The job went south, Eva thought, glancing up at the lights that went on and off to indicate the floors she was descending through. Just because one job went south, it doesn’t mean you can’t get back in the game. The idea had a tantalizing gleam in her mind. But even if you could get back in the game, how would you start up again?
Eva had gotten her start hustling jewelers, selling them counterfeit pieces that were just good enough to pass inspection by the juniors and then taking the money before the manager could arrive; she’d run a few blackmail games on married men she found on Tinder, until—working that very scam—she’d met Jared.
Jared hadn’t been married; the spouse listed on one of his social profiles had been a fake. When Eva had given him the option of paying her $1,000 or being “outed” to his wife, he’d laughed and told her that she could message the woman in question all she wanted. When Eva had tried harder to find a way to get something out of him, he’d made his counter offer: work for him, and make substantially more money scamming companies instead of individuals.
Eva had at first assumed that Jared meant to put her out on a limb and then escape with whatever money she managed to make for his enterprise, leaving her high and dry; but he’d offered to let her come along on one of the jobs, in a low-stakes position as his “assistant,” for a smaller cut. Within three days of going with Jared to make the pitch, Eva had pocketed two thousand dollars in cash. It had only made sense to join the group.
The elevator pinged when she reached the ground floor, and Eva shook her head, pushing the idea of joining a new ring out of her mind—at least for the moment. I’m too good to go back to counterfeit jewelry, or blackmail scams, she thought to herself, stepping over the threshold and into the lobby. I’m not going to start at the bottom.
She looked around; people were beginning to leave for the day, and some were coming in to start their nighttime shifts at one or another of the companies the skyscraper housed. The door at the front of the building somehow seemed both miles away and far too close. Eva stalled on her way to the exit, pausing to look at a piece of mediocre art on one of the walls as she considered her situation.
It didn’t seem fair: when she had been grifting, right up until the last job that went south, Eva had had all of the nice things she’d always craved, and sufficient money to do what she liked with her free time. The job she’d taken in the year since she’d barely gotten off, the apartment she lived in, the life she’d led after going straight, seemed to constantly remind her that she was nothing and nobody; living paycheck to paycheck and having to budget her spending, having to answer to a faceless company in the form of her supervisor, had chafed after she’d tasted the freedom of relative wealth and independence.
Surely you can get in touch with someone running a new game, Eva thought; maybe something that was a little less obvious than what Jared had been doing. She sighed, remembering the terror she’d felt at the idea of going to prison for fifteen years on fraud charges. Sleep on it; it’s not like you have to wake up early tomorrow.
Reluctantly, accepting the fact that she had nothing to do but go home, Eva turned away from the bland landscape she’d pretended to peruse. As she started towards the building’s entrance, two men and a woman walked past her. “…and she’s trying to get it sold,” the woman explained.
“That place? She’ll move it when an earthquake takes this building out,” one of the men countered.
“Can’t fault her for trying,” the other man said. “She’s got a catered reception setting up as we speak.”
Eva slowed slightly, intrigued.
“It’s a penthouse apartment in an office building,” the first man said. “Who’d want to live above a corporate complex?”
“It’s a pretty sweet space—have you been up there?”
The woman shook her head and Eva slowed even more, carefully making sure she didn’t obviously stop, and inching back in the direction of the group.
“Sweet space or not, she isn’t going to get it sold,” the first man said, tsking.
“It’s probably worth checking out later,” the second man concluded. “If nothing else, the food and drink will be worth it.”
Eva hung back when one of the members of the group glanced in her direction. Open house, huh?
She ducked into a bathroom and considered that bit of information for a moment; the skyscraper that housed the DigiFinancial call center held another twenty or more companies, most of them large and wealthy; the penthouse suite would undoubtedly be a sight to see. Worth ten million, maybe more…they’ll be pulling in millionaires, maybe billionaires…
An idea began to crystalize in Eva’s mind. If nothing else, the view from the top floor would be worth the trip up there; and maybe she’d gather a few names to file away mentally, in case she did decide to go back to the game.
Eva glanced down at the “lucky bamboo” she’d taken off of her desk when she’d left. Make your own luck; obviously this didn’t do a damn thing for you.
She dropped the plant, pot and all, into the garbage, and looked at herself in the mirror. At least I got to keep some of the clothes, Eva thought, smoothing her skirt against her legs. She’d dressed better than more than half of the women on the call center floor for the entire time she’d been working; while the police had confiscated some of her ill-gotten gains as evidence of the kind of money Jared’s team had been making, she’d managed to convince the investigators to let her keep the least expensive items. Eva turned slowly in a circle, checking the fall and lines of her clothing. If she moved quickly and spoke firmly enough, she thought she could pass.
Eva touched up her lipstick and pulled her dark brown hair back into a bun, securing it with an elastic from her purse along with a couple of spare bobby pins. She took another look at herself in the mirror and nodded to her reflection before turning to the door.
She hurried through the lobby towards the elevators, keeping her gaze straight ahead of her. It wouldn’t be the first time—nor the tenth—that she had talked her way into a place she wasn’t supposed to be; she knew how to get through most levels of security, as long as they weren’t expecting her.
