Dealing in Deception

by Samantha Joyce

  “There.” I released the tie and took a step back. “Go get your jacket.”

  He grabbed the black jacket from the hanger in the changing room and pulled it on. Doing up the buttons, he paused in front of the mirror. “I feel like George Clooney or something.”

  “Oh, please, you aren’t even close to Clooney level.”

  I stood behind him, eyeing his reflection. I’d never admit it to him, but he looked like he was made to wear a tux. Even the somewhat messy hair looked just right against the cleanliness of the lines of the suit, like those celebrities who showed up on the red carpet saying they woke up that way and you believed them.

  We lined up in the mirror, me in my Alexander McQueen navy dress, him in Armani. I came up just past his shoulder. Dressed like this, I could almost believe we were successful business partners—or more.

  “You know, you’re wearing the designer your dog is named after,” I said after a moment.

  “Does this mean it’s totally cool if I get dog hair on it?”

  I slapped his arm. “You’d better not. None of this stuff should look anything but impeccable. If you ball up a single one of these shirts and throw it on a chair, I’ll hunt you down.”

  “Fine. I’ll just have to do my fashion show for Ari from afar.”

  The image of Bax strutting down his hall while Ari barked from the office made me giggle. He must’ve gotten the same picture in his mind, because he joined in.

  “Now you look like a beautiful couple.” Rocco appeared behind us. “Dressed perfectly, if I do say so. Even your laughter complements each other’s.” He winked. “Miss Cassandra, will there be anything else?”

  I stepped away from the mirror. “No, thank you, Rocco. We’ll take all of this.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll ring you up once you’re ready.”

  Bax burst into laughter as the older man left us alone.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

  “The idea of us as a couple. It’s ridiculous.”

  I crossed my arms. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’m pretty sure you hate my guts.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Oh please.” He shrugged out of the jacket. “Can you really see yourself with someone like me?”

  My mind called up that tiny apartment of his. An image of us taking the Metro. Walking through the park with Ari in tow. Snuggling in bed as it snowed outside the window. I shook my head. Whoa. Where had that come from?

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I don’t date clients. Now, put your Goodwill clothes back on, and I’ll go pay for this stuff.”

  Rocco didn’t blink an eye when I paid for everything in cash. He’d grown used to it with me. I’d once tried to explain my business to him, but I was pretty sure he just thought I ran an escort service. It didn’t matter, though. I was still one of his best customers and was treated as such.

  By the time we left the store, my purse was lighter and Bax’s arms were weighed down with garment bags.

  “This will be fun on the Metro,” he said.

  “Another reason you need a car.” My phone beeped and I pulled it out of my purse. “I’d drive you home but—”

  “You’re afraid of the ghetto. Got it.”

  “Actually, I have an appointment with another client.”

  His smile drooped like a bad Botox job. “Oh. Right. Of course you have other clients. I guess I just thought—”

  “What? That you were special? Sorry, just another job. Good luck on your Metro ride. Guard those clothes with your life. I’ll meet you tomorrow evening for our next round of preparations. Wear one of the suits.”

  He ambled down the street and disappeared around a corner. I let out a pent-up breath and glanced again at my phone. The reminder I’d set about my manicure later was actually what had pinged me. I didn’t have any other clients. In fact, I made it a point to give my whole attention to each client as I worked with them.

  But I wasn’t sure I could spend another second with Bax. I headed to my car, parked at a meter down the street. First he’d gotten my real name, then he’d asked about my family and I’d actually told him the truth. Something about him made me want to open up but also made me want to run and hide at the same time.

  I started the car and pulled into traffic, an unfamiliar sensation twisting through my gut. I couldn’t shake the feeling that despite his hero complex and kind eyes, Baxter Linton was the most dangerous man I’d ever met.

  Bax

  Ties had to be the work of the devil.

  No matter how many times I was forced to wear them, I couldn’t understand why anyone would willfully wrap something that resembled a noose around their neck. I clawed at the knot that was hell-bent on cutting off my entire oxygen supply, exhaling with relief when it loosened.

  The name of the restaurant Veronica had texted me hadn’t sounded familiar. Standing on the sidewalk and peering in the window, I understood why. The place looked classy as hell.

  On the other side of the glass, white tablecloths sprawled like a linen snow scene. Candles lit up the patrons, their clothing impeccable, their backs straight, their plates resembling art more than food. Yeah, this was not my usual scene.

  My phone let out a ding and I sighed as I pulled it from my pocket. Veronica’s message glared up at me: YOU’RE LATE. AGAIN.

  Of course she was a woman who used all caps. God forbid she wasn’t yelling at me for a single second. Straightening my suit jacket, I took a deep breath and entered the restaurant.

  The scents of balsamic vinegar, melting candle wax, and women’s perfume immediately performed a collective assault on my senses. Blinking away the invasion, I scanned the crowd huddled around the door for Veronica. Her dark hair didn’t seem to be among the silver braids and dyed blondes.

  “Can I help you, sir?” A man with a mustache and a French accent so thick it reminded me of Pepé Le Pew trailed his eyes up and down me, as though he could sense I didn’t belong.

