Fool Me Forever (Confidence Game)

by Ainslie Paton

  “We’re not friends. We’ll never be friends. You don’t have to spare a thought for my welfare, and I don’t want you or your family anywhere near me or my business ever again.”

  It would be bad enough she’d have to come to terms with Fin’s continued involvement with Cal. If she had to keep seeing Halsey Sherwood, she might be ruined for perving at any other men.

  “I understand, and I respect that.” His nod had a thoughtful quality about it.

  She laughed. He looked genuine. That was impossibly annoying.

  “What’s funny?”

  “You’re good. I never imagined my dad was a con, and I didn’t pick Cal, either. I get that’s the whole special sauce of it, but you”—she made a clucking sound—“you have that butter wouldn’t melt, I’m so sincere my shit doesn’t stink thing about you.”

  He twisted a silver cufflink. “I get it. It’s an unusual situation for me, too.” He did the peripheral check again and then looked her straight in the face, as if he could see every calorie she’d ever consumed. “Outside of family, no one knows about what we do.”

  The weight of that hit her hard enough to make her push back in her chair. “Are you saying that as a threat?”

  “Oh no. Jesus. We’re not like that.” He pressed his palm to his chest. “I’m not like that. We don’t make threats, and we don’t hurt people. We’re not into aggression or violence, only retribution, and it’s always financial and always against people who deserve to lose and are so deeply crooked they can’t complain about it.”

  It was Lenny’s turn to break eye contact. She’d known that about the Sherwoods, heard from Fin about the way their company worked to take money from rich jackasses and divert it into social welfare and environmental programs. She knew they weren’t exactly the mafia or a murdering drug cartel. They were still crooks, and there was no way she could forgive the same crime committed more perfectly to the one that had engulfed her family in strife.

  “I don’t really think you were threatening me.” She took a sip of her water. “I don’t think you’d poison my drink or set me up. I don’t want anything to do with you after you explain why you stole my mail.”

  “Let me tell you about Sonny Ozols, and you won’t ever have to see me again.”

  “I know who Aleksandrs Ozols is. Prime Minister of Ossovia. Patron of the United Heroes League.”

  “And the owner of a 1970 forest green Mercedes Benz coupe he bought two days after your donation hit the Heroes League account. I followed the money. We have our own welfare projects in former Soviet states and Ozols is known to us as a fraud.”

  “What do you mean, known to you?”

  “We keep tabs on people who’ve accumulated wealth, especially when it happens quickly. If they got it suspiciously or don’t use it responsibly they deserve to be brought to account. Sonny is a big fish in that got-wealthy-fast pond. We usually work Stateside, and he doesn’t generally leave the Baltic. He’d never normally be one of our targets, but he’s here for meetings at the United Nations, and he’s hosting a gala fundraiser. I’m not keeping you safe or protecting D4D’s interests if you go to that fundraiser and pledge more money for Cookie Jar’s personal gain.”

  “Cookie Jar.” She huffed. “That from you, who stole my invitation.”

  “It wasn’t subtle, I’ll admit that. I don’t do what we call fieldwork, and the situation with you is highly unusual. I can’t effectively con you because a successful con depends on winning trust, and you won’t believe anything I say. It’s a quandary. Cookie Jar is what they call Sonny back in Ossovia because he has his hand in too many pockets.”

  She studied him, trying to block the signals his good looks sent. He was sigh-worthy, melt-inspiring. Halsey could earn a fortune in Hollywood. Or steal one. “I’m wondering why you’d make that story up.” She folded her arms. She needed every barrier she had against his believable earnestness. “Is this a reverse con? You tell me you can’t con me. I’m confident I’m free and clear, and you con me anyway.”

  He tipped his chin up and laughed. “Cal could pull that off. Zeke, my dad, my mom, but not me. There’s a reason I run a pyramid investment scheme. I’m much better faking out numbers than I am people.”

