by Mia Faith
“—introducing the guest of honor tonight, Ms. Shelly Hartness!”
The crowd clapped excitedly, but Shelly didn’t miss the way women would lean towards their partner or the person next to them, whispering quickly amongst the clapping. Shelly didn’t have to guess what they were talking about. She knew.
The already infamous break-in at the Scottsdale Museum.
Plastering her best smile on, Shelly waved gently at the crowd as she headed up the steps onto the stage. Mr. Kale held out his hand for her to shake, which she took when she reached him. They said their pleasantries, “Thank you for this honor,” and “We’re so delighted to have you.” Finally, Mr. Kale stepped down to join the crowd while Shelly turned to face them.
As the applause settled down, she felt her nerves stir up.
Oh, god. I’m on stage.
The familiar fear of public speaking reared its ugly head, whispering to her how she was a fake and a failure. You didn’t design anything special, it said. You’re a novelty act. A pathetic little girl making it amongst all these talented young men, yeah right.
The thoughts were almost enough to make her freeze, but that was more horrific than stumbling through a bad speech or a horrible knock-knock joke. Better to be talking than to be frozen in the face of such a large crowd tonight.
Swallowing down her fear, Shelly fumbled with her speech. She heard someone in the audience cough.
Smiling sheepishly, she leaned in towards the mic and apologized. “Sorry. I’m so terrible at these things. That’s why I got into computers in the first place.”
The crowd gave a polite laugh for her, clearly pitying her jitters.
Managing to get her cards in order, she cleared her throat and gestured towards the screen behind her. It flashed on to begin the presentation that had been worked out long before she got here. “I was twenty-three when I developed the Hartness System.” She paused, then gave a quick laugh as she said, “If you can believe it. Um. But it’s true. And when I was told that I couldn’t or that I’d fail, I merely took these as motivators.” She paused to flip to the next card. “Motivators to do great things. And I did.”
Behind her, slides played of Museums, all of them having installed her Hartness System. She winced because the first one was Scottsdale. But no one was outright saying it, so she avoided the hot topic of the recent break in there.
“With each installation of the Hartness System, we sent a message to all those would be thieves. It said: You cannot touch us. Finally, we are safe. Our history, our art, our culture.”
She flipped the card to move on to the next line, but it slipped. She was so nervous that she fumbled with the stack of notecards, trying to keep them in order, but ending up dropping all of them as they floated like feathers to the floor.
She barely managed to avoid a curse as she knelt down to get the cards. At the same time, there was a sudden collective intake of air as the whole room gasped.
Blushing furiously, Shelly tried to wave them off. “No, no, it’s okay. I’ve got it. I’m just so clumsy and—” She broke off when she glanced up to see Mr. Kale staring in horror at the projection screen behind her. Frowning, she followed his gaze, then dropped her cards all over again.
“Oh, hell.”
It was no longer a museum projected on the screen behind her. Instead, it was a note. Plain, black scripted text on a white background that was so familiar that it sent a chill down her spine.
“Shelly Hartness is a Fraud. There is no system the Maitre can’t crack.”
Rage flooded Shelly’s system as she stared at the offending words. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger alike. How could this have happened? How was she here, kneeling on stage in front of a bunch of spilled notecards as hundreds of people stared at the screen behind her calling her out for being a fake?
This isn’t happening, she tried to tell herself, but she already knew it wasn’t true.
She’d seen the files. The pictures of the notes left at all of those heists. It was the Maitre’s calling card and it was a perfect match to the curling script that was larger in life above her head.
She glanced towards Mr. Kale, shaking her head, not even sure what to say or do, but he was already trying to get the attention of whoever was manning the projector. Mr. Kale was waving his arms wildly to try and gain the other man’s attention, but it seemed like nothing was working. Then, suddenly, everything went dark.
The lights that had been so carefully laid out to decorate the trees and the pillars holding up the porch overhang went out. The lights shining from the inside of the building went dead. Even the neighboring lights—traffic lights, street lights, businesses and private homes—everything went out for what seemed like a block on any side of them.
And, thankfully, the projector went out, too.
It was too dark to see anything. People began to panic. Women screamed, people stupidly got up from their tables, shuffling around and running into both the furniture and each other as they tried to navigate their way out.
Shelly wanted to tell them all that they were being stupid. They were already outside, which meant there was more light than they’d find inside, and moving only meant a greater chance of someone getting hurt. It would be smarter to wait for the power to come back on.
But she didn’t try to say any of that. Instead, she planted her but on the floor of the stage and hung her head in disgrace.
The only good thing about tonight was the damn blackout, because then at least no one could see her utter and complete humiliation.
CHAPTER FOUR
The guests at the awards ceremony had to wait almost forty-five minutes to get the power back on. The whole square block surrounding the LA Center for the Arts had gone dark and it had taken a good chunk of everyone’s time to fix the problem. After they’d gotten the lights back on, the police were called. Shelly was detained, as was everyone at the party, until they could be interviewed and fully checked out.
“Thank you Ms. Hartness, we’ll let you know if we find anything,” said a uniformed officer whose name tag read Sanchez.