  “I’m meeting someone,” I said. “I think she’s already here. Her name is . . .” Crap. What name had she given this place? I probably shouldn’t even attempt the real one. “Um . . . well, she’s got black hair to here, green eyes, the longest legs I’ve ever seen. She’s gorgeous. And she’s probably already told off several of your waitstaff.”

  Le Pew nodded. “Ah, Miss Renée. Yes, she is waiting. Follow me.”

  He led me past chattering couples bent over silver breadbaskets that probably cost half my monthly rent. The deeper we went into the restaurant, the dimmer the lighting and the fancier the clothes. I wondered briefly if he was taking me outside to the alley—you know, with the other trash.

  “Bax! What are you doing here, dude?”

  Scott’s voice pierced my ear to the right, halting me and Le Pew, and garnering more than one annoyed glance from the couples around us. My friend sat at a table in the corner, currently alone, but the half-finished salad across from him indicated he had company.

  “I have a business meeting,” I said, holding up a wait-one-second finger at Le Pew. He rolled his eyes so far back in the sockets I was amazed to see them make their way back. I lowered my voice. “What are you doing here, bud? You get a raise or something?”

  “Actually”—he produced a small red velvet box from his jacket pocket—“I’m going to ask Ally to marry me. I wanted to do it somewhere special.”

  I clapped him on the back. “Congrats, dude. Wow, from breakup to engaged in a week? I’m happy for you, Scott. Really. Good for you.”

  “Well, she hasn’t said yes yet.” His eyes widened and he jammed the box back in his pocket. “Shhh . . . here she comes.”

  “Baxter! Lovely to see you!” Allison came up behind me and gave me one of those kisses on the cheek that doesn’t actually make contact before taking her seat.
“I have to admit I’m surprised. You always said you hated places like this.”

  “I’m just here for business,” I said. Le Pew cleared his throat at the exact same moment my phone let out a ding. “In fact, I’m late. Nice to see you guys again. Have a good dinner.”

  I gave Scott the thumbs-up as Allison focused on the remainder of her salad, and followed Le Pew to a table at the back.

  “It’s about freaking time.” Veronica shoved her phone into her purse.

  She definitely looked like she belonged here. Her dark green dress matched her eyes, the top hugging her waist and breasts like it had been cut for her figure. Lace of the same color sprouted like ivy from her chest to her neck, giving me a glimpse of her tanned skin beneath.

  “Your server will be with you in a moment,” Le Pew said. He gave a bow and rushed away from us. I was disappointed when I noted the only tails on him were those of his suit jacket.

  “Sorry for being late,” I said. “I got a little lost. Then Scott grabbed me over there. He’s proposing to his girlfriend and—”

  Veronica froze, her water glass halfway to her crimson lips. “Wait. Scott is here? And Allison is with him? Crap.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “He was my client, remember?” She set the glass down with a clunk. Water sloshed out and puddled on the tablecloth. “I’m the reason they’re back together.”

  I grabbed a warm roll from the basket in the middle of the table and broke it open. “Right. And they’re getting engaged. I’d say you were a success.”

  “Yeah, unless she sees me, puts two and two together, and realizes her boyfriend deceived her into getting back with him.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” I shoved a bit of bread into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully. After I’d swallowed I said, “So how does this refund thing of yours work? Do they have to stay together forever or Scott gets his money back?”

  “Of course not. Assuming a couple would stay together forever would be idiotic.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “But if I mess it up in some way—like, say, giving away what I do to the person being deceived—and she leaves him because of it, he’s entitled to his refund.”

  “That would definitely suck for you.” I popped the rest of the roll into my mouth and brushed the crumbs off my suit jacket. “Should we leave?”

  Veronica glanced behind her, then shook her head. “No. I guess as long as they don’t come over here, it’ll be fine.”

  “Why are we here, anyway? I have an awesome microwave pizza just waiting to be devoured at home.”

  “We’re here for your next lesson.”

  A waitress in a crisp white blouse and black skirt appeared at our table and refilled the barely touched water glasses. “I see your guest has arrived. Would you like to hear tonight’s specials?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “No,” Veronica said flatly. “Just a few more moments with the menus, please.”

  The server shrugged and walked away.

  “I might’ve wanted to hear the specials,” I said. “Besides, they have to memorize them every night. I feel like it’s nice to at least let them get to say their spiel.”

  Veronica took a sip of water, her rose-petal lipstick leaving an imprint on the rim of the glass. Shockingly, there wasn’t an ounce of her usual whiskey in sight.

  “I told you, we’re here for another lesson,” she said. “First things first. Most important business dealings take place in restaurants like this. If an investor isn’t willing to pay for your meal while you pitch to them, then you aren’t their priority. They also aren’t as guarded over food. Alcohol, full stomachs, the ambience . . . All of these tend to pull them over to your side. But they are analyzing your every move through the meal, and you have to prove your importance. The first rule is, you never want to hear the specials. You have no interest in getting anything that’s on sale. The second is you never eat the free bread.”

