Fool Me Forever (Confidence Game) Page 6

  “Why? How does it help you to be associated with me?”

  “You’re not mud.” More like starlight. “You’re not your father.” He placed her hand on his forearm, bringing her shoulder close, and they started for the other room. “You’re not his crime, nor are you responsible for his victims. And I can afford not to care what people whisper about me.”

  They’d reached the edge of the dance floor and he turned to Lenny, took her left hand in his right, and held it just under shoulder height with his elbow bent and tucked in. She reached her right hand to the top of his other arm, and he closed their circle by putting his fingertips to her shoulder blade. Her skin was bare and warm and for a moment they both stilled. His heart might as well have started a drum solo, it kicked so hard, almost painfully swelling in his chest.

  “Is this okay for you?” he said.

  His extra height was much more pronounced when they were this close. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him. Just that motion made him feel a hopelessly wild surge of attraction for her. Sherin was right; he needed to find a way to start having fun with other people again. He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d stopped, and he hadn’t felt like he was missing out until right now.

  “I figured you knew how to dance properly,” she said.

  He moved them off, stepping forward with his left foot as she stepped back with her right. “I don’t do it often. My apologies in advance if I dance you into someone or step on you.”

  “If you manage not to do neither of those things you can have your moratorium, and I’ll read your info pack on Prime Minister Ozols.”

  A challenge. The ripple of excitement he’d felt when Lenny put her hand in his, half flavored by surprise and half by knowledge he would enjoy dancing with her flipped into something more. Not fun, not for him, this was too fraught, the stakes too high, his arrythmia too distracting. But it was better than he’d hoped. He’d predicted Lenny would show, not that there’d be any moment of the night where they’d touch, let alone that he’d have her in his arms and the effect that would have on him. He felt like he floated them two feet off the floor.

  He piloted her backward to Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World,” touching her only where permitted, the proscribed space between their bodies, and succeeded in not crashing her into anyone until a couple in front stumbled and he stopped short, extending his arm across Lenny’s back and pulling her closer to avoid a wild elbow.

  Her breasts bumped against his ribs, and his instinct was to crush her to him, to feel her body everywhere his was overstimulated. He grunted in restraint. Reflexively, Lenny’s hand closed over his arm and her chin lifted, brows up in surprise, a quirk at her lips, not quite a smile, a conspiracy. “Damn, you saved me.”

  “I would if you’d let me.”

  She shook her head with a laugh. “I meant—”

  He relaxed his hold on her and moved them off. “I know what you meant. You’re quite able to save yourself.”

  “Yes, I can.” Her eyes stayed up on his a few seconds longer than was comfortable for either of them, and the song came to an end.

  She pulled away, face lowered, as she smoothed her hands down the skirt of her dress. “Thank you.”

  A tinkle of piano, Nora Jones’s “Come Away with Me.” He wasn’t ready to let her go, to lose the thrill of liquid want in his blood. “One more?”

  Up came her eyes, a grin on kiss-perfect lips, as she stepped easily into his arms. “It occurs to me that the longer we do this, the more chance I have that you’ll step on me and our deal will be off.”

  He’d stepped on her before he ever thought to ask her to dance, putting himself in her way with little thought about what she needed, more concerned about his own agenda and discomfort. “The fact I haven’t now is fate.”

  “You’re a con. You don’t believe in fate.”

  He inclined his head and piloted them around a couple who were simply swaying. Not fate, not luck, either. They were direction and determination by other names.

  “You do make a superb dance partner,” she said with an eye roll.

  He never made a bet he could lose. He’d never desired a partner so much it made him greedy and incautious. He could’ve learned what he’d needed about Cookie Jar without coming here. He couldn’t help himself but want to see Lenny again, even though it would annoy her.

  What would it be like to have her by his side off the dance floor, to work a con with a partner he liked and respected? Cal’s most infamous cons were the ones where he’d had a partner by his side. A One Night Wife they called it. Halsey always worked alone and until now had never questioned it. Now he questioned it in every pounding pulse point and pore of his skin.

