Pretty Dirty Trick: A Rich Bitches Novel

by Kiss, Tabatha

  I glance around, trying unsuccessfully to find her one last time, before heading for the exit. I’ll try and contact her again on Monday.

  I step outside and reach into my wallet for my parking stub. I pass it off to the valet and wait on the curb, crossing my arms to block out a quick gust of wind as it blows in from around the corner.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  I turn to find a man standing behind me in a black suit and bright pink bowtie. The breeze pushes his shaggy, brown hair to the side and he smiles at me.

  “I believe you dropped this,” he says, elongating his words to show hidden meaning.

  He gives a large, obvious wink and holds up his hand, along with a folded dollar bill pinched between his fingers.

  “Uh...” I say slowly. He gives me another wink. “Look, buddy, whatever you’re asking me for, I’m not into it. But thanks.”

  He cocks his head. “Trust me, you are.”

  “I’m really not.”

  “Dude, just take it. It’s from Trix.”

  I look at the bill in his hand again. “Oh...”

  He slaps the money into my open palm and shakes his head in disappointment. “That could have gone down way cooler, man.”

  He spins around and walks back inside.

  I squint in confusion and look around for wandering eyes and listening ears before unfolding the dollar, quickly realizing it’s the same one-hundred-dollars I gave her earlier, but now there’s something written on it with dark red ink.

  You have a confession? St. Peter’s church. Noon tomorrow.

  I smile and glance up at the building. My eyes lock on a figure in gold in the window above. She vanishes out of sight as the curtain sways in her place.

  Damn, she’s good.

  Eleven

  Trix

  I twist away from the curtains to avoid his eyes as Lance looks for me in the windows. My chest flutters from the rush of it all, then immediately curls into a dreadful knot.

  If Marcus hadn’t have arrived when he did...

  “Ms. Argento.”

  I would have fucked Lance in the garden out of spite.

  I turn around in time to see Marcus bounding toward me, his face grimaced in annoyance.

  “What the hell was that about?” he growls.

  “What was what about?” I ask.

  “Cut the crap. The dance.”

  “It was a dance,” I say. “He won fair and square. What did you want me to do? It’s tradition.”

  “Is it tradition to whisper in the winner’s ear the whole time, too?” he asks. “What did you say to him?”

  I roll my eyes. “I was making small talk during an awkward situation. It’s what I do.”

  “What did you say, Trix?”

  “I... don’t remember. The music was loud. I was counting steps in my head.”

  His head wags back and forth. “No, you need to—”

  “Whoa—!”

  A man plows into us, spilling his clear drink all over Marcus.

  “I’m super duper sorry about that, buddy,” Robbie slurs. “Here.”

  He yanks off his pink bowtie and starts dabbing it along Marcus’ chest.

  “It’s fine—” Marcus pulls away.

  “No, really. Dude. I got thisss—”

  Marcus shoves him to arm’s length and glares at me. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “No, we won’t,” I say.

  He storms off toward the staff-only area, ripping off his suit jacket as he goes.

  Robbie steps in front of me, standing a little taller and not at all the drunken mess he was five seconds ago. “What a baby,” he says, raising his empty glass. “It’s just water.”

  I smile. “Thanks for the superb interruption, Rob.”

  “Anytime, Blossom. Fuck that guy.” He heaves a happy sigh. “I delivered your message.”

  I point at the window behind me. “I saw. Good work.”

  “You’re not gonna tell me what it was about, are you?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “Dammit.”

  “The less you know the better. Trust me.”

  “I can respect that.” He glances around. “Got any other messages you need delivered?”

  “That was the only one.”

  “You sure?”

  “You can just walk up and talk to her, you know.” I smirk. “You were married for almost two years.”

  His squinting eyes fall back to me. “While your point makes logical sense, in what world does logic apply to me and Melanie Rose?”

  “You guys seemed pretty logical for a long time.”

  “And yet... here we are.” He stuffs his wet bowtie into his breast pocket. “Thinkin’ I might head out. Thanks for the invite.”

  “Thanks for coming. Always nice to see you all cleaned up.”

  “I do look fabulous.”

  I laugh as he walks away with a casual wave. “Goodnight, Robbie.”

  I glance out the window again, knowing full well that Lance is long gone but part of me still feels him around. His scent lingers in my nose. His voice echoes in my head.

  Let me help you.

  Am I crazy for thinking he even can?

  Or am I letting myself fall into the same trap I always do?

  I eye the staff-only door as I pass by it, hoping that Marcus doesn’t plow through to find me. I breathe a sigh of relief when it stays closed. I navigate through the crowd, flashing my smile and greeting people I haven’t spoken to yet as I seek out Nora and Melanie. One eye stays open for my brothers, as I’m sure they have opinions of their own about that dance. And that kiss.

  I lick my lips as blood rushes to my cheeks.

  “Hey.” Nora greets me by the edge of the dance floor. “Where’d you run off to?”

  “Just getting some fresh air,” I say. I look at Clive beside her. He keeps one arm on her back. “Everything okay over here?”

  “We’re fiiiine,” she says.

