“Hey, Molly, I have go.” Rhys flung open the door from my side and squeezed past me, almost running right into Nate.
I am going to murder that man, I swear to god.
“Oh, sorry about that.” Rhys nodded at Nate and strolled down the hall.
Nate turned his head slowly back to me. “A migraine, huh?”
“He’s a friend.”
It was the simplest lie I could come up with.
“You don’t have friends,” he snapped. “Are you fucking him?”
Oh, no, he didn’t!
“Whoa! No. I’m not fucking him. I can barely stand the guy!”
“Then why was he in your apartment?”
My brain and my mouth completely disconnected. An average of 6.8 lies formed in my head but none of them would come out of my mouth.
“Forget it.” He dropped the flowers and stormed off down the hall to the elevator.
I started after him but the older lady in the apartment across from mine poked her head out.
I smiled weakly at her, slowing to a stop. “Hi, Mrs. Blumenkrantz. How are you?”
“Could you kids stop swearing and yelling and stomping down the hall? I’m trying to watch my stories.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Blumenkrantz. We’ll be quiet.”
She shut her door and I launched into a run, only to see the gold elevator doors at the end of the hall sliding shut. Nate glared at me from between the doors. The reflective metal showed me panting slightly, a look of desperation painted on my face.
I looked helpless. I didn’t like looking like that.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Six days later, Rhys and I checked into a London hotel under assumed names, posing as American tourists. I made a joke about Big Ben compensating for something. The concierge was not impressed.
I checked my phone again when we got into the room. And then a minute later.
“He’s not going to text you back,” Rhys said, unzipping his suitcase. “He thinks you cheated on him.”
“How could I have cheated on him? We weren’t even technically dating.”
“Fair enough. Seems a little possessive to me.”
“Just protective.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter at this point.”
I flopped down on the bed and closed my eyes. I hadn’t slept on the plane. I’d been having trouble sleeping since the thing with Nate happened. I’d lied to him so many times. He didn’t know me. Maybe I didn’t actually know him either.
There was a knock at the door. Knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock. Knock.
I raised an eyebrow at Rhys as he opened the door. An androgynous woman in a slick navy blue pinstriped suit carrying a dry-cleaning bag and a suitcase nodded at Rhys and stepped inside. Her short green hair was cut at a sharp angle at the bangs and her eye makeup mimicked David Bowie’s in Labyrinth.
I sat up on the bed. I hadn’t been expecting company. Or aliens.
I stared at Rhys. “Who is this?”
Rhys rolled his eyes. “Calm down. This is Margot and she’s a genius.”
“Rhys gave me your measurements,” she said in a thick accent, something between French and Russian. “I have a dress for you.”
I eyed Rhys. “And how exactly do you know my measurements?”
“You do a lot of online shopping.” He shrugged.
“I actually brought a dress with me. Just a classic little black dress,” I said. “I’m good.”
“A little black dress isn’t going to cut it for this event. It’s black-tie.” Rhys pulled his toothbrush from his bag. “I figured you wouldn’t have a gown, so I put in an order.”
“The dress is fine.” I glared at Rhys.
Margot pursed her lips. “But can your little black dress hold climbing gear, a glass cutter, jewels and a gun?”
“I usually just keep my ID in my bra.” I glanced at Rhys. “‘Cause I’m a classy lady.”
Margot hung up the bag and unzipped the side. My mouth dropped open.
The gown was gorgeous. The top was a strapless, ocean blue, jeweled corset. The full skirt was a mass of big ruffles that looked like deep sea waves.
“Whoa.”
“I didn’t want to make it too—how you say—flashy but it will do.” She lifted up one side of the skirt. “This comes off if you need to run. There is a short skirt with pockets and shorts under that if you need them. The dress is long enough to hide your shoes so you can wear flats with it. Just don’t wear sneakers. I have shoes for you. They are very nice.”