  Yeah, he could rationalize it as if it were a professional consideration. Still, he needed to acknowledge that the more time he spent being the butt of Lenny’s annoyance, the more he liked it and desired her. She wasn’t starry-eyed, she knew the charity circuit, the galas and the balls and the fundraisers were a game, and she wasn’t overly paranoid for someone whose father had betrayed her and whose business partner had fallen in with a bad crowd.

  Apart from this teasing romantic interlude, all he had with Lenny was conflict and dislike with a good side serving of plain old-fashioned distrust. Yet, arguing with her, hanging up on her, and anxiously waiting for her to call back or show up for coffee she wouldn’t accept and scowl at him, and now waltzing with her while she looked like a fantasy woman, made him feel alive in a way that his work generally didn’t.

  They danced two more songs before Lenny pulled away with a flush on her cheeks he found delectable.

  Fun, it really had been fun, and now he was turning into a pumpkin. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets to stop from reaching for her again. If it would do any good, he’d leave a shoe behind in the hope that Lenny would come looking for him. But she wasn’t a princess anymore. She’d dealt with her own ugly brother, and she wasn’t looking for a hero.

  He understood Cal’s breakdown, after Fin learned the truth and left him, better now. At the time, he’d been perplexed that his normally on-the-mark brother had fallen apart. Now he had an inkling what it might be like to lose a partner. And if that’s how he felt after dodging glassware, phone hang-ups, being consigned to spam, and deemed too untrustworthy to pour a glass of water all because they’d danced together, he was in a state of disquiet that made him want to forget the big picture, hotwire the Merc, and drive it too fast away from these awkward feelings.

  “My feet thank you for the dance,” Lenny said. “I’ll read your info. I won’t promise any more money in the short term, and I hope you have a nice life.”

  It was an unexpected victory. A bittersweet triumph.

  He watched Lenny walk off, jeweled pins winking in her hair, stopping to introduce herself, to catch an eye, to work the room like every Sherwood had learned to do, making those she spoke to smile and neatly avoiding those inclined to snub her with turned shoulders.

  He went in the opposite direction. He made the acquaintance of members of the Ossovia government, including the most rebellious person in the room. He had a lengthy discussion with Baiba Jansons in which she indicated a certain desire for change in the political environment of Ossovia, and Halsey indicated a certain dissatisfaction with the running of the United Heroes League. Together, they had a meeting of the minds about both topics and the need for change.

  It was the kind of wink-wink, nudge-nudge discussion that could get an honest man into trouble, but Ossovia was already in trouble and Baiba Jansons was a formidable woman. The kind who would make a great leader.

  He left the ballroom the same way he arrived. The pin in his lapel was just the right width that when pressed against the air valve of the Merc’s front right tire, made it deflate. It was the least he could do for Lenny and only the beginning of what he’d do to Cookie Jar.

  Chapter Eight

  There were dozens of ways to worry about Mallory, and since Mom had re
fused to deal with her truancy, it was all on Lenny. Mom at least had attempted a trip to the market. They had food in the house, even if it wasn’t necessarily food that would go together in a decent meal. Like attending the United Heroes League gala, it was a start.

  Lenny paced the apartment. She couldn’t put off a showdown any longer and had left the office early to wait for Mal to arrive home, not entirely sure what to say, becoming increasingly resentful she had to say anything at all, and knowing that wouldn’t help in the least. The fourteen-year age gap between them had never felt more of a barrier.

  Somewhat wistfully, she’d already packed her gala gown away. The dress wasn’t new, and despite having the bodice let out, it was so tight it’d discouraged deep breathing. That had to explain why she’d gone soft enough on Halsey to agree to dance with him. Not enough oxygen to keep her head straight.