  He had a terrifyingly engaging laugh. He’s not a good guy, he’s not a good guy. He was a bad influence, but he was making it hard to hold on to that knowledge.

  “I can prove Cookie Jar is a thief, a liar, and a psychopath.”

  “You see psychopaths everywhere.” Easton could be a manipulative piece of shit, but he wasn’t irredeemable. Halsey had judged him after eavesdropping on a single argument and that was hardly fair. Everyone was probably a psychopath to a Sherwood, especially if they wanted justification for conning them.

  “I can show you the money trail, and I’ve got no reason to lie about this. Let me email you a document.”

  It was worth accepting an email from him to see the proof. “You’re saying the money we gave the Heroes League didn’t go to a scholarship program.”

  He nodded. “Sonny Ozols is a con and a corrupt politician. Ossovia deserves better, and there are forces working hard in the country to have him thrown out of power. The way he used your money is an insult to D4D, and I take it personally. And because Sonny is in New York and intending to solicit more money his countrymen will only see a fraction of, he’s now fair game. I don’t want you involved with him, because I’m planning to take him down.”

  “Take him down.” If she didn’t know who Halsey really was, she’d think his sincerity endearing. “Who are you, the Terminator?” He’d stolen the invitation because he wanted to take away her choices, to control her actions. She no longer needed to fortify herself against him—he’d gone and ensured she could remain fixated on her dislike.

  “I screwed up with you, and I didn’t intend to make your life worse. If I was better at people, I would’ve handled things differently.”

  “Better at people?” Oh, this was some devious heart strings tug of a manipulation.

  “I’m more comfortable with numbers on paper and a structure to manage.” He shook his head and looked adorably rueful. “And you don’t really care about any of this.”

  She cared he was an inexpert enough con not to know about save-the-date processes. He probably had an assistant handle his social engagements. Dad was an extrovert. Loud, full of laughter, assured, masterful. A salesman through and through, always out wining and dining clients. Someone you trusted to have your best interests at heart. “Don’t you need to deal with people to get them to lose money with you?”

  “Yes, but that’s business, and there are dollar signs and charts to do the convincing. I don’t have to make anyone like me, just believe I can make them richer. If I’m a little nerdy, all the better. They never think I’m offering refreshments with an ulterior motive.”

  She’d come to Stumptown thinking Halsey and her father were men with similar personalities. She wasn’t sure that was the case now, but that didn’t mean she trusted his information.

  “Let me get this straight before we go our separate ways forever. My books are fine. You think you can demonstrate our donation to the Heroes League has been used fraudulently, and you stole my invitation to the gala because you don’t want me involved with a charity you intend to take down like a nerdy Schwarzenegger wielding a lethal spreadsheet.”

  “Yes,” he said, brows pulled together. “Except it will take more than a spreadsheet.”

  The ice in his water was melted, and his coffee cup was empty. If he wasn’t pretty, she might’ve been more efficient in dealing with him. She stood.

  “Thank you for…” She glanced up at the pattern in Stumptown’s pressed tin ceiling looking for inspiration. It was tempting to hit back with something sarcastic—oh hell, why hold back. “…your unsolicited advice. The very next time I need a grifter to give me guidance, I’ll call. And in case there’s any shadow of doubt about what I mean, I am never calling.”

  She left
Halsey with his back to the wall and his whole game exposed. She didn’t need to know why he thought the United Heroes League was crooked; she had her own sources, and they were far more trustworthy.

  Next stop the dry cleaners, because she had a formal gown to collect that had been altered and cleaned and a family name to begin restoring.

  Chapter Seven

  Halsey arrived at the gala not by the red carpet at the front door, but by the parking garage. The temptation to steal a certain 1970 forest green Mercedes Benz that Cookie Jar was driving around the city and parking wherever he wanted with diplomatic immunity was undeniable. It would be a cakewalk. He could disable any alarms, hotwire it, and hightail it out of here without even having to pay for parking because Cookie Jar had left the ticket on the dash.