As Eva waited for the elevator to arrive, she began to put together a cover story. Why am I interested in the penthouse? What’s my income? Where am I from? The elevator pinged and the doors opened; Eva stepped onto the car quickly, and tapped the “door close” button three times in quick succession; she didn’t particularly want to share the elevator if she didn’t have to.
Fortunately, no one had been waiting with her, and she was alone. Eva hit the button for the top floor complex, where she reasoned the penthouse would be. She quickly made up a loose story for herself, a “character” that she could present. As the elevator rose through the floors, she set her face into firm, confident lines, and pushed back her shoulders. For a moment, she considered rearranging her blouse to increase the amount of cleavage on show, but decided against it; while any security on the floor might be moved to distraction, the realtor—according to the people she’d eavesdropped on—was a woman, and might be suspicious if Eva turned up looking overly sexy.
The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open. Eva emerged onto a well-lit, sumptuous hallway with wood-paneled walls and thick carpeting on the floor. Showtime, she thought, spotting the guards at the end of the hall. She took a quick, deep breath, and plunged forward.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the first guard said, moving to intercept her at the end of the hallway, just before she came to the atrium on that level. “There’s an event going on; I’m sure you can understand.”
“Of course I understand,” Eva said sharply. “Are you some kind of oaf who thinks that a woman can’t manage her own real estate affairs?” Eva raised an eyebrow, staring at the guard, holding his gaze on her face.
“Of course not,” the security guard said, glancing away from her after a moment’s indecision.
“I know you probably don’t know every wealthy person in the wor
ld on sight, but if you’re supposed to be keeping this open house secure, you should at least know the people who are supposed to be attending,” Eva told the man tartly. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“I’m afraid not,” the guard said. He made a quick gesture with his hand, and one of the other guards stepped up. “She says she’s here for the event.”
“If I’d known it would be this much trouble to look at a potential new apartment for myself, I never would have made the drive,” Eva said, shaking her head in exaggerated frustration. “If you’re going to give me crap like this I might as well inform my friend why I won’t be purchasing her new property.” Eva turned as if to leave and the guard held up a hand.
“No—no, it’s fine.” The new arrival looked at his colleague sharply. “Of course you can go in, ma’am.” As Eva followed the man’s gesture towards the door at the end of the hall, leading into the apartment, she heard him hiss to the first guard not to be an idiot.
Eva suppressed a smile and continued onto the door, giving the other guard monitoring the hallway a sharp, confident look. She knocked twice and then turned the knob on the door, pulling it open and stepping through it before any of the guards could think too much about her performance.
The apartment was immense; bigger than any home that Eva had lived in. She walked from the door into the entryway, glancing around. The foyer had marble floors and deep green walls, and a small table with a guest book. Deeper in the apartment, Eva spotted some of the attendees, dressed in tailored suits and expensive designer clothing. That’s promising, Eva thought, filing away the thought for later development. She could hear the realtor boasting about antique brass fixtures, custom-made upholstery, and all the luxuries the property boasted.
Eva stepped up to the guest book and looked over the names as she reached for a pen. She filed away the names mentally, committing them to memory to put to faces where possible later on. She took one of the pens out of the cup next to the book and smiled slightly to herself, signing the book Elizabeth D. Bennet.
Stepping away from the table, Eva crossed into the living room, taking another quick breath to keep her nerves—twitching with subdued alarm—as steady as possible. After a moment of doubt, she moved towards the refreshment table; the spread was certainly in keeping with the value of the enclave: fresh seafood, blanched and chilled vegetables, and a bar manned by a crisp, white-coated bartender.
“Good evening,” the man said, inclining his head towards her. “What can I make you?”
“Seven and seven?” Eva smiled slightly.
“Of course,” the bartender said, nodding as he began to mix the cocktail for her.
Eva took a plate and snagged a few choice morsels, daintily placing them on the cool ceramic, folding a cocktail napkin onto her palm. She accepted a drink and stepped away from the table to wander slightly, taking in the beauty of the apartment. One wall was dominated by huge casement windows, leading out onto a balcony beyond which Eva saw the best view of the city she’d ever taken in.
After a few moments, she turned back towards the apartment proper and moved about the living room, glancing at the expensive custom furniture, the gleaming hardwood floor mostly covered by thick, plush rugs with swirling, looping patterns. The upholstery on the huge couch and heavy chairs looked expensive—Eva thought it might have been damask. The wall opposite the windows boasted a huge brick fireplace with wrought iron fixtures.
Eva turned her attention to the attendees; she considered each one of the men and women who’d come to the apartment, sizing them up. He’s cheating on her. She knows, but doesn’t care as long as he doesn’t drag the family name into the mud… He’s a hopeless bachelor type, looking for a place that will impress women. She’s looking for an investment property; she wants somewhere she can host parties. Little details suggested a backstory, a context for each person’s presence in the apartment.
Eva’s gaze came to a stop on a tall, lean man with sun-bronzed skin, wearing a sharply tailored suit. His dark hair was brushed back from his forehead, his dark eyes gleamed. He was—Eva had to admit—almost stunningly handsome.