Margot lifted up the top layer of the skirt to unveil big pockets where I could keep several items. It was kind of amazing.
She dropped the skirt back down and pointed at a discreet pocket at hip level. “And you can put your lipstick in there.”
“But feel free to keep your ID between your boobs.” Rhys grinned.
“This dress is incredible,” I said. “Thank you so much.”
“I am getting paid, cupcake. It is not a gift.” Margot didn’t even look at me as she spoke, continuing to look over the dress and smooth out various creases and puckers in the fabric.
I touched the ruffles, checking the weight of the dress. I looked at Margot. “It’s so light. And it doesn’t make a swishing sound!”
“I told you. She’s a genius.” Rhys smiled.
Margot put the suitcase on the bed. “We have a lot of work to do.”
She worked like a meticulous sculptor.
My eyebrows were lightened and plucked. (“You do not pluck often, do you?” “No. Do they look that bad?” “Yes.”) False eyelashes were applied. My freckles were covered. My eyes went from blue-green to brown. The studs in my ears were replaced with dangling diamonds. (“These are kind of heavy. Do you have any other—” “Stop talking.”) My hair was tucked under an elegant wig. Margot worked to make sure every chocolate brown wave and curl was hair-sprayed into submission. (“Don’t worry about this wig. You will need a chainsaw to get it off.”)
“I feel like I’m doing undercover work,” I said to Margot. “Like in Charlie’s Angels or something.”
Margot ignored me and kept working on my French manicure. Well, applying French manicured fake nails over my nasty, chewed-up nails. Same difference.
Rhys came out of the bathroom, adjusting a cufflink. Despite the wig, the prosthetic nose, the makeup and how crazy he made me feel 99% of the time, he looked hella dashing.
He caught me looking at him and smiled.
“Wow,” I said.
“I know. I’m really sexy.”
He ruined the nice moment. Of course.
Margot stood back and admired her handiwork.
“Alright, cupcake. Stand up and—how you say—twirl.”
I did as instructed since I was genuinely terrified of her.
I stood in front of the mirror and gaped. “Holy shit.”
It was like I was in someone else’s body. It was kind of surreal. Plus, my waist looked tiny and my boobs looked magnificent.
This must be how girls feel when they are transformed for their high school prom. Maybe I should have gone to mine.
I could see Rhys staring at my reflection in the mirror. I looked over my shoulder at him.
“What do you think?”
He nodded and broke off eye contact. “You look nice.”
Margot handed him a box. He scooped out a diamond necklace. He stepped closer to me, cleared his throat and put the ornate necklace around my neck, fastening it in the back. His knuckles brushed up against my neck as he fumbled with the clasp. He stepped away and cleared his throat again.
“You, uh, missed some freckles on her shoulders.”
Margot waved him aside and dusted some more makeup onto my clavicle.
Half an hour later, we took a back exit out of the hotel and got into a black cab.
It was show time.
* * *
We drove up a long driveway, passing a brightly lit lawn dotted with well-groomed topiaries. High shrubs acted as a fence arou
nd the whole property, with an old, multi-level stone mansion situated in the middle at the end. The sun was setting, slipping behind the tall chimneys.
If your property looks like this, you obviously have too much money and deserve to get robbed.
“No gate,” Rhys whispered into my ear.
The driver’s eyes darted to the mirror. I giggled, pretending Rhys said something witty or sweet—fat chance of that.
The driver opened the door for us. I wasn’t used to being in plain sight during an assignment. I felt like I might throw up at any moment.
Oh well. Just aim for Rhys’s head or something.
Rhys offered his arm to me and I took it, switching my glittery clutch purse to the other hand.
“You have our tickets, right, darling?” Rhys asked in a perfect American accent.
How the hell does he do that? Whatever. Two can play that game.
“Yes, of course, darling,” I said in an English accent.
