Fool Me Forever (Confidence Game) Read online

  The whole idea was like smashing a glass. A chance to fight back, to reclaim, to stop being a sad victim, a shamed Bradshaw.

  It was an inspiring daydream, and in the morning, she’d set it aside and rejoin the world as a sensible, trustworthy adult who didn’t fancy herself as some kind of supersleuth crime-fighting femme fatale, all movement and color and song.

  And then she got home and found both Mom and Mallory in tears. A man Dad had ripped off confronted Mom on the street about living the high life while he lost his house. He followed Mom back to the apartment, spat on her, and posted a photo of her cowering in their doorway all over social media.

  The idea of remaining a victim and being content about that made Lenny want to claw her eyes out.

  Made climbing back feel impossible without making a mess and striking back, too.

  Power was all about who gets forgiven and who was allowed a fresh start, and Lenny was determined to make hers no matter what.

  Chapter Eleven

  If Halsey’s stiff, scabbed-over hand wasn’t a reminder of why he needed to get a new hobby, his continual thoughts of Lenny were.

  In the bathroom at the bar, he’d wanted to hold her for forever, except it was awkward being in the restroom and only lucky they hadn’t been interrupted. Still, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head of putting his hand to her cheek and kissing her full lips.

  The cold, clear rage he’d felt when he’d hit her mugger had shocked him in a way no other violence had prepared him for. He’d wanted to hit that man until he couldn’t stand and then take on his buddy. But for not wanting to leave Lenny unguarded, he might’ve made himself a person of interest in a way that was averse to his career as a backroom numbers nerd.

  But he was Excel Boy at heart, because he didn’t operate well outside small boxes. He should’ve shut the hell up about them working together to take down Cookie Jar. Just when Lenny might’ve been a little dazzled and forgiving, he’d reminded her of his crooked backbone and his devious capabilities.

  That was the reason he bid a little high for the turn-of-the-century Edmund Bloch, spy camera cravat pin. Not because it would look amazing in his collection alongside the bowler hat camera, but because he was trying to remind himself who he was. He was a guy who kept to himself, who did work he loved that was morally compromising for a cause that was utterly right, and who liked to collect curiosities and beautiful things.

  He didn’t do fieldwork. He didn’t hulk out in times of danger. He didn’t fall hopelessly in lust with a woman who would never regard him as anything except her worst possible mistake.

  And if the box he’d written himself felt a little constrained, it was all the more reason to put his head down and get on with things, because it was reporting season and he had a dozen investment reports to fake, and no time to feel discontent.

  “Halsey, can you watch Amelia for me for an hour?” Mom was at his door with Cousin Amelia’s hand in hers. “I have to do a thing and everyone is out.”

  He had all the time in the world for Cousin Amelia, and no doubt Mom had to do a thing no four-year-old should witness. “You want to help me work, Amelia?”

  “Not really,” Amelia said with a slow head shake. Couldn’t say he blamed her.

  Mom went to her haunches and turned Amelia to face her. “I’ll be back soon, and we can go to the park and watch those terrible men who play those awful games with the three cups and a bottle cap.”

  Amelia’s eyes lit up, and she ran across to Halsey, scooting around his desk to stand at his side. He pushed his chair back and lifted her to his lap. “Starting her education early I see, Mom.”

  “It’s never too early. You were an adept spy at Amelia’s age. I used to send you into rooms full of adults who paid you no attention, and you’d come back with all kinds of useful information.”

  And there it was: Excel Boy’s origin story. He still spent time in rooms full of adults, ignored and collecting compromising data. No wonder he occasionally felt the need to hulk out.

  “An hour, Mom. I’m busy.”

  Mom smiled and disappeared with a flick of her emerald-green scarf, which was amusing, though in no way reassuring that he’d see her anytime soon.

  He played with one of Amelia’s ringlets, pulling it straight and watching it bounce back into a tight corkscrew curl. “I think Aunty Katrice has blown this joint and left us holding the baby.”

