jet or his massive yacht and just take off to some other part of the world. He does things like rents out an entire tourist attraction so that he can show it to you when it is empty. He buys everything you look at for too long at a market. It was just... it was all crazy."
"Maybe that's your type."
I guess I wouldn't know. I'd never wanted a man for more than a night, so I didn't stop to consider what about them I would be into. Aside from being able to hold a halfway decent conversation in the bar before heading back to a room somewhere.
I always knew that if a conversation started with something along the lines of, 'Hey did you hear about this new conspiracy theory blowing up Facebook?" or "So, the Illuminati," I knew I was out.
I liked lighter hair and swimmer's builds instead of tall, dark, and handsome or insanely jacked.
Outside of those sorts of things, I didn't have a 'type' because I never spent that much time with those men.
It was entirely possible that I liked ridiculous men.
"I thought opposites were supposed to attract," I told her, knowing that I was generally the craziest person in any given room, someone willing to run off at any given moment to do something fun or interesting, someone who ran cons for a living. Sweetheart cons, nonetheless.
"You're a nut," Raven told me, though I sensed a 'but' coming. "That said, you are very rational and ground
ed. Sometimes people don't see that right away. Being a conwoman who lives in a skoolie and wears ankle-breaking heels to concerts makes you seem a lot more irrational than you are. But you are a good businesswoman. You have more street smarts than anyone I know. And I am including more than those biker brothers of yours. You might be crazy, but you balance it out. Does this Fenway guy balance himself out?"
See, the thing was, he did, didn't he? No one saw that. I wasn't even sure those closest to him saw that because he was really convincing at being flip and outlandish. But he had a serious side. He was someone who had worked to increase his family's wealth—despite how much of it he blew with his ostentatious lifestyle. He had endured a hard life that had given him discipline. Though he typically chose not to use it, it was there should he want to.
"He does," I told Raven. "I think his crazy side is the dominant one, but he does have another side as well."
"You know what I like about that?" she asked, looking wistful, a little dreamy, having moon eyes for the idea of me with a happily ever after like she had.
"What?"
"That there is no completing the other person. Neither of you are lacking. You have it all. But you have personalities that commingle nicely. I like that."
"Well, it doesn't matter now," I said, reaching for my blanket again, pulling it up to my chin like a little kid.
"It does matter," Raven countered, shaking her head. "And I am going to need some more details."
"Like what?"
"Like how it ended. Like what has been going on in your head since you got back here."
"I finally felt confident that he had strong feelings for me," I told her, unable to use that word. You know the one. The one that would hurt too much to admit. "Then I packed and left while he slept."
"No note?"
"No note. The mystery is what hurts the most when you get ghosted," I reminded her. We'd been over it many times in the past, but she was retired, rusty.
"Do you feel guilty?"
"We don't do guilt in our business."
"Wasp," she said, shaking her head. "Come on. We're not talking about the countless other assholes. We're talking about this particular asshole. Do you feel guilty for knowingly hurting him?"
"Yes," I admitted, the taste of that word bitter on my tongue.
"Okay and now for the important one," Raven said, raising a brow at me. "Did you love him? I know you said feelings. And feelings can be a lot of things. But did you love him?"
"I think I was starting to," I admitted, feeling a sting at the backs of my eye, blinking it away. I didn't cry. That wasn't my thing.
"Shit," Raven said, shaking her head.
"Shit?" I repeated, feeling my lips curving up—my first genuine smile in days. Raven had never been one to use swear words even before children. Now it was an even more strict rule for her.
"Yeah, that about covers it, don't you think? Shit. Or 'What an utter clusterfuck" works too," she added. "Well, what now?"
"What do you mean what now? There is no what now. I drag myself out of this bed when I get to that point. And then I get back on the road. I get back to my life."
"Running more cons."
"Yes, seeing as that is what I do for a living. What you used to do for a living," I added, actually sensing judgment in her face, despite all the years she had done the exact same thing.
"Look, I don't think what we did was wrong, per se. I just have some distance from it all now, and I can't figure out why the hell it felt like such a passion of ours for all those years."
"We did it for all womankind. For all of our fellow women who got screwed over by shitty men. They deserved a chance to get some closure. We provided that. Or we helped them prove their spouses were cheating so they could get the proper alimony. No, wait," I said, holding up a hand when she went to speak. "Let me throw a hypothetical at you, okay?"
"Okay," she agreed, nodding.
"Imagine a year from now, you start to suspect Roman is screwing around behind your back. I know, I know. He's perfect. But they all are, aren't they? Until they're not. So suspend your disbelief. Imagine sitting up in bed at night while he sleeps like a baby as you wrestle with the knowledge that those hands he puts on you are the same ones he had on another woman just hours before. Sit with that a minute. Feel how that might feel."