Rhys smirked and nodded. “Well done,” he said, switching to English as well. “Well done indeed.” His accent was better than mine. He sounded like Audrey—British and well financed from birth.
At the front door we joined the queue. Every other couple nearby seemed to have the same accent as Rhys. All of the men were in tuxes while women wore glamorous gowns of all shapes and colors. They all seemed to know one another—all members of some old money club where tennis, equestrian, sailing and high tea with the duchess were just part of daily life. I listened to tidbits of conversations around me.
“I hope Stella isn’t wearing the same gown as I am. It was such an embarrassment the last time.”
“Did I tell you my son drove our boat into the dock last week? What a disaster.”
“Oh dear. I suppose he’s off to rehab again?”
Rhys nudged me gently, looking at the far left of the wide building before us. Beside the end of the building was a detached, newer building—a garage.
We moved up in line and handed our tickets to a man with a list. He peered at us over his tiny round glasses.
“John and Beth Duncan,” he said, looking for our names on the list and flipping to the next page.
I glanced at Rhys and smiled back at the man.
Where are our names? Rhys, you said you took care of this. I feel sick. I think my underwear is creeping up. I hope my upper lip isn’t sweating. What if my wig falls off? Oh my fuck, where the fuck are our fucking names?
“Ah, yes. Mr. and Mrs. Duncan, right this way.”
We smiled. I tried not to heave a sigh of relief, as that would seem suspicious. We followed another man into a grand lobby that led to a ballroom.
A sign, positioned on an easel, stood by the door, reading the event name in fancy calligraphy: The Fox-Hartford Foundation for Women Benefit. Rhys saw it and his cheeks went pale. Audrey’s charity.
I’m going to be sick.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rhys stuffed shrimp into his mouth and tried to appear calm. Trying to be invisible in the middle of a crowded ballroom is hard.
“What do we do?” I said. “Audrey will murder us if she sees us.”
“She might not recognize us.”
“We should leave. I’m not stealing from Audrey—”
“This isn’t her house,” he said, smiling and nodding at an older gentleman who smiled at him first. “Audrey has a house in London. This place belongs to a friend of hers. An heiress who spends all her time doing charity stuff.”
“So you know this lady’s life story,” I said through a clenched jaw. “Yet you didn’t realize the event we were going to was for Audrey’s charity?”
Rhys grimaced. “The event wasn’t under the charity’s name. So, no. I didn’t see that. What are the chances—”
I put up my a hand. “I got it. Brilliant work, as always. We should go—”
Rhys grabbed a flute of champagne from a waiter passing by and basically shoved it into my hand. “We’re doing this. Relax.”
I sipped at the champagne while glaring at my partner in crime. I wanted to down my drink in one swig but didn’t because gulping champagne makes me farty.
I bet the people at this event don’t even fart. Especially that woman over there.
That particular woman seemed to attract a lot of attention, especially from the men. Her wavy blond hair gleamed like gold as she mingled. Her gown flattered her hourglass frame and flaunted her boobs with a daring V-shaped slit down the front.
Rhys saw where I was looking and glanced over. “Oh, wow.”
“What, who is that?”
“I can’t even believe it. That’s Ivy Dixon.”
“The woman from the painting we stole?”
“Yup.” He gave her another once-over, his eyes lingering inappropriately long. “Oh, yeah. That’s definitely her.”
He kept staring at her.
“Darling, if you’re going to play my husband tonight, perhaps you could not ogle the supermodel.”
“But doesn’t that make it more realistic?”
“I know how much you care about being in character. But seriously. Knock it off.”
“Think I could get off with her if we weren’t here for a job?”
“Not a chance. Let’s get out of here. You’ll just have to tell your client that we can’t—”
“I will do no such thing.” Rhys jerked his head down to look at me. “We’re sticking to the plan. Even if Audrey sees us, there’s nothing she can do.”
“You two must be Beth and John Duncan.”
We both looked over out shoulder. Audrey sipped on a flute of champagne, smiling.