  The thing about people who thought they were the smartest in the room was that it was a simple matter to lead them into making a mistake. Stealing the Merc would’ve felt glorious, selling it to give D4D a refund would’ve been inspired, but it wasn’t enough. Halsey wanted to steal Sonny’s country out from under him and give it to people who could do a better job of leading it. He wasn’t exactly sure how yet, and it would have to be done before Cookie Jar left the city or he’d slip through Halsey’s fingers, but that was the endgame, and tonight was reconnaissance.

  He accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter for something to do with his hands and stood with his back to a pillar in the corner of the room so no one could surprise him from behind. He didn’t mind being alone, especially if he didn’t have to engage in boring, incidental chit chat, which made it easier to watch what was going down.

  And there was a lot to watch.

  Sonny Ozols was the life of the party. He was so secure in his position, after his successful address at the UN, he’d allowed members of the Ossovia opposition into the room. They were huddled at one end of the ballroom looking miserable. Scattered across the room were other members of the Ozols government. Halsey intended to seek out the ones who looked rebellious. He’d watch the politics of the room, engineer discussions with men and women who had reason to dislike and distrust Cookie Jar, and build support for whatever plan he was able to convince his family to put in place.

  The person he was most interested in talking to was finance minister, Baiba Jansons. He’d done his research. Her name was pronounced By-ba, and she loathed the leader of her party, acting to curtail his excesses as often as possible without losing her position of power.

  It’s not like Sherwoods had ever taken down a whole government before. Their vigilante work was usually done on a much smaller scale. A Soho physic who was a charlatan. A businessman who ripped off his employees. A landlord who refused to rent to minorities. Those vigilante activities came second to their focus on income redistribution.

  He’d have to flex his influencing skills without charts to convince his family they should support this. Given it was originally Cal’s money that was misused and Fin’s charity that’d been had, he didn’t think it would take much effort to get everyone on side.

  It would take a lot more effort to explain to Lenny Bradshaw what he was doing here. Especially as the sight of her glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth and woke up other parts of his anatomy that had been hibernating too long.

  Holy hell. She looked amazing. A floor-length gown attached to her body by magic with no straps or strings and managed to create the effect she was naked while being swathed in acres of filmy fabric. That was a dress he could respect, and he admired the woman wearing it, too. She didn’t take any crap. She’d made that point when she dispatched her asshole brother efficiently. Now that she’d spotted him, her shoulders tensed. Halsey would need to hide behind the pillar if he wanted to avoid a confrontation.

  And he always wanted to avoid those.

  It would be undignified if he scrambled out of Lenny’s oncoming path. A good way to call unnecessary attention to himself.

  He got rid of the champagne on the tray of a passing waiter and readied for impact. She sailed right up to him, the full skirt of her dress traveling on when her body stopped so that it belled against his legs, making them both look down.

  He lifted his gaze in time to see her jam her hands on her hips. “And here, I thought the Sherwoods were well enough connected to get their own invitations to galas. But no, you had to steal yours.”

  “You look wonderful.” Probably not what she wanted to hear. She was glamour-photo-shoot gorgeous, and the words were out before he could moderate them.

  “Don’t waste your time trying to charm me.”

  “It’s polite conversation.” Sticking to the weather would’ve been safer territory.

  “No need for that. You’ve made whatever point it was you wanted to make by showing up here. You can leave now.”

  That would be the non-confrontational thing to do. “I’m not leaving.” Sometimes you had to stand your ground, break a glass, hang up a phone, disappoint a beautiful woman—again. “I’m working.”

  She rejammed her hands on her hips; all it did was emphasize the tulip shape of her dress and her extreme annoyance. “Oh no you’re not. Everyone in this room is a Heroes League donor. You are not conning people here while I have breath to take,” she hissed.

  “I’m not here for that. I’m gathering information.”

  “Which is simply step one. If you don’t leave now, I’ll make a fuss and ensure you’re dragged out by security with your faked sterling reputation as an upstanding citizen hanging around your ankles.”