  He’d looked damn fine in his tux, and he was a superb dance partner. It had been no surprise to see him, and she could’ve avoided him easily enough. It’s just that a lot of people had been avoiding her: eyes sliding, bodies turning, subtle stay-away gestures that’d kept her super vigilant all night. She’d been spoiling for a fight, and Halsey had offered just the right opportunity to have one.

  He was so oddly safe—he wouldn’t slight her, embarrass her, or call undue attention to her.

  When he’d hit her with the shock invitation to dance it was a choice of going back to braving the room alone and playing deaf to the gossip or taking respite in the music where she didn’t have to smile through stilted small talk.

  And then she’d almost forgotten he was the enemy. For all his social reticence, he was dangerously smooth and likeable, and that was a threat she preferred not to think about. It went with not wanting to think about what Mallory was doing when she wasn’t at school.

  Still, it made sense to read Halsey’s email on Prime Minister Ozols, if only to be as well-informed as possible, and if the United Heroes League used money improperly, she’d be asking questions.

  If she survived the question asking she needed to do with Mallory.

  The front door banged as Mal came in. She did an almost comic double take to see Lenny waiting.

  “I’m not staying,” Mal said, sensing the trap and stomping down the hall to her bedroom, forcing Lenny to follow.

  “We need to talk,’ she said to the back of Mal’s head.

  “You need to talk. I need to change and go.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out?” Mal tried to close the bedroom door in Lenny’s face.

  “Mallory.” Lenny pushed back, and they were in a battle with the door being shoved between them. Someone could lose a finger.

  “No, fuck right off, Lenny. I don’t answer to you.”

  “You live in my apartment, and I pay your allowance.”

  “If I had a choice, I’d be anywhere else.” Lenny let go and the door slammed, leaving her in the hallway. For once, she could be grateful Easton was too selfish to have Mallory come and live with him like she’d wanted. Things could be worse, because he’d never take the time to look out for her.

  From outside Mallory’s bedroom, that had once been her guest room, she said, “Tell me how to make this work with you.”

  Mal opened the door. She’d changed her shirt for one that showed a lot of her flat midsection. Oh, to be sixteen again. “Go away, Len.”

  “You’re angry all the time, and it would be better if you weren’t.” And better if Lenny had some idea where that tiny shirt was being worn and when it would come home.

  “Why do you care? You’re sad all the time. Mom cries all the time. And Easton acts like nothing has changed. We’re all fucked up. I’d rather be angry than delusional or sad.”

  “I’m not sad.” Christ, was she? Is that what Mal saw in her. “Am I?”

  “You don’t see friends. You’re mad at Fin. You nag Mom and me. You never go out. All you do is work and eat and sleep, and that’s my definition of sad.”

  “No, that’s not— Wait. I am mad at Fin and I—” And at herself for not paying more attention to what Fin was doing to bring large amounts of money into D4D. She’d closed her eyes to it, and that was entirely on her. “Am I sad all the time?”

  Mallory shrugged. “You were happy about the gala, and you looked really beautiful.” She moved out of the doorway and flung herself on her unmade bed.

  Lenny followed her inside, stepping over a boot, a scrunched-up pair of jeans, and a towel that was dry, but might not have been when it hit the floor. The room smelled of cigarette smoke. If she weren’t still shocked by Mal’s observation, she’d have mentioned all that. “I didn’t know you thought I was sad.”

  “How amazing that you don’t know everything.”

  She ignored the snark. “Which is why I wanted to talk.” She sat on the end of the bed beside Mal, both of them facing the mirror over the dresser.

  “The only thing I’ve got to say is you can’t get up in my face about being angry if you’re going to be sad all the time,” Mal said.

  “You’re right.” Mallory put her hand behind her ear in a can’t-hear-you gesture, so Lenny repeated herself. “You’re right. It’s not fair of me to ask you to lighten up if I don’t.”

  Mal shoulder bumped her. “I’m not angry all the time.”

  “I’m not sad all the time. I promise you I’m not. I got to dance at the gala, I mean really dance with a man who knew how to do it without pulling and pushing at me, without stepping all over me or pawing at me. It was lovely, and I guess I forgot to be sad for a while.”