Busted.
Perhaps she just sensed people were talking about her and flew in like a frickin’ vampire to investigate.
“I am so glad you could join us for this little fundraiser.”
Is there actually a chance she doesn’t recognize us?
I swallowed and didn’t speak. I glanced at Rhys.
“Yes, well…” He cleared his throat. “Anything to help a good cause.”
She lowered her voice as she spoke but maintained the ultra-polite tone I wasn’t used to. “Perhaps you two can have a bite to eat, a few drinks and then be on your way.”
Ah. She knows it’s us.
“But this is the event of the season.” Rhys squared his shoulders. “We’d hate to miss out on all the fun.”
“There will be no fun,” Audrey snapped, teeth clenched. “Please don’t make me call security.”
“Wouldn’t that just cause suspicion among the other guests?” I asked. “By the way, that’s a lovely necklace. Wherever did you get it?”
Rhys glanced at me but I never broke eye contact with Audrey.
The necklace Dad and I had found in the tunnel in Key West was draped around her neck. It had been cleaned up real nice since the last time I saw it, but it was definitely the same one.
Dad didn’t fence that necklace for me. He gave it to his awful girlfriend. Well, that’s just great.
Audrey sighed and sipped her drink again. “I don’t know what the two of you are doing here but I suggest that you change your minds and move along—”
“Audrey, darling!” Ivy Dixon appeared at Audrey’s side. “You just disappeared! I wanted to introduce you to…” Her gaze wandered over to Rhys. “Oh, hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Her voice was soft and breathy, like Jessica Rabbit.
“John Duncan.” Rhys took her hand and kissed the top of it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dixon.”
She giggled, flashing a perfect smile. Her piercing green eyes looked right past me. Audrey and I exchanged disgusted looks.
Audrey smiled weakly. “This is his wife, Julia.”
“Beth.”
“Whatever.” Audrey took another sip.
Drink up, Audrey. I’d love to see you get hammered and look like an idiot this evening. In fact, it would really make this whole thing worth it.
“So, what kind of business are you in, John Dunc
an?”
“I’m an archeologist,” he said without a hint of hesitation.
Audrey rolled her eyes and glared at the ceiling.
“That sounds fascinating,” Ivy said, touching his arm. “I’d love to hear all about it. We should have dinner sometime so we can talk a bit more. I adore astrology.”
“Archeology,” I corrected.
Ivy didn’t even glance at me. “Whatever.”
“Ivy, darling, there are so many people here anxious to meet you. I think you’re the reason most people bought tickets to this event,” Audrey said with a laugh.
Ivy tapped Rhys on the tip of the nose with her manicured finger and smiled. “We must talk more later tonight, John Duncan.” She followed Audrey and winked at Rhys before disappearing into the crowd.
He looked back at me. “What? Why are you glaring at me?”
“We’re supposed to be married.”
“But we’re not. We’re pretending,” he whispered, glancing around.
I finished off my champagne. “We’re here to do a job. We’re not here to get laid.”
Rhys grinned. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” I said, my voice slipping out of the English accent for a second. “I just want to do this thing right. Do you understand?”
“Alright, Mrs. Duncan.” He took my hand and kissed it. “I am sorry. Let me get you another drink.”
An hour went by and people were getting drunk quicker than I expected. Several couples left their complimentary shrimp in exchange for the dance floor. Seeing this, the DJ put on some slow music.
“Let’s dance,” Rhys whispered.
I shook my head. “I’d rather not have a lot of attention on us. Audrey already—”
He grabbed my hand and led me to the dance floor. He pulled me close, his left hand sliding down to the small of my back. He smiled and took my hand in his right.
“Some people were looking at us because we weren’t dancing,” he whispered directly into my ear, his warm breath tickling my neck. “Just follow my lead.”
Molly Miranda: Thief for Hire (Book 1) Action Adventure Comedy Page 14