  She’d do it. He leaned forward and lowered his voice to make sure there was less chance of them being overheard. “I meant what I said about Cookie Jar. I will find a way to make him pay for what he’s doing.”

  Lenny frowned. Whatever she’d done to her eyes, they looked enormous and sparkled like sunshine on water. “I didn’t read the information you emailed. I have my own sources, and there’s no way I could trust yours.”

  Right. In her place, he’d likely act the same way. “Could I suggest a moratorium?”

  “Fancy word for you asking me to do something you want.”

  “Yes, although it’s something I think—”

  “You’re going to say would be good for me.”

  He looked at their shoes. The tips of hers were the red to match the fire lick of color at the hem of her white skirt. Got it in one. “I find myself in a dire predicament with you, Lenny.” He met her extravagantly striking eyes. “I can’t fault your logic in not wanting to believe me, but I need you to trust me, and I don’t know how to achieve that.”

  She waved a hand in the direction of the exit. “You can’t. Give up and leave.”

  “I won’t do that. There’s more at stake here than D4D’s money being wrongly used.”

  That lifted hand slapped to her side making her skirt sway. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake for me?” She made a shush gesture, not that he’d been tempted to interrupt. “My name was mud the moment my father was arrested. I was dropped from this scene as if I were a thief, too.” She waved her hand to encompass the room, and he was pleased they were tucked away from the majority of the guests, and no one was likely to come near. “That was two years ago. I need this event.”

  “I’m sorry that happened.”

  She turned her face away. “It’s not like I’m a party girl whose social life got knifed. That’s not it. I have a business to run and I need these people, the ones who go to galas and make donations. Being cut off made it impossible to run D4D. This is a reset. For my business and my family name. I can climb back. It’ll be hard work, but worth it for my mom and sister and for all the women D4D can continue to help. Nothing you said was ever going to make me give up my invitation tonight, and nothing you can say will make me trust your motives.”

  He had nowhere to go with this. Lenny stood in front of him, saying nothing more, but with every swell of her chest above the heart-shaped edge of her dress and every contraction of her throat, telling him how much this m
eant to her.

  The three million citizens of Ossovia, every man, woman, and child deserved a champion like Lenny and a way of getting out from under corruption.

  In the main room, the band struck up. Etta James’s “At Last.”

  He had nowhere to go with this except to take Sherin’s advice and try fun.

  “I was going to suggest a moratorium on giving any new money to the Heroes League until I can prove to you without a shadow of a doubt that Cookie Jar is a crook. I’m going to suggest we dance instead.”

  Lenny’s dangling earrings went spinning as she shook her head. “Dance?”

  “I’m sure your partner won’t mind if we have one dance.”

  “I’m not dancing with you.” She looked over her shoulder to where the floor was filling up. That look said I’d like to be out there, and if she’d come with a partner she wouldn’t be hesitating. There was nothing hesitant about Lenny.

  “One dance, because I came alone and they’re playing the good stuff I like,” he said.

  She smiled, her face still turned to the dancers. “Old fogey music.”

  “Classic romantic music.”

  Her smile deepened, even as she tried to fight the muscle in her cheekbone. “I’m not dancing with you.” The way she shifted, sending her skirt brushing against his legs said otherwise.

  She must’ve felt that, because she looked back at him and their eyes caught.

  “It’s only a dance, but I guess you have a partner who’s waiting for you.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “God, you’re good at this game. Who in their right mind from this crowd wants to be the partner of the jailbird’s daughter?” She held her hand out. “One song. I haven’t danced like this in years, and I might not get the chance again any time soon.”

  He took her hand, warm and smooth in his. Just that touch enough to spark up his spine. “You’ll get the chance.”

  “This isn’t a function on the society calendar. I hardly know anyone here, but I had to start somewhere.”

  “Anything on the calendar you want to attend, I’d be delighted to bring you as my plus one.”