Shelly was clutching her arms around her, moving her hands along her bare skin for warmth more than anything else. “Thank you.”
The officer turned to leave but paused. He hesitated, then asked, “Are you the Shelly Hartness?”
Shelly winced. She wasn’t sure anymore if people recognizing her would be a good thing or a bad thing. News had traveled fast after the fiasco at Scottsdale and she was sure the same would be true of this little snafu. She could only imagine what was going to be in the papers in the morning.
“Um, yeah. That’s me.”
Officer Sanchez whistled and shook his head. “Wow. You’re a real life celebrity, you know it?”
She forced a laugh. “You live in LA. I’m sure you’ve seen bigger names than mine around.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but not ones that are important, you know?”
Lifting an eyebrow, she asked, “Important?”
“Important. You know, actually out there making a difference. Your success in security directly affects my job. Especially out here. With all these wealthy jerks with their personal mansions and their private collections of rare—ah, you know what I mean.” He waved his hand about as though to dismiss his little rant. “We’ve got a lot of that out here and if they use your system, they’re less likely to be broken into. And that means I don’t have to deal with their snooty attitude.”
“I guess I never really thought of it that way,” Shelly admitted. What she didn’t remind him of, though it was no secret, was that she was the daughter of Victor and Amelia Hartness. They were upper class, to say the least and had fully funded her initial trip to college. Of course, when she told them what she was majoring in, they’d threatened to pull the plug. If was only Shelly’s determination, good grades, and her clever business deal with her father that had saved her bacon.
So long as she got straight A’s and took at least one clas
s that he picked out every semester, she could stay in school. Her mother was furious, but Victor Hartness was a man of his word.
“Well, you should,” Officer Sanchez told her, bringing her back to the present. “It makes a difference and it makes people think twice before doing something stupid.”
Shelly smiled genuinely at the young officer. He was Hispanic with darker close-cropped hair and dark eyes framed in luxuriously long lashes. She briefly considered flirting with him. He was attractive and clearly supported her efforts, even while she felt like she was floundering.
“And don’t worry about Scottsdale. Nothing’s perfect, right?”
Just like that, any thoughts of flirting with him died. It wasn’t that she necessarily thought he was wrong, but she wasn’t interested in just laying down and taking this. Oh, no. She expected perfection and if she couldn’t have that, then she wanted the ass of the man responsible for this mess.
The Maitre.
Smiling politely at the officer, she thanked him again. “You’re very kind. But if you’re all through, I’m very tired and would like to return to my hotel.”
“Uh, um, yeah, of course. All good. Just, uh, keep your cell handy.” He was obviously flustered, missing the wrong turn he’d made in the conversation. He tipped his hat at her, then turned away quickly. His long stride took him quickly away from Shelly and he made a point of not glancing back.
Shaking her head, Shelly turned away and headed towards the car that she hoped was still waiting for her. It was, her driver eager to leave. “’Bout time. I was starting to worry they’d arrested you.”
“Haven’t broken the law yet,” she told him.
He drove her back to the hotel.
She got out and thanked him, giving him a tip, though she was sure it had already been covered. He gave her his card and told him that if she needed a ride anywhere while she was in town, he would be available. Then he took off.
Sighing, Shelly slumped her way back into the lobby of the hotel and aimed for the elevator. She jabbed at the button, then waited.
The lobby was empty. There was a gentleman sitting behind the front desk, thumbing through a newspaper that looked like it was from the previous day and that was it. But as Shelly glanced down the hallway to her left, she saw that it led to a restaurant and bar inside the hotel. There were a few people there having drinks or a late meal.
When the elevator dinged and the doors opened, Shelly hesitated.
Did she really want to go back up to her room and be miserable? To wait for the phone calls from the people she worked with? Or worse, her family who would somehow know? Did she honestly want to wallow alone in her own self-pity?
“Not a chance,” she muttered and turned away from the elevator.
She walked down the hall to the restaurant and went straight to the bar, hiking up her dress as she settled into one of the stools there. She was the only one at the bar, though a group of younger men in well-fitted tuxes were sitting at a table, occasionally laughing.
There was a single bartender, a man with wavy honey blonde hair and piercing green eyes that looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ. He had a killer smile which he flashed at Shelly as he approached.
“What can I get the lady?” he asked.
Feeling a little flushed at any attention from the opposite sex, Shelly took a moment longer than she should have to answer. “A rum. Rum and coke, I mean. On the rocks.”
His smile widened and he grabbed a bottle from behind him and began to mix it with the coke before pouring it over a tumbler with three large, perfect cubes of ice. “For the lady.”
“Thank you,” she said flustered.
She downed the first drink quickly and ordered another. She was about four in before she started to really consider how drunk she was feeling. It wasn’t horrible yet, but she knew that if she continued like she was, it would be.
Staring at her once more empty glass, she considered how her night had gone.
Humiliated.
Pitied.
Offered second prize condolences.
“Am I a hack?” she heard herself ask aloud, slurring her words ever so slightly. She was startled, since she hadn’t meant to say anything, only think it.