  “Well...” Clive smiles. “She’s doing just fine.”

  I laugh at Nora. “Uh-oh. I know that face. That’s nine mimosas and no toast face.”

  She blows a raspberry at me.

  “She’s switched to water,” Clive says.

  I nod. “Good.”

  Nora grins. “You know what we should switch?” she asks Clive, her words slurring.

  “What?” he says.

  She pops up onto her toes and tries to whisper in his ear. He leans over to help her out, his eyes quickly growing wide.

  “Whoa,” he says.

  “Do I want to know?” I ask.

  He clears his throat. “I should probably get her home.”

  I smile. “Have fun. Be safe.”

  Clive takes her arm. “Come on, Nor.”

  She waves at me, perky as ever. “Bye!”

  They pass by Melanie and she pauses beside them, her smile instantly crawling up her lips at Nora’s piqued cheeks.

  “Goodnight, you two,” she says with a laugh.

  Her smile falls and she sighs as she walks over to me. “Well, this has been a dud,” she says.

  “No young, eligible bachelors?” I ask.

  “Not one.”

  “Well—”

  “Not one,” she repeats, glaring at me. “And no, I haven’t forgiven you yet.”

  “I had an extra ticket,” I argue. “I ran into him earlier this week. He said he wasn’t doing anything tonight.”

  “Ran into him where?” she asks as she reaches into her pocket.

  “Kenny’s.”

  She sneers. “Yet another black monstrosity?”

  “Apparently no.” I squint. “And don’t pretend like his tattoos weren’t your favorite thing about his body.”

  She pulls out her phone and snorts. “Oh, please.”

  “Then, what was your favorite thing, if I may ask?”

  “If you’re trying to make me say penis, it’s working.” She taps the screen with her thumb and pauses. “Whoa.”
>
  “Whoa, what?”

  Her jaw drops. “Whoa, whoa!”

  “What happened?” I ask, concerned.

  “It’s him!”

  “Him?”

  Her brow rises. “Or her.”

  “Her?” I gasp. “The secret admirer?”

  I swing around to stand beside her and read over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, I took your advice and went to that flower place and gave them my number,” she says. “I guess they passed it on.”

  “Aww. What’d they say?”

  “‘Hey, beautiful,’” she reads. “‘I heard you wanted me to call you. Hope you don’t mind texting instead. The thought of reading your words written only for me gives me goosebumps.’”

  My mouth sags. “Oh, wow. That’s good.”

  “Perfect spelling, too.” She sighs. “I think I’m in love.”

  I laugh. “Slow down, Mel. You still have no idea who this is.”

  “I’ll find out soon enough.” She reads the text again, biting her lip. “‘Beautiful.’” She giggles.

  “Still want me to try and find you a plaything for tonight?” I tease.

  She waves a hand. “Oh, no. You’re forgiven now. I’m gonna go home and stare at this for a while longer.”

  “Are you going to reply?” I ask.

  “I’m sure I will.” She raises her head and glances around.

  I flash a knowing smile. “Looking for somebody?”

  “No.” She shifts. “You sticking around?”

  “Nah. These things run themselves once the auction starts and I don’t feel like bumping into Marcus again.”

  “Want to share a cab?”

  “Yes. As long as you let me read that again.”

  She hands me the phone as we walk toward the exit.

  “Damn, that’s good,” I say again.

  Melanie giggles.

  Twelve

  Lance

  The church is warm and quiet. There are very few people inside, just a handful of worshipers scattered among the pews with rosaries hanging from their fingers, slowly sliding from one bead to the next.

  My eyes bounce from face-to-face. No Trix. I begin to wonder if I walked into the wrong St. Peter’s church but then an old nun stands up out of the back pew and walks over to me.

  She says nothing. She gestures with one arm, pointing the way to the confession booth along the farthest wall to my right.

  “I’m looking for Beat—”

  She jerks her arm, pointing again.

  I point as well. “Over there?”

  She doesn’t bother a third time. She just stares at me in annoyance before spinning around and wandering back to her pew.

  I turn toward the right wall and walk over to the booth. After a quick glance around, I open the door and take my seat on the little bench inside. I sit quietly, eying the intricate lattice in front of me beneath the small lamp that barely lights the place enough. Can hardly even see my hands...

  The window slides open, making me flinch.

  “Good afternoon, Lance.”

  It’s dark but I can make out her red lips. “Ms. Argento.”

  “Trix,” she corrects.

  I chuckle, glancing around the window. “And here I thought that was just short for Beatrix.”

  “It works on multiple levels.” She smiles. “This trick, for instance, is an oldie but a goody. Back in the day, my great-great-grandfather used to slip the priest a single flask of hooch every week through this window in exchange for keeping his mouth shut about the speakeasy next door.”

  “Just one flask? That’s not a lot.”

  “Oh, my great-great-granddad made some good shit. Trust me, it was more than enough to fuck you up — especially a man of restraint like a priest.”

  “And did you bring me here to tell me what your family bribes the priests with now in exchange for their silence?”

  “No.”

