Fool Me Forever (Confidence Game)

by Ainslie Paton

  He put the point of the letter opener into the corner of the triangular flap.

  She thought the Sherwood family were cheats and liars. Cookie Jar made them look like miracle-bestowing saints.

  But really, his priority was warning Lenny off any further contact with the United Heroes League. He put the letter and the opener aside, turned to his keyboard, and tapped out an email. A casual greeting, keeping it easy, a paragraph on her accounts and an instruction to avoid all association with the United Heroes League.

  He explained it was a front for the personal ambitions of the Prime Minister of the former Soviet state of Ossovia.

  He typed a closing line, the usual sort of entreaty to make contact if Lenny had any questions, and then paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He’d known Lenny was vulnerable when he walked into D4D’s offices. He’d made things worse for her. So much worse she’d pitched glassware at him, then thrown him out.

  That was an appalling failing of operational etiquette for a Sherwood, and this email was, if not cold, impersonal and instructional, and he’d already upset Lenny by telling her what to do.

  Yet, he had no choice. She couldn’t have known the background to the Heroes League. Few outside Ossovia did. It would be a worse crime if more donations went to fund Cookie Jar’s driving, living, or wealth accumulation agenda and further entangled D4D.

  There was no point trying to make his email sound friendlier. Lenny didn’t need or want his friendship. He hit send and turned back to the letter, only to have his computer ping a delivery denial message at about the same time as it struck him that of course it would. Lenny was likely to have earmarked anything coming from Sherwoods as spam, because she knew how to look out for herself.

  He could call her, and if she didn’t hang up on him he’d explain. He dialed the D4D office, trying not be too hopeful of getting an answering machine; it was lunchtime after all.

  “Good afternoon, Dollars for Daughters. This is Lenny. Are you calling to help a less fortunate woman today?”

  “Ah, yes.” Not a machine, which meant he had to have a conversation and couldn’t simply recite the email. “Lenny, it’s Halsey.”

  “Well, hello. I’m sorry, I should’ve said are you planning to be a dirty crook today?”

  Unexpected and amusing. “I—”

  “You answer, yes, and then I hang up on you. Or you could lie, and I’ll still hang up on you, because you’re a convinced-I-need-someone-to-tell-me-what-to-do Sherwood and detrimental to my health. What’ll it be?”

  He almost laughed, despite the fact she was outwitting him, because humor fell out of her voice.

  “I’m hanging up.” And before he could get another word out she did.

  Shit.

  He redialed. This time, he’d get the machine and be done with this.

  “That thing about you being a bad influence. I meant it. We’re done. This is harassment,” she said.

  “Don’t hang up.”

  Click.

  He hit redial. This time for sure he’d get the machine.

  “You have no sense of self-preservation.” Click.

  “Jesus H Christ.” He slapped the receiver in the cradle. One last time. D4D’s number rang and rang and rang. Not to be defeated, he dialed Lenny’s cell number only to learn it was now owned by someone with a baritone who answered with, “Are you calling about de-sexing the Mastiff?” and it was his turn to hang up.

  Sherin appeared in his doorway as he was saying, “Sorry, wrong number.”

  “You look like someone stole a collectible out from under you,” she said.

  “Fieldwork,” he said, because it was obvious he was going to have to brave the field to see Lenny in person. The idea made him feel both reluctant and excited, and that was confusing.

  “Ah, your favorite,” Sherin said. “Think of this as expanding your competencies.”

  It was better than thinking of Lenny being so frustrated she flung glassware at him.

  He’d normally have talked this out with Cal, but Sherin, his easy-to-get-along-with sister, was a fine substitute. “How do I convince Lenny Bradshaw to take advice from me?”

  Sherin double blinked. “You convince people to lose the family fortune every day.”

  “Yes, but my cover is blown with Lenny. To her I’m a bad guy with dubious morals and a criminal agenda.”