  “I’m not a baby,” Amelia said with an indignant jut of her chin.

  “No, of course not. How silly of me. It’s an expression that means Aunty might be late.” The kind of late that meant Amelia probably wouldn’t get near the park today unless Halsey took her.

  “We can play the game with the three cups here.” It was absolutely fine to teach your tiny cousin how shell games worked. The shell game was the basis for any con, and every child should be taught to look out for grifts.

  He shifted Amelia to his other knee and took two identical brass buttons and three red Dixie cups from his drawer. Sometimes late at night, when he was having difficulty juggling fake facts and adding things up in a bulletproof way, he practiced the sleight of hand he’d been taught as a kid. There was a soothing rhythm to it.

  He palmed one button without Amelia seeing it and put the other under the middle Dixie cup, making sure she knew it was there. Amelia bounced on his knee while he shuffled the cups. She knew exactly where the button should be, because his movements were slow and deliberate, but in lifting the cup she tapped her finger on, he extracted the button and presented her with an empty space.

  “No,” she said, eyes agog. “It was there.”

  “You have to watch carefully.”

  “You cheated on me.”

  He laughed. “Yes, I did, but you have to catch me.”

  That’s when Lenny appeared in his doorway and what caught was a hot arrow of want in his chest.

  “There was no one at the reception desk,” she said.

  Lenny did this to him, messed with his expectations and continually surprised him, and he hated surprises. They made him say irrelevant things like, “I don’t know where they all are,” when he meant to say, Hi, I’m really glad to see you. Please may I kiss you?

  She tugged on her jacket. “I should’ve made an appointment. I was walking this way and never mind, I can see you’re busy, I’ll go.”

  “Don’t go.” He was looking at her over the top of his reading glasses like he was the professor and she was his deadline-missed, day-late, excuse-short student. He took them off and got the right line out. “I’m glad to see you. This is Amelia.” He pulled one of Amelia ringlets. “This is Lenny.”

  “That’s a boy’s name,” Amelia whispered in her outside voice.

  “We need to work on your whispering. It can be a girl’s name, too. It’s short for Lenore,” he said.

  Amelia squinted at Lenny. “She doesn’t look short to me.”

  Lenny smiled. “I think you’re busy.”

  He handed Amelia a pink highlighter and put a pad in front of her. “Don’t go.”

  “Is she yours?”

  Ah, that was what was making Lenny look unbearably uncomfortable. She thought he’d kept having a daughter from her. “Amelia is my cousin. I’m babysitting.”

  Amelia shook her curls and continued drawing with the highlighter. “I’m not a baby. I already told you.”

  Lenny leaned against the doorjamb. “You should listen when women talk, Uncle Halsey.”

  “Yeah,” said Amelia. “My mom says men have trouble doing listening.”

  “Outnumbered and outflanked,” Halsey said.

  “Girls are better,” Amelia said.

  “Girls are better,” he agreed, watching Lenny. And then the cavalry arrived in the form of Camille, looking flustered.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I got held up. Dentist, whitening. Where is everyone? Hey, Amelia, would you like to come to reception? I could do with your help answering the phones, and we could have some stra
wberries.”

  Amelia turned in Halsey’s lap. “Are you going to talk about boring things with Lenny?”

  “I hope so,” he said, focusing on Amelia and not Lenny, in case she balked at the boring things, too. “You’ll like strawberries better.”

  Amelia put her hand to his face as if she felt sorry for him. “Mind my drawing.”

  “I will.” He helped her down, she took Camille’s hand, and they left together, then he beckoned Lenny in. “Take a seat.” He was suddenly dry-mouthed and wished he had something liquid to fill the red cups. Amelia had been a good foil, and now that it was just the two of them, he worried why Lenny was here.

  She came forward and took the seat opposite him, nodding at the cups. “What were you playing?”