  “That’s why you were smiling all Sunday. Who is he?”

  “Just some guy who asked me to dance.” Had made it magical and had offered to do it again. That could never happen. She didn’t trust herself not to want to find another occasion to be in his arms, although using Halsey to attend the right social events was a tantalizing thought. At the end of the day, there was no way either of them would confuse it with something other than an arrangement.

  “You got his name, right?”

  “I, ah, yeah. But I won’t be seeing him again.” A girl only needed so much unrequited fraud in her life.

  “Why not?”

  “He’s not my type.” He was the fall in love and wake up in ten years’ time with the FBI at your door and realize you’d been sold a complete fantasy type. “You’re right. I need to do something about being sad. Maybe get a hobby.”

  “You could learn to knit.”

  “What would I knit?”

  “A boyfriend that is your type.” Mallory leaned away to avoid Lenny’s swipe, and they both laughed.

  “If I want it life size it could take a while,” Lenny said. “Especially if they don’t have a life-size boyfriend pattern.” She leaned into Mallory. “What are we going to do about your anger?”

  Mal lay back on the bed. “I dunno. I kinda like it.”

  “I kinda get that, but it’s half the reason Mom cries all the time, and I’m worried about you and that makes me sad.”

  “I’m not doing anything terrible, Len. I’m not fucking around or shooting up or snorting anything. I’m angry with Dad and Mom and you and Easton and my dead-to-me shithead ex-friends for dumping me. I hate this new school, and I just want things to go back the way they were, but I know that can’t happen.”

  Lenny nodded, watching her own face in the mirror. It was her ordinary everyday face. It didn’t look sad to her. “No, it’s not ever going to be the same. We’re not going to be deceived like that again, and we have to work together if we don’t want to end up being sad and angry forever.”

  “I want to get a tattoo.”

  Lenny almost bit the tip of her tongue off.

  “Don’t freak out. I haven’t done it yet.” Mallory jostled the bed.

  “A tattoo is a really permanent thing.”

  “Like having a father in prison.”

  In spite of herself, Lenny laughed. “He’ll get out eventually.” By
the time Dad was allowed out, the world would be a different place, and the family he left behind would’ve long moved on from what he did to them. “I know you can have a tattoo removed, but it’s not the kind of thing you should have done when you’re angry.”

  She studied Mal’s face in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes, the lime-green hypercolor in her hair fading. Her nails were bitten. And covered by makeup, her skin was bumpy with a breakout. Under all that, Mal was beautiful like Mom. More so than Lenny had been at her age.

  Mallory leaned her head on Lenny’s shoulder. “I never used to be angry. I could try to be less angry if you try to be less sad.

  “Deal. Can you try to be kinder to Mom?”

  Mallory breathed out against Lenny’s neck. “I can’t believe she didn’t know about Dad, and I hate how useless she is.”

  “Shouting at her doesn’t help. And she’s trying. She went to the market.”

  “She bought dumb things and forgot the toilet paper.”

  Lenny laughed. “Baby steps. Now where are you going?”

  “Would you believe the library?”

  She pulled on a strand of Mallory’s hair. “Just go to school, okay. You only have this year and then you can change your life, make it something bigger and braver and louder and far away from us. College, a gap year, those plans don’t have to stop because of Dad.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll learn to knit. I’ll go to more galas and dance with more handsome men and make D4D a success and I’ll stop feeling sad.”

  “I was going to see a movie with Ginny.”

  It was a school night and Mallory might be lying. Lenny had at least met Ginny with her gloriously wild afro, her armload of leather bracelets, and ability to speak four languages. The worst that could happen was an ill-conceived tattoo. And not trusting Mallory had only made for more anger and sadness. “So go.”

  “I won’t skip school anymore, and you’ll make it up with Fin.”

  “When she gets back, we’ll sort things out.”

  “And call that guy you danced with.”