  “You’re right. You don’t have any con artist magic with Lenny because she already knows the truth.”

  “And distrusts everything about me.”

  “That’s”—Sherin shook her head—“that’s wild. Never happens. Outside of family, no one knows the truth about us. When was the last time you had fun? Went on a date?”

  “What? No. Focus.”

  She folded her arms, a gesture of no way do you get to dis me like that, you imperious son of a bitch. “A date. You know what they are. I guess it’s been a while, but you remember, right? Two people, doing something together for no reason except pleasure. Remember pleasure, Halsey? Most people like to chase that outside of work, with, like other people, not antique collectibles.”

  “This is business. It’s got nothing to do with my—”

  “Lack of dating action.” Sherin was laughing.

  “Lenny is a reasonable person. I’ll simply reason with her.”

  “That’s not going to work. She hates you.”

  She didn’t hate him. She was supremely irritated by him with good reason.

  “You could work out how to have fun with Lenny.”

  He grimaced. Lenny might rather skin him for a new handbag. “Any other brilliant suggestions?”

  “You could…” Sherin leaned forward and in anticipation of her wisdom, he did, too. Then, she stood and said one word before she left: “Pray.”

  He picked up the letter opener and soothed his anxiety by rubbing his thumb along the raised figure. He’d spent more time touching the boobs of the miniature engraved woman than he had a flesh and blood woman in the last few years, and that didn’t bode well for his ability to get Lenny to like him enough to take his advice.

  How the hell was he going to get her to talk to him? It’s not like he could keep harassing her by phone or arriving at her office without an appointment. Which left sending her a fruit basket apology creepy as hell, or writing an old-fashioned, put-it-in-the-mail kind of letter there was no guarantee she’d read.

  He looked at the evidence of his mail theft. Might as well know what kind of trouble was inside the envelope before he trashed it.

  It made a satisfyingly violent ripping sound as he put the letter opener to work. Inside was an invitation to a black-tie gala fundraiser Lenny would now never be tempted to attend.

  A second from putting it through his shredder he stopped.

  Lenny would never attend, but a gala was the perfect opportunity to get up close to Cookie Jar and take his measure before Halsey took everything he had.

  Chapter Six

  Since Lenny couldn’t afford a cleaner for the D4D office, she was losing her mind or the Robin Hoods of Sherwood Venture Capital had struck again. How was it that not even her mail was safe from them?

  The glossy envelope that held the promised invitation for the United Heroes League gala wasn’t anywhere. Not in her trash can, not in her purse or her laptop bag, and it’d been right there, on her desk, nestled under the second notice for the utilities bill and her credit card payment reminder, like the shining prize it was.

  Not that long ago, glossy invitations were common like weeds. You couldn’t kill them off. Sometimes they arrived in batches and the only difficulty was deciding which events to attend, but since Jailhouse Rock became the Bradshaw family theme song, even the weediest of the weeds had died off. The only event Lenny had been invited to in forever was out for hamburgers with Fin and Cal and that goddamn busybody thief, Halsey Sherwood.

  Being persona non-grata was a severe disadvantage for someone who needed access to the rich and famous to run her business. With
out the Bradshaw family seed funding, D4D had virtually ground to a halt before Fin started bringing in donations Cal had helped her solicit. The money Fin stole from Cal was another huge boost, despite being a huge problem Lenny hadn’t seen coming.

  That her best friend and business partner was in love was a thing of full hearts and top-to-toe sighs. That Fin wanted to marry a professional con artist was a catastrophe of epic proportions.

  Lenny couldn’t run a business with someone married to a criminal. It would look habit forming, which was hypocritical to say the least, but it was double the trouble. If she had any chance of rehabilitating her family, she simply couldn’t afford to put a foot wrong, which meant she couldn’t take one dollar from a dubious source or associate with anyone who wasn’t an upstanding law-abiding citizen.

  All of which made the United Heroes League gala invitation a big deal.