  He lifted them one by one, put the button under the middle one, and then shuffled them, making sure never to move the middle one. “Pick a cup.”

  She crossed her arms. “Did that work with Amelia?”

  “Pick a cup and I’ll tell you.”

  With a puff of annoyance, she pointed at the middle one. He pulled the same trick he’d pulled on Amelia, removing the button as he showed the cup.

  “No way,” Lenny said.

  He picked up the cup to the left, and Lenny shot forward in her chair as the two buttons were revealed. “How did you do that?”

  “I had a lonely childhood.”

  She picked up the cup and the buttons and examined them, holding the cup up to the light. “This is just an ordinary cup.”

  “Most cons are ordinary. The more fantastical you make them, the more details you have to remember to shuffle, the more mistakes you can make, and the more gullible your marks have to be. I’m not saying a con can’t be elaborate and have a lot of moving parts, but there is elegance in simplicity.”

  She put the cup down and tossed the buttons in one hand. “I want to be PowerPoint Girl to your Excel Boy.”

  He’d have fallen out of his chair if it hadn’t been an original Eames and therefore impossible. All the same, he gripped the edge of his desk. He’d dreamed about this. It was nightmare for Lenny.

  “I want to help you take down Cookie Jar. I won’t do anything illegal or act as bait in any sexual sense, and I want to be long gone before you pull the rug out from under him. But I’ll be the light and sound show you need to reel Sonny Ozols in.”

  The glasstop was cold and smooth under his fingers; Lenny’s idea was a dumpster fire. “No.” What was she thinking? “That’s not a good idea.”

  “It’s exactly what you wanted.”

  Yes. Fuck, yes. But that didn’t make it smart. He put his glasses on and took them off again. “Yes, okay, I thought having a partner— I wondered what it would be like, but it’s not— No.”

  He palmed his face and she laughed. “I’ve shocked you.”

  Into telling her what she should do again. “Damn near rendered me speechless. Why would you want to do this?”

  “Do my motives matter?”

  “Yes, they do. I understood them before. They don’t make any sense to me now.”

  “Do you want to do this or not? PowerPoint Girl and Excel Boy take on Cookie Jar.”

  He groaned. “You’ve made it sound like World Series Wrestling.”

  “I wasn’t banking on there being any physical contact.”

  Well, fuck again. He wanted to round his desk and scoop her into his arms as if she were in danger and he alone could protect her. And she was in danger—from him and his bad influence. This was an appallingidea.

  “No slamming my head into any hard surfaces,” she said.

  That’s exactly what he needed—his head, a hard surface, repeated slamming. “I should never have talked about this.”

  “I’ve thought this through and I want to do it, and it shouldn’t matter why.”

  “But it does matter. If we’re going to be partners, we’d have to trust each other.”

  She pressed her lips together, frowned, and lowered her head.

  He scooped one of the cups off his desk. “That’s what I thought. Look, Lenny, I should’ve kept my mouth shut. You don’t want to be anywhere near this.”

  “You said you needed a light and sound show, and you’d do the rest.” Up came her eyes, a hard surface to slam him. “Was that a lie?”

  “I’ve never lied to you. There’s no reason to.”

  “So what’s your problem?”

  She was his problem. The chance to work with Lenny, to have her by his side as his partner, where he could legitimately take her out and dance with her, eat a meal with her, touch her, and not need to worry he was noxious poison for her.

  “I don’t have a problem.” But that was a lie. He shook his head. “Wait. I lied. This is never going to work.”

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  “I could trust you. We both want the same thing. Enemies united by a common cause. Limited time, offer expires.”

  The things he wanted with Lenny didn’t have any place in this conversation. He needed to talk her out of this in a way that made it her decision not something he coerced. “We’d have to be in a relationship.”

  “What?”

  He pinned her. “It won’t work otherwise. We have to present to the world as if we’re dating, as if we’re intimate. There would need to be some touching.” God help him.