  She eyed the second roll clamped in my hand. I dropped it back into the basket with a sigh and wiped my hands on my pants. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why not?”

  “Because it’s free. You don’t eat or order anything that’s cheap or free. You’re too important for the stale bread they give out to everyone.” The waitress sauntered back toward our table and Veronica leaned forward, her voice low. “And you always order the most expensive thing on the menu. Order the steak and lobster.”

  “I don’t like lobster.”

  She blew a strand of hair off her face. “Of course you don’t. It doesn’t matter. You probably won’t eat it.”

  “Why would I order something, then not eat it?”

  “Because you’ll be too busy selling yourself to the investors. Now, follow my lead.”

  “Are you ready for me to take your order?” The server looked at us expectantly.

  “Yes,” Veronica said. “I’ll have the steak and lobster please. Medium rare. And a glass of Dom Pérignon.”

  “Excellent.” The server turned to me. “Monsieur?”

  “Uh . . .” I glanced down at my unopened menu, the name of the restaurant embossed in gold on the black leather. “The same, please. Only well-done for the steak.”

  Veronica jerked in her seat as the waitress walked away. “Next time, order it medium rare. You need to look like you know how to enjoy the finer things in life. Rich people don’t appreciate their meat tasting like shoe leather.”

  “I’m not a child,” I said. “And this isn’t my first time in a fancy restaurant. Maybe not one this nice, but you can stop treating me like an imbecile.”

  She leaned back. “I’m trying to help you, Bax. This is what you’re paying me for. If you want your business to be successful, you need to understand how business meetings operate from the other side of the table. I’ve spent enough time with rich men to know what impresses them and what bores them.”

  “And acting like a jackass by ordering expensive food and not eating it impresses them?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, the candlelight running up her hair like electricity. “It shows you have balls, Bax. You’re proving you’re not intimidated by them. Besides, the cost means nothing to them. They write off thousand-dollar dinners as business expenses on a daily basis.”

  “Guess I never thought of it that way.”

  “That’s why you hired me. To think of these things for you. Now, can I keep going or do you want to quit?”

  “Keep going, I guess. As long as you don’t make me say, ‘The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain.’ ”

  She cocked her head. “Huh?”

  “My Fair Lady. The musical? You’re like Henry Higgins, giving me lessons in how to be proper.”

  “Never seen it.” She ran her finger along the rim of her glass; it was a casual gesture, but the way her nail scraped the crystal ever so gently made me picture her performing that same movement on my skin, leaving goose bumps in her wake.

  I took a long swallow of my own water to cool the heat crawling through my chest. “It’s a classic. Where do you live? Under a rock?”

  “In an expensive loft uptown.”

  I opened my mouth to comment, but the server appeared with our drinks. She placed a glass of bubbling liquid by my wrist and I reached for it.

  “No. Don’t drink it.” Veronica’s voice halted me as the waitress left again.

  “We don’t drink, either?”

  “A sip here and there. Never the whole glass. You need your head about you. But you let them keep ordering rounds. The drunker they get, the more likely they are to agree to your proposal by the end.”

  She went on to explain how to read possible investors. Hints they were interested (canceling another meeting, ordering dessert) and hints they wanted to take off (checking their phone, tapping their leg). We ran through possible scenarios over food she explained I was to pick at and
move around my plate. I silently apologized to the most expensive cut of meat I’d ever seen for being told to not actually eat it, and wondered if she’d notice me leaving with a doggy bag.

  A squeal of delight from the other end of the restaurant rang out, followed by applause.

  “I’m guessing Allison said yes,” I said, grabbing my steak knife. “Congratulations to you, too, I guess. That must be a good feeling, knowing you’re so good at your job.”

  “I suppose. Though why anyone would want to get married is beyond me.”

  I stabbed at my steak which, I admit, did have a slightly shoe-leathery consistency. “You don’t want to get married? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “I’ve yet to see proof one person can commit to another for life. Happy endings only exist in books or movies. I mean, look at you. You thought you found true love, and look what Cara did to you.”

  “Clare.” I sliced through the lobster with my fork, watching it split into bits the same way my heart had done when Clare left. “And that doesn’t mean there isn’t a happy ending out there for me. She just wasn’t it. She said she needed someone who could guarantee her ‘the safe life’—you know, house in the suburbs, car in the driveway, kids in the yard. I couldn’t give her that. Not yet. Not until I’d at least tried to find my way. And she wasn’t willing to wait. Her dreams were more important.”

  Veronica’s eyes followed me, the flame of the candle flickering in them. For a second, I thought I saw sympathy in them, but that didn’t seem possible. The woman wasn’t capable of that emotion.

  “Omigod, Baxter! Did you hear?” Allison flew to our table, shoving her hand into my face and almost knocking over my water glass. “Scott proposed! And I said yes!”

  The rock on her finger glinted under the light. It wasn’t an impressive stone by most standards, but I knew it must’ve cost Scott a good chunk of his salary.

  I mustered a smile for my friends, pushing away memories of the night I’d proposed to Clare on a beach in Mexico—one of the few vacations we’d managed together. “Congrats, Ally, Scott. I’m so happy for you both.”