  It was her first society invitation, an opportunity to pretend she didn’t hear the whispers or notice the stares and didn’t care about the nasty gossip, as she took one step in a long journey to reestablish herself as a good person doing worthy work.

  Which meant murdering thieving Halsey Sherwood was off her to-do list.

  Another of life’s great disappointments.

  Giving him a piece of her mind, however, that was a rocket sticker in her bullet journal.

  Why would Halsey want her invitation to a not very prestigious charity event at a thoroughly uninspiring venue? Unless he simply didn’t want her to have it?

  When the phone rang she eyed it. She didn’t recognize the number, and it would be just like Halsey to call again from somewhere different since she’d made it impossible for him to email her.

  She picked up. “Good morning, Dollars for Daughters. This is Lenny. Unless you’re Halsey Sherwood, I know you’re calling to help someone less fortunate today.

  “Hello. Is this Lenore Bradshaw? This is Bernadette Yang, Mallory’s homeroom teacher. Are you aware Mallory was absent from school today?”

  Oops. Putting Halsey in his place would have to wait until she could make sure Mallory knew hers was at school.

  Half an hour later with a head full of Mallory’s indiscretions and absences, Mom’s flick pass of the issue, and a bottled-up need to shout, Lenny sent an email to the United Heroes League telling them she’d be delighted to attend the gala.

  And she dialed her new nemesis’s number.

  He answered with a crisp. “Halsey Sherwood.”

  “Why’d you do it?”

  “I’m sorry?” Caution in his broadcaster quality voice. Not so crisp now.

  “That’s the thing. You’re not sorry at all.”

  “Lenny?”

  Did he sound happy to hear from her? No, surely not. “You stole a letter off my desk. Go on, deny it.”

  “I did.”

  “Worm out of that one. Pretend you had nothing— Oh.”

  “Thick glossy white envelope. Crest of the United Heroes League. Yes, I took it.”

  That was unexpected and deadly suspicious he’d admit it. “Why?”

  “I’ll tell you if you don’t hang up on me before I get through what I have to say.”

  His voice was all heartily amused. It shouldn’t make her feel like smiling. “Like I’d make promises to you,” she scoffed.

  “Okay then. I’m hanging up.”

  And he did.

  The rotten, lying thief, well, not the actual lying part this time, hung up on her.

  Damn.

  She dialed him back. “I’m listening.”

  He grunted. “I doubt that. I’ll get halfway through what I need to say and you’ll”—oh man, she had an itch to complete the sentence for him with an unusually forceful expression and a dial tone—“hang up on me. Meet me. Public place.”

  “God, no. Not if I was on fire and you were a hose.”

  He hung up.

  Shit. That made her laugh aloud. Did it matter? She didn’t need the physical invitation. He stole her mail, and he’d told the truth about it, but she’d never sleep again without knowing why.

  She hit redial. “I’ll meet you.”

  “Thank you.” Why did he sound relieved?

  They agreed on the place and time, and she disconnected without saying goodbye. He could sweat on her showing up.

  Two hours later, she watched Halsey through the window of Stumptown Coffee Roasters from her vantage place behind a Tiffany aqua taco truck. If she didn’t know he was a bad person she could be giddy about him. He was truly a gorgeous looking man, once again beautifully dressed. This time in a French navy suit she knew he’d have had tailored for him. He wore it with a shirt so white it almost hurt to look at that required cufflinks and a platinum silver tie, and there wasn’t a hair out of place.

  Even when she’d had her unusual forceful glass-throwing tantrum, he’d been all smooth and unruffled, taking her apology as graciously as he moved to clean up her mess.

  He hadn’t raised his voice once in person or on the phone, and apart from arriving in her office unexpectedly, and his annoying habit of telling her what to do, he’d been a gentleman. Even to the point of hanging around unnecessarily to see that her situation with Easton didn’t turn into something awful. He’d said he wanted to keep her safe and dug his heels in over it. It was almost gallant.