  “But we won’t be intimate.”

  He’d let her wriggle free when he’d applied enough pressure. “We will be when we’re in public.”

  “I could cope.” She squared her shoulders. “It’s not like you haven’t already had your hands all over me.” She was fighting back.

  “It’s not like you didn’t like it. We both wanted that kiss.”

  “Fuck you, Halsey Sherwood.”

  Slammed, and it kind of hurt. “See? This will never work.” Sometimes, being right felt hellishly wrong.

  “No, no, it’ll work.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “We sound like every couple I’ve ever known.”

  She’d gotten out from under him with a twist he hadn’t seen coming. They stared at each other. He crushed the cup in his hand.

  “Lenore Nicole Bradshaw. You went to NYU, though you could’ve gone anywhere you chose. You studied business and law and slaved away as a strategy consultant at Slate, Lipton, and Polk before deciding to start D4D with Fin. You and Fin have been best friends since you took dance classes together when you were ten. You stuck together through thick and thin. She’s the only one in your life who knows how bad things have gotten at home.”

  He didn’t know that for sure, but Lenny confirmed it with the way her shoulders drooped.

  “You’ve wanted to have your own not-for-profit since high school. It’s in your yearbook. D4D almost went under, but it’s healthy now and doing excellent work. It took a lot for you to come here, because I’m your worst nightmare—a man you know is a crook, who won’t get caught for the very same crime your dad committed.”

  Lenny’s chin came up, and she straightened her back. “You’re trying to scare me off.”

  “You’re very sure of yourself until I use a word like ‘relationship,’ and then all your stitching comes undone.”

  She crossed one leg over the other and swung it, more furiously then nonchalantly. The shoes were killer; the legs were superb. “You only think you know me. I’m full of surprises.”

  And the main surprise was how much he looked forward to discovering that. He owned his fastidiousness. He had standards, and Lenore Bradshaw with her visionary, go get it, take it on the chin, solve my own problems, peach-ripe body was checking all the boxes, lusciously.

  Which made it useful that she hated him, because in the field there was no room for emotions.

  She scowled, her eyes narrowing, and then she laughed.

  “What’s so damn funny?” he said.

  “You.”

  He tossed the cup in his trash.

  “Don’t get shitty,” she said. />
  “Don’t tell me what to do,” he snapped.

  She laughed again. “I want to do this because I’m sick of feeling like a victim. I can’t do anything to make up for what my dad did. It’s going to take a long time before the Bradshaw name isn’t mud. But I can do this.”

  Ah, Lenny. “You have nothing to make up.”

  She looked at the ceiling. “Tell the world that. I need this. I need to be seen, and it will help to have a you as my handsome handbag. Please don’t make me beg.”

  “We do have to pretend we’re together by choice.” It wouldn’t work if they were arguing all the time.

  “I can deal with that.”

  “There are going to be lies told.” Lots of them.

  “I’m on board with telling a few strategic lies myself, if it gets us what we want.”

  “Cookie Jar thoroughly disgraced and bankrupted, then removed from power.”

  She nodded. “It will be the start of the Lenny Bradshaw rehabilitation tour.”

  That made sense.

  “So we’re clear, I’m using you as much as you’re using me,” she said.

  Now that he understood, it was as unromantic as sweeping up broken glass. But it might work.

  “What happens to the money you take from Cookie Jar?” she asked.

  This was firmer ground, straight operational practice. “You get your donation back, and we refund all the other organizations and government entities Cookie Jar ripped off. Anything left over after costs goes to a fund to benefit Ossovian kids.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. For the next six weeks, we run a sting to disgrace Sonny Ozols that his party can use as leverage to get him dumped from the leadership, tried, and sent to jail.”

  She stood and held her hand out across his desk. “After it’s done, we’re done.”

  He shouldn’t make this deal; it had irretrievably stupid written in every rectangular box of it.