“This place is completely ideal,” the man was saying to the real estate agent. “I’m absolutely in love with it—it’s perfect for what I have in mind.”
Eva detected a faint accent in the man’s words, though she couldn’t quite place it. European, for sure—by his clothes and demeanor. The man seemed oddly familiar; Eva wracked her brain for a moment, attempting to place him.
Turning away, she paid attention to the other prospective buyers, thinking in terms of which of the “games” she had taught herself over the years she could pull on which of the people. The straying husband would be easy: she’d set him up for blackmail after she found him on one of the hookup apps. The bachelor would be susceptible to a luxury goods scam—maybe jewelry, maybe gold. Eva carefully kept up the slowly meandering walk that would make her look like an interested potential client, leaving the living room for the kitchen, taking in the restaurant-grade appliances and polished stone countertops.
God, this place is amazing, she thought, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of gleaming wood and polished metal. The place was so beautiful, so comfortable, that Eva couldn’t resist picturing herself cooking in the kitchen, lounging in the living room, eating breakfast on the patio.
She sighed, estimating the cost of the apartment as she let her fingertips play along a silky-soft chair back. At least five million, probably more like ten.
Eva went back to the refreshment table for a glass of water and then walked towards the master bedroom. There she found the tall, lean man from before. He was on his phone, speaking in his accented voice to someone about the prospect of the apartment. Eva tried to ignore him, but as she looked over the burnished walnut dresser and tables and the four-poster king size bed, his words impinged on her thoughts.
“Yes—I’m sure this is the one. I’ll make an offer tonight. She’s going for ten million, but I think she’ll take eight.”
She saw him tense, and started to turn away to avoid his notice; the next moment the man faced her. Eva saw his quick, appraising look as his gaze traveled from her face to her feet.
“Excuse me,” he said to whoever he was speaking to on the phone. He stepped towards her, extending a hand with an empty champagne flute. “Could I get a refill please?”
Eva’s eyes widened and she stared at him in shock.
“Excuse me?” She felt the anger rising up inside of her. How dare he assume I’m one of the help? I’m not even wearing the uniform!
“A refill?” The man waggled the flute slightly, his voice rippling with his accent—on further examination, Eva thought it must be Greek. “The Saint-Domaine,” he specified.
Eva’s anger intensified; not only had he assumed she was a waitress, but even when she’d gently corrected him, he’d continued in his assumption. She felt the urge to scream at him flit through her brain and pushed it down; causing a scene would only risk revealing her.
“I’m not a server, asshole,” Eva told him, keeping her voice carefully under control. She turned to leave the room, ready to mingle with some of the other guests and maybe get a few phone numbers.
Behind her, she heard the man return to his conversation on his phone.
“Oh—that was nothing,” he said, his voice amused. “Just some faker, sneaking around the open house.”
The fact that the man was right about her didn’t put a dent in the anger that rose up afresh in Eva’s body. Asshole! I’ll show him…somehow.
She glanced around the living room, any thought of starting up a con on one of the other guests abandoned in the need for revenge. Her trailing gaze landed on the realtor, now answering questions from one of the other prospective buyers. She thought about the conversation she’d overheard in the bedroom; the man was going to make an offer on the apartment.
Eva sidled up to the realtor as unobtrusively as possible, sipping her water and looki
ng around at the living room admiringly. The prospect wandered away and Eva took his place, smiling broadly.
“This whole apartment is so charming,” she said, looking around. “I think it’s perfect for what I need.”
“I’m so pleased to hear that!” the realtor said, stepping closer to her. “To tell the truth, there’s been a lot of interest—this is shaping up into a competitive listing. I just received an offer, in fact.”
“Oh, I absolutely believe it,” Eva said, nodding with a conspiratorial raise of her eyebrows. “Between you and me, I think I would be comfortable going as high as, say, nine?”
“The listing value is ten,” the realtor said gently, and Eva sighed, looking around again.
“Hmm,” Eva said, pretending to consider. “I thought I heard you mention the appliances in the kitchen were recently replaced?”
“Oh, yes,” the realtor said, nodding. “Restaurant-grade, brand new.”
Eva pressed her lips together, nodding again as she saw the man emerge from the bedroom. “I think I could go for nine-five,” she told the realtor with a wheedling voice. “I mean, it’s a beautiful place but I will want to make a few adjustments of my own.”
“Nine five?” The man from the bedroom moved closer to her and the realtor. “I thought the listed value was ten million.”
“It is,” the realtor agreed. “Although of course, there have been more than one or two offers so far…” she gave the man a significant look.
“I’m thinking that ten sounds reasonable indeed,” the man said, glancing at Eva.
Eva frowned, remembering that he thought—rightly—that she was a fake. Prove him wrong, even if he is right, she thought.
“Well, now that you mention it, that view is priceless,” Eva said, smiling tightly. “Thinking about it a little more, considering the demand, I’d say that eleven seems more appropriate for such a great place.”
“Eleven?” The Greek looked wistfully at the fireplace, at the windows. “I could picture myself here, relaxing for once in my life.” He turned his attention back onto the agent, his face set in angry lines. “Twelve-five.”
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