"Wasp—"
"Now imagine you finally got the nerve to tell him you were done, that you want out, that he could have his other women, but not you at the same time. And you take the kids and you go. And you find out that he canceled your cards. And he removed your access from accounts. And you are forced to get several low-paying jobs just to keep your kids in a shitty motel room because you can't afford anything else, and all you have left goes to a lawyer to try to get him to pay the alimony he owes you since he invalidated the prenup for cheating on you."
"I get your point, Wasp.
"And imagine he hires a shark, someone who wants to bite you and your children to shreds, to leave you with nothing. So, your piece of shit cheating husband can go on with his life like nothing happened, like he was through with all his responsibilities. You know this happens. We've heard almost this identical story dozens of times over the years. They have no recourse. Or they had no recourse. Until we showed up. We helped them get what was rightfully theirs by proving their spouse was a cheater. Pictures and all. Is it a morally gray area? Yes, absolutely, but that doesn't mean it isn't a needed service. Shitty men should have to pay."
"But not all men are shitty men, Wasp. That is the point I am trying to make, I guess. What if Fenway isn't a shitty man? What if some woman just blew something out of proportion? For as many shitty men we have come in contact with, we have seen truly disgusting, mean-spirited women too, ones who were just vindictive and ugly-hearted, ones who just wanted to screw with someone's life because there was a misunderstanding or something like that."
"Yeah, but we could smell that from a mile away."
"True. In person. Like all our other meetings have always been. But you never said anything about meeting this woman."
That was true.
But it was also true that I had slowed down on in-person meetings a while back because I no longer had Raven around to do a meeting when I was on a job or vice versa. The workload had made me automate some things that had once always been handled manually, with face-to-face meetings and carefully outlined plans.
"It was a lot of money, Rave. Don't tell me you would have told me to turn it down. Back when we were still on the road. Back when money was tighter for both of us."
"No, you're right," she agreed, looking out the window of a house that everyone would collectively call a mini-mansion. "And we both know that if he was an asshole at some point, he likely has more than enough money to try to make sure that never got out to ruin his public persona, or blowback on his family. But I have a hard time believing he was a dickhead if you were falling for him."
"Why not? Great women fall for shittacular men all the time."
"Well, that is the damn truth," she agreed, snorting.
We'd seen it far too many times in our lives. These amazing, intelligent, successful women for some reason ending up with men who sat around and watched sports all day, who had no ambition, who left them to handle all the housework along with the breadwinning.
Why?
That was a good question.
We'd never been able to come to a satisfying explanation for the phenomenon.
"Because I know you. He would have to be a skyscraper of a man to make you take a second look, let alone catch feelings. Maybe somewhere along the way, he pissed off the wrong woman by doing nothing other than being himself. And maybe that self was not right for that woman, but it doesn't mean it isn't right for you."
"Yeah, well, even if that were true, there is no chance, Rave. I took money to con him. He believed me. And that means he would never be able to believe me in the future because he knows how good an actress I am. It's a nonstarter."
I expected some empty platitudes that we both knew I would see right through. I didn't get those, though.
"I think you're right. And that sucks. And I hate this for you. But I'm here, okay? And you are welcome to stay in this bed and mope for as long as you need to. So long as once a week, you get your ass out of that bed so I can wash the sheets."
"That sounds reasonable," I said, giving her a weak smile. "Thank you, Rave," I told her.
The aching feeling in my chest was hard enough. I couldn't imagine having to deal with it all alone in Wanda, just traveling with no direction, the loneliness seeping in through the cracks in the windows, curling its long fingers around my throat until I couldn't breathe through it anymore.
At least here, even if all I was doing was wallowing in my room, I wouldn't ever be alone. I could hear Raven moving up and down the halls, the kids squealing and laughing, Roman coming home. I wasn't part of it, but it was all around me. It was a comfort of sorts.
Eventually, I had to have faith, this would fade. Then I could get back on the road, get back to my life, let Raven and her family get back to their normal without the creepy aunt in the attic bedroom, haunting the halls with her misery.
"Can I perhaps interest you in a shower?" Raven suggested, making a snort escape me.
"Is that a hint?"
"You're starting to smell, babe," she told me, wrinkling her nose.
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" I asked, throwing off my blanket, making my way off the bed.
"I will clean the bedding while you're gone."
Alone, I let the water rush over me. And because no one was around to see them, and because I had plausible deniability of their existence as they merged with the water running down my face, I finally let the tears come.
I didn't remember the last time I'd cried. When my father died, most likely. A lifetime ago.
I slid down the slate wall of the shower, squatting under the stream of too-hot water, heels of my palms pressed into my eyes as I cried with the reckless abandon of a child, until my body was shaking with the sobs, until I was starting to worry they might never stop.
Until, eventually, they did, leaving me hollowed out inside, like someone had reached inside and scooped something out of me, discarding what they found.
The Client Page 14