  “Then, why are we here?”

  Trix presses her lips together and exhales. “I will let you ask me three yes or no questions about my family,” she says.

  I squint. “Ten.”

  “No deal.”

  “Eight.”

  “Five,” she counters. “Final offer.”

  I nod, biting my cheek. “Deal.”

  A slot below the window opens and Trix sticks her pinkie through it. I laugh and entwine mine with hers, shaking once.

  “All right,” she says, pulling her hand back. “Go ahead.”

  “Why are you doing this for me?” I ask.

  “That’s not a yes or no question.”

  “It’s not one of my questions.”

  “The deal was for five yes or no questions,” she says. “You did not negotiate for anything more.”

  I grimace. “I didn’t know I could negotiate more.”

  “You can always negotiate more.”

  “Did your father teach you that?” I ask.

  “Yes. One down.”

  I hold up a hand. “That wasn’t one of my questions!”

  She grins. “Keep up, Lance. Four to go.”

  I open my mouth but close it quickly before I waste another question by accident. I take a breath, suddenly realizing how fast my heart is pounding. It’s not often I find it difficult to keep up with people but this woman has officially done me in every time I speak to her — and effortlessly at that. I don’t see her struggling to catch her breath other there.

  “All right,” I say, shifting on my bench. I lean closer to the lattice and think hard about what to ask next while she just sits there. Calm and at ease. Barely blinking.

  My eyes fall to her jacketed shoulder.

  “Are you really trying to join your father’s inner circle?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she answers.

  I shake my head. “Why? You have more potential and opportunity than anybody in your family since they immigrated here three generations ago.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say and I’d be happy to answer that if you can phrase it as a yes or no question,” she says.

  “You have to know the kind of work he really does,” I continue. “Your brothers were built for it but not you.”

  Her face hardens. “Again, I’d be happy to—”

  “Forget about it.” I wave a hand. “I’ve deduced enough.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say with a smile. “The deal was for me to ask you questions. You never negotiated any for me.”

  Her brow piques. “Fine.”

  “But…” my lips twitch at her long silence, “what I mean is that you want to be a part of the family business. And not just the shiny object they whip out at parties.”

  “Is there a question in there?” she asks.

  “They don’t want you, do they?”

  “Define they.”

  “Your brothers…” I pause with thought. “But your father does. That’s why you want him out so badly, isn’t it?”

  Trix nods. “Yes.”

  “They’ve staged a coup. Or, at least, have taken good advantage of your father and uncle’s absence.”

  She swallows but says nothing. It’s not a question, after all. She doesn’t have to answer to my musings but I see it all in her big, brown eyes.

  Two more questions.

  “Are you willing to testify against your brothers?” I ask.

  She snorts. “No.”

  I chuckle. “Worth a shot.”

  Her eyes roll.

  I stare through the lattice at her. Deep shadows fall along her cheeks and chin but her eyes bleed through the dark. She gazes back at me with that tepid amusement she usually has. The light smile on her mouth has faded fast, leaving her with nothing but anticipation at whatever I’m going to ask next.

  “One more,” she says.

  I look at her thick, red lips. Those deep eyes. Hardened criminal she’s not. There’s still so much I don’t understand about her. I haven’t even cracked the surfac
e of what I’d like to ask of Beatrix the mobster’s daughter but maybe I’ll have better luck at addressing Trix the beautiful woman.

  “Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow tonight?” I ask.

  Her eyes twitch. “Is that really one of your questions?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does that have to do with my family?”

  “You’re family, aren’t you?”

  She bites her lip in hesitation. “No,” she answers.

  “Why not?”

  “Other than the obvious?”

  “Trix, just because I’m building a case against your father doesn’t mean we can’t be friends,” I tease.

  She laughs. “Oh, I don’t think there’s any way you and I could possibly be friends, Lance.”

  “Why not?” I ask. “We’re already on a first name basis with each other. We’ve only met twice before today.”

  “Yeah,” she says with a scoff. “And one of those times, you kissed me.”

  “I paid five grand for that kiss. Does seven work for you?”

  Her mouth opens then closes again as she looks away, avoiding my stare. “No,” she says.

  “Trix—”

  “Tonight would be better.”

  I cock my head to get a better view of her playful eyes through the lattice. “I can probably do tonight,” I say. “It might be difficult to find a reservation someplace nice on a Saturday night, though...”

  “Won’t need one.” She smiles. “We’re having dinner at your place.”

  I trip on my tongue. “M-my place?”

  “Yes. You cook. I eat.”

  “Why would I agree to this?”

  “Because if you impress me enough and I just might answer another question or two. That’s what you really asked me out for, right?”

  I bite down. Damn, she’s good.

  “Okay,” I say. “What are you in the mood for?”

  The tip of her tongue emerges from her mouth, gently running along her bottom lip before hiding away again.

  “Steak and potatoes,” she answers. “Medium rare.”

  I laugh. “Seriously?”

  “What, is that too hard?” she asks with a smile.

  “No, just… sounds a little basic for a woman such as yourself.”

  She says nothing, holding her tempting smile.