Breaker - A Fake Boyfriend Romance (Criminal Passions Book 3)

by Layla Valentine

  I pulled her hand up to my lips and kissed it softly. I was trying to be a gentleman, but with each passing second, I realized more and more I wanted to do things with her other than kiss her hand. I had my grift ready to go, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to know her a little.

  “Sierra,” she said, a slight hitch to her voice. “Nice to meet you, Caleb.”

  I finally let go of her hand and put the issue of her looks out of my mind for enough time to focus on the other thing that had drawn me to her—the fact that whoever she was, she clearly had money.

  Now, all I had to do was figure out how to separate it from her and get it into my pocket.

  “Thanks for all that,” she went on.

  “My pleasure. I can spot a girl who’s not happy with male attention from across a bar.”

  She grinned. “That because you’re an expert in seeing annoyed women up close and personal?”

  I laughed. Sierra was quick on her feet—I liked that.

  “More that I’m one of those types who’s good at reading people. You know, they say ninety percent of a conversation happens without words.”

  “Is that right?”

  “It’s right. Body language, tone of voice, facial expressions—they say more than any words ever could.”

  “Okay then,” she said, sitting back. “Does that mean you can tell what I’m thinking right now?”

  “Now, I’m not a mind reader. But yeah, I can get a sense of what’s on your mind right now.”

  “Then go for it. I want to see how good you are.”

  I smirked, ready for the challenge. Reading people was one of my specialties, one of the reasons I’d gotten into the con game. I gave Sierra a once-over, doing my best not to ogle her as I did.

  “Okay,” I said. “You’re dressed to impress, that’s the first thing I noticed.”

  “Well, sure. Doesn’t take an expert to see that I don’t wear this kind of dress every day.”

  “But you’re dressed conservatively—not out to be picked up. And I’ve got no doubt you’re not the kind of girl who would even do something like that.”

  “Sure, sure. So far, so good.”

  “Obviously here to meet someone. And someone…you’re not looking forward to meeting.”

  A tinge of worry flashed on her face, and I knew I was onto something.

  “You’re hiding something. You’ve got a secret.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Closed body language. Your legs are together, your arms are crossed you like you’re trying to protect yourself. And your shoulders are hunched a little, like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. All tell-tale signs of someone who’s got something she doesn’t want someone to find out.”

  More worry formed on her face. I was getting close to the truth, and she knew it. I decided to pull back a little, not make her feel completely exposed.

  “But all women have their secrets, right? Not my business to find out what they are.”

  The tension in her shoulders faded somewhat, and a small smile returned to her lips. God, I’d only known her for five minutes and I already couldn’t stop thinking about those lips, imagining what it’d be like to kiss them, to put my hands on those curvy hips, to hold her close.

  What the hell was going on with me? I’d conned beautiful women before, but Sierra was different. I could already tell.

  “Now, that’s some wisdom that you don’t expect to hear from men you meet at bars. Not that I meet many men at bars.”

  “Naturally,” I said. “But if there’s one thing I know about keeping secrets, it’s that it feels a hell of a lot better to let them out than keep them in.”

  I was one to talk. My entire life was one secret on top of another. But I knew how to keep them in check, how to keep them straight. One of the many reasons why I was suited for this kind of life while other people weren’t.

  Not to mention…I actually wanted to get to know her better. Not just to prod and see if there was, in fact, a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

  “I have to admit,” she said. “You might think it’s some deep, dark secret like I just killed someone and am trying to figure out where to hide the body.”

  I laughed. “No offense, but you don’t seem like the killer type.”

  She smiled back. “I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered.”

  “Whichever you like. But no, it’s not something like that.”

  “Then you might think I’m having an affair?”

  “Don’t think it’s that either. A place like this would be too obvious a choice to meet someone you were meeting in a, ah, clandestine fashion. Cheaters meet at dive bars two towns over. And not to mention”—I tapped her ring finger—“there’s no tan line. You can take a ring off, but you can’t hide that.”

  She cocked her head to the side, clearly impressed. “Right on all counts. You’re good, Caleb.”

  “What can I say? You have your gifts, and you work with them.”

  “Then…what do you think I’m here for? What do you think my deep, dark secret is?”

  I laughed. “Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not thinking that whatever you have is deep or dark. Not to say it’s not important, but not ‘cheating in a marriage’ or ‘hiding a body.’”

  “Then what?”

  “I’m thinking…family stuff. Don’t want to get too personal here, but you’re from a well-to-do family, right?”

  “You could say that. How did you know?”

  “Because of all the things you can pick out about someone from just watching them, their economic background is the easiest. Everyone from every strata of class carries themselves a certain way, and they learn it from a young age. It’s one of the most obvious tells, and one of the hardest to hide.”

  And it was one that I’d spent my life working on. I was from a poor family, but over the years I’d done all I could to hide my upbringing. I’d settled on an upper-middle-class affect and bearing, which seemed to be the sweet spot—not too poor, not too rich.