  And then he stole her mail.

  Looking at him, you couldn’t tell he was a filthy crook. Same as her father. The only difference between the two of them, apart from the fact that Halsey was a free man and Dad was in prison for the rest of his life, was that she knew the truth about Halsey almost from the first. There could be no rug pulling, existence-shattering revelations about him. Halsey couldn’t wreck her life. She was fully aware he was a thoroughly bad person who was rich from the profits of his crime, wearing the armor of a corporate maverick, ready to deceive the unsuspecting with every word and gesture.

  Just like her father.

  And like Jeffrey Bradshaw, Halsey had once fooled her into thinking he was a nice guy. He’d never fool her again. Her default position with him was open suspicion, and the only giddiness she’d ever have about him was the kind that came with happiness from walking away from him forever.

  That was the thought that made her step out from her hiding place. Once inside Stumptown, she made for his table. He sat with his back to the wall, which was probably some con man’s tactic for reading the room. Dad did that, too. He had a copy of the Wall Street Journal, coffee, and a glass of ice water in front of him. She planned to be out of here before the ice melted and the bottom of his cup showed.

  “Why?” she asked, taking the seat opposite. “I’m listening.”

  “Hi, Lenny.” He folded the paper and pushed it aside. “Thanks for agreeing to meet. Can I order you something?”

  Oh, he was not going to make her feel rude by being so damn polite and sounding so pleased to see her. “No, thank you. I’m just here for your thrilling confession.”

  He smiled, and she had a fierce reaction to it. An unwelcome swooping low in her stomach. She’d have called it indigestion if she’d recently eaten and she didn’t know better. God, his handsomeness was irritating.

  “First off, I want to say that your accounting is essentially clean.”

  No surprise. She’d paid for expensive professional advice knowing it was highly irregular.

  “There is one problem, though.”

  “You stole my mail.”

  He smiled again.

  Wish he’d stop that.

  “Two problems. You made a donation to the United Heroes League.” He shifted forward, his eyes moving left and right, as if checking to if they could be overheard. “That charity is a front for a corrupt government.”

  She leaned back because she’d caught a whiff of his ocean fresh cologne, and that felt intimate, somehow. Also, he was wrong. “Do you know anything about on-the-ground welfare organizations in developing countries?” He went to reply, and she cut him off. “I imagine not. Th
ey sometimes don’t cross all the T’s on administration. I’ve vetted every organization we fund personally. The United Heroes League does good work.” She planned to give them more funds as soon as she could raise them.

  “Your donation bought a 1970 forest green Mercedes Benz Coupe from an auction held in Jersey City. Beautiful car.” He sat back. He might as well have made that dusting your hands gesture as if that explained everything.

  She tapped a fingernail on the table. “I don’t know what your issue with the Heroes League is, but it’s not my problem.”

  “Let me get you something to drink, or eat, or a glass of water?”

  She shook her head. He got up and went to the counter and poured water, adding ice and a mint leaf, and put it in front of her. He was unreal.

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  He frowned as he sat again.

  “Now you’re telling me when I’m thirsty.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed like he’d been pricked with a pin and was deflating. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He focused on her. Like Dad, he had a way of looking at her that made her feel like she was the most important person in the world to him. “I asked you here and I didn’t think you’d come. It was only polite to offer to get you something, but you hate me so much you’re interpreting that as a terrible thing. I don’t wish you any ill, Lenny. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s not in my interest, or the interests of my family, to have you anything but safe and happy.”

  “Happy, you want me happy?” She felt rude and disagreeable, prickled with it. Happy was the family that didn’t know they were living in a fairy tale. Happy was for trust-fund princesses who never learned their existence was based on a lie. And safe, no one was ever truly safe. It was an illusion.

  “You look remarkably unconvinced,” he said.

  “You can’t possibly blame me for that. Thank you for the water.”

  “You’re welcome.”