The bartender, Mr. Sexy who had only been getting more attractive as the night wore on, looked startled, too. “Oh. Um, no?” he asked, clearly caught off guard.
Shelly giggled. “You’re adorable.” Apparently, Shelly was feeling like blurting things out tonight. “And by adorable, I mean sexy.”
Looking fully uncomfortable now, the bartender discretely glanced from side to side, as though looking for an escape route. “Well. Thank you. Um, that’s… sweet.” He adjusted his collar, then began to clear away her glasses.
“Yep. And I think, if you want, you could take me up to my room.”
The alcohol had made Shelly not only brazen, but sloppy. She was leaning heavily on the counter in front of her, smirking like a half-wit at the young man across from her.
“Listen, I think you’ve had a few too many. Maybe you should call it a night.”
“I will. If you come up with me.” She laughed at herself, wondering where all this spunk had come from. For all her grit and determination in the professional world, she failed utterly in the personal one.
The bartender winced, then let out a sigh. “Ma’am, I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid I have to decline.”
Frowning, Shelly felt emotion well up inside her. Really? Even a bartender doesn’t want me? She thought miserably. Feeling tears begin to pool at the corners of her eyes, she blinked them back in the hopes of keeping them off her cheeks. “Seriously? What is wrong with me?”
The bartender gave her a sympathetic smile and even patted her on the hand, patronizing in the worst kind of way. She felt like that was all she got anymore. Patronizing. Like the officer who thought she did such a wonderful job—then told her he didn’t expect perfection. Mr. Schumacher who didn’t think she had it in her to dress like a sexy lady. Or her ex-boyfriend who had told her that she was a pretty lady who just wasn’t a good match for him. Right after she’d caught him in bed with another man.
And now this guy? There had to be something wrong with her.
“Oh, honey, it’s not you,” the bartender told her sweetly.
She sniffled. “Like hell it’s not. It has to be something and if it’s not me, then what is it?”
He gave her a crooked smile, then pointed across the room. Shelly followed the line of his finger to see what he was pointing at. It was the group of well-dressed young men sitting at their table laughing. One of them was looking her way and for half a second, Shelly dared to hope that he was checking her out and that was why the bartender didn’t want to make a move.
Then she realized the truth. The young man was looking at the bartender.
“Oh, god. You’re gay,” she blurted unceremoniously.
The bartender’s face instantly hardened and he put his hands on his hips, glaring down at her. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She waved off his anger. “Nothing. Just that I’ve once again hit on the wrong guy. My ex is gay,” she explained. “And he found out by sleeping with a man while he was still seeing me. In our bed. In my apartment. Which I paid for. And he slept at.”
The bartender softened, his hands leaving his hips. He let out a sigh and put his elbows on the counter, leaning forward. “Shit. I’m sorry. What a dick he was. Being gay is no excuse to cheat. He should have admitted that to himself and left you before he had the chance to hurt you.”
Shelly sniffled, jutting out her lower lip and nodding. “Yeah.”
Patting her hand gently, the bartender told her, “Go up to your room, honey. Have a shower. Order some porn. You don’t need some asshole to make you happy. All you need is a little tender, love, and care.”
Melting a little at the man’s sweetness, she nodded. “You’re awesome.”
He laughed a little, withdrawing
his hand. “I don’t know about all of that, but I am pretty great.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” she asked, jerking her head over her shoulder to indicate the fashionably dressed young man.
Sighing, the bartender shook his head. “No. But he stops by a lot, and I was hoping… Ah, never mind.” He waved whatever he’d been going to say off.
Sitting up straighter despite the alcohol, Shelly put her hand down on the counter. “No. Not never mind. You should make a move. You should go over there and kiss him like you mean it.”
The bartender gave her an amused look. “Is that what I should do?”
She nodded, sliding off the bar stool to stand. She wobbled a little but kept her balance. “Yes. He’s been looking at you, too. Make your move. Be happy, because god knows I won’t be tonight.”
“You know what, I will,” the bartender affirmed.
Satisfied that she’d done something right tonight, she nodded her head and spun on her heel, nearly toppling as a result. Jeez, she was such a lightweight. Straightening up again, she wiggled her fingers over her shoulder in a wave at the bartender, then headed down the hall towards the elevator.
Thank god, I don’t have to drive.
“Remember what I said about the porn,” the bartender called after her, laughing when her cheeks brightened.
Shelly heard some laughter from the table after that, but couldn’t make herself care. They were all gay. Who cared if they thought she was watching porn?
Maybe I should, she thought with a smirk.
She jabbed the elevator button, then waited as the buttons flashed as they came down towards her. When the doors opened—which seemed to take an eternity in her alcohol induced haze—she stumbled inside and put her thumb to the seventh floor where she was staying. As the elevator went up floor by floor, she leaned heavily against the railing and wondered what the hell she was doing with her life.
Clearly, every man she was ever going to meet was going to be a cheating bastard, gay, or both. And that bothered her, but admittedly not as much as the fact that her systems were failing.