  That didn’t matter right then. And I didn’t think she’d be able to guess it.

  “Well, yes. My family’s doing okay.”

  “And what you’re dealing with…it has to do with them, right? Something you’re hiding from them, and maybe tonight’s the night you’re going to let it out in the open. Am I getting warmer?”

  Her blue eyes went wide, and she took another sip of her wine, as if she needed to do something to keep from speaking.

  “Okay, you’re too good. I need to stop before you end up writing my biography. And—”

  A look of realization snapped onto her face. Her hand shot out, and she took her phone and checked the screen.

  “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “My parents. I’m meeting them, like you said.”

  “Are they here?”

  “I got so wrapped up in our conversation that I missed their text. They were here five minutes ago, and—”

  “There’s our girl!”

  We both turned to see an older couple standing before us, both well dressed, both clearly from money.

  Jackpot.

  “And,” said the father, turning a pair of skeptical, scanning eyes onto me, “who is this?”

  Chapter 3

  Sierra

  “Sweetheart,” my dad said. “What’s going on here?”

  I knew him well enough to get that he knew exactly what was going on—some charming guy at the bar was quite possibly putting the moves on his daughter. Dad wasn’t the type of guy to chase away potential suitors with a shotgun, but he’d always had very particular ideas of the kind of men who I ought to be associating with.

  And one thing was certain: they weren’t men like Caleb.

  I glanced over at Mom, who said nothing. She didn’t need to: the concern in her expression was glaringly obvious.

  “Just…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say.

  “Just speaking to
an old friend,” Caleb said, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation.

  “An old friend?” asked Dad.

  “Well, not exactly. Your daughter was friends with a good friend of mine back in college. We met a couple times, but never really got to know each other. So when I spotted her here at the bar, I thought chatting with her would be a good way to pass the time while she waited for her parents.”

  His eyes flicked to my mom, settling on the silver necklace she was wearing. “That’s a lovely piece, ma’am. Handmade?”

  “Why, yes,” she said, a small smile forming on her lips.

  “It’s lovely. I worked in the jewelry business for a time and know quality when I see it.”

  He was smooth, no doubt about that. Caleb dropped a lie and pivoted right to another topic before my parents could ask any questions.

  “Anyway,” he said. “I’ll let you get off to dinner. But it was nice chatting, Sierra.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  He rose, taking his drink and leaving with another flash of his charming smile. Caleb went around the other side of the rectangle-shaped bar, out of sight.

  “Well,” said Dad. “As long as he’s not some stranger.”

  Mom shook her head. “Can you believe some men would think it’s appropriate to simply walk up to a woman they don’t know and try to put the moves on her? Just ghastly.”

  “But he wasn’t doing that, Mom. He was…nice.”

  It wasn’t the right word to describe Caleb at all. He was charming, funny, and sharp. But I didn’t get the impression he was a “nice” guy at all. And that appealed to me.

  “I know, I know,” said Mom. “But still. It’s unseemly.”

  Dad straightened his back and cleared his throat. “Well, I’m hungry. Shall we take our table?”

  “Let’s,” said Mom. “I need to sit.”

  Dad flagged down the nearest member of the serving staff and told him we were ready to be seated. The server got the hostess, who led us to our table.

  As we made our way over, I kept thinking about Caleb. There was something about him, something I couldn’t get out of my head. And more than that, something that had managed to take my mind off what I had to do that night.

  It made me think of going on a date, something I hadn’t done in a long, long while. Med school had sucked up all my time—one of the reasons I’d decided to drop out. My hours were spent in class, studying, or cramming down some junk food while squeezing in an hour here and there of TV just to unwind. It wasn’t the kind of life I imagined for myself.

  We sat down, and moments later a waiter approached and went through the specials.

  “Sounds good,” said Dad when he was done. “I’ll take that Wagyu steak, medium rare. My wife will have the salmon, and my daughter will take the veal.”

  “Actually,” I said. “I think I’ll have the steak, too. Medium, please.”

  Dad narrowed his eyes. “She’ll have the veal.” He turned his attention to me. “Trust me, you’ll like it. And a bottle of red—something that the bartender recommends.”

  Dad gathered the menus and handed them over, the waiter departing moments later.

  “You know, Dad,” I said. “I’m more than capable of ordering my own food.”

  I looked him over, taking in his imposing figure. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with silver, slicked-back hair and piercing blue eyes like mine. He was dressed in a dark suit, his face trim and sharp and serious as always.

  Mom was all glamour, which was typical for her. She wore a lovely dress, the silver necklace that Caleb had pointed out matching her dangly earrings. Her hair was dyed blond, done up in ornate curls. Mom had been a beauty pageant queen back in the day, and though those days were long behind her, she was still a knockout.

  “You say that,” said Dad. “But I remember when you were a kid, if I’d leave the decision of what to eat up to you, you’d end up with a plate of dinosaur chicken nuggets and French fries.”

  “Well, I’m not a kid anymore,” I said. “I do my own shopping, and eat my own food.”

  “And what’s the last meal you had?” he asked.

  I thought back to the answer. It was that morning, when I’d shoved down a couple of bowls of sugary cereal before heading off to my last day of classes—the last day before I’d decided to drop out.

  “Something quick for breakfast.”

  “Something quick and junky, no doubt,” he said. “Trust me—I know this place and I know the menu. You’ll like the veal.”

  “Your father knows these things,” said Mom with a prim smile, echoing his words. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

  “But that’s not the point,” I said. “I’m an adult. I don’t need my dad watching out for me like that.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You mean not watching out for you so you can talk to random men at the bar?

  “I told you, Dad. He wasn’t some random guy trying to pick me up. He was an old college friend.”

  “I know how men work,” said Dad. “And they never talk to women just to ‘get to know them.’ If you’d listen to me every now and then, you might see that I’m not full of it when I try to steer you in the right direction.”

  And I also knew my father well enough to understand that there was no winning an argument with him. That’s why I’d already dropped out, and was simply going to tell him that I did, rather than try to argue with him about why I should.

  What was the old expression? Better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission?

  “Just listen to your father, dear,” said Mom. “It’s easier that way.”

  A million things came to mind, but I let them all pass. Tonight was about picking my battles, and I was about to pick the battle of a lifetime.

  “Anyway,” said Dad. “How’s school going?”

  Before I had a chance to respond, the waiter approached the table and poured Dad a sample of the wine. Dad took a sip and held it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it and shaking his head.

  “Send it back,” he said. “And get the recommendation of the owner rather than the bartender—he clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the waiter, taking the bottle and Dad’s glass away from the table.

  Exacting and uncompromising—that was Dad in a nutshell.

  “So,” he said. “School. How is it?”

  “It’s…complicated.”

  “Complicated how?” asked Mom.

  “I’m assuming you’re still doing well,” said Dad. “And that’s good. Med school will be the first step for you on a path that will end up with a life that you’ll be very, very happy with.”

  “Is that right?” I asked.

  “That’s right,” said Dad. “Med school isn’t just about becoming a doctor, though that’s important. It’s about the kinds of people you’ll meet along the way. The medical profession attracts the smart and the talented and the ambitious—all people like you.”

  “And not only friends,” added Mom. “I’m sure you’ll meet a tall, handsome doctor along the way.” She smiled, as if she couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

  “I know you, Sierra,” Dad said. “I know you’re smart and talented. You’ll blow through med school and your residency, and by the time you hit thirty, you’ll likely be making six figures. And when you feel the time is right, that’s when you can start your private practice. That’s where the real money is.”

  He looked away, clearly taken by the life he’d plotted out for me. “The only question is what sort of specialization you should take. There’s surgery, sure, but that’d have you slaving away in an ER, making not nearly as much as you should. And then…there’s, hmm, plastic surgery. But I doubt you want to spend your life giving tummy tucks to wealthy housewives—I know you’re too concerned with doing good in the world for something like that, as good as the money might be.”

  “Dad.”

  He didn’t listen. “You want my opi
nion, I think OB-GYN is the way to go. Good money, good prestige, and it’s one of the least competitive fields—not that I don’t think you could get into any one you wanted.”

  “Dad.”

  “And then there’s the matter of what sort of man you’ll want to end up with. A doctor is the obvious choice, but I’ve found that couples in the same field tend to be less successful than those not. Perhaps a man in finance—good money, and just as ambitious as you’ll want.”

  “Dad!” I raised my voice, enough to get his attention, along with the attention of some diners at nearby tables.

  Dad’s eyebrows raised and he shot hard glances around to the other diners, who quickly went back to their meals.

  “Is there a reason why you’re raising your voice like that?”

  “Is something wrong, baby?” asked Mom. “You look worried all of a sudden.”

  No time like the present.

  But as I formulated my thoughts, something occurred to me. Not lying, but maybe…a twist on the truth, something to make the bitter pill go down a little easier.

  First, the hard part.

  “I dropped out of med school.”

  Boom. And there it was.

  “What?” asked Dad. “You what?”

  “I dropped out of med school. Dad, I know it’s the life you wanted for me, but the further I went into it, the more I knew it wasn’t what I wanted. I hope you can understand that.”

  They were stunned, speechless. Dad’s mouth was opened, but I began to wonder if he thought this might’ve been some kind of prank.

  “But…it’s not just that I dropped out. It’s because I met someone.”

  “You met someone?” asked Mom.

  Dad was still clearly upset. “Don’t tell me you met some punk who plays bass in some go-nowhere garage band or some nonsense. If I find out you’ve thrown your future away for some lowlife—”

  “No,” I cut in. “Not like that at all. He’s a really, really good guy. In fact, he’s a businessman, like you, Dad. And he makes really good money. We met a few months ago and already are really, really serious. I told him that I wasn’t crazy about med school, and he said he’d support me while I figured out what I really wanted to do.”