One Night Wife (Confidence Game)

by Ainslie Paton

  “What?” he said, as he pulled out into traffic, because she didn’t try to hide her staring.

  “I thought you probably lived in a suit. The whole sweats and takeout thing was spin. Do you know who the band is? How exactly is this going to work?”

  Cal drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Hi, Fin, how are you? Did you have a good week? I like what you’ve done with the instruction to dress down.”

  She laughed at him. She wore jeans with low-heeled boots and a white tank with a caramel-colored suede fringed vest. Her own clothes, and she rocked them. “Oh, man, you almost faked boyfriend until the part about the dress instructions.”

  He grunted. “Unlike you, who went straight to business.”

  “I’m following orders. Now, cough up the detail.”

  “I don’t know who the band is. It’s a surprise. XRad does this every year. A party for employees and investors, and it always features a big-name act.”

  “Wow, something Cal Sherwood doesn’t know.” Given the briefing pack she’d gotten included every other detail from the fact his car was a midnight-blue Aston Martin to what video games XRad made and where in the abandoned power plant turned party venue she’d find restrooms, as well as the secrets and lies of all the VIP guests, it was a reasonable dig to make.

  Cal’s response was to take his sunglasses off and ignore her jab.

  “Does Cal Sherwood dance?”

  He shot her a look. “Not if you keep talking about me as if I’m a character in your latest fantasy.”

  She closed her eyes. He was, he was, and she’d tried to be all brisk and job focused but screwed it up. And that look he gave her almost ensured she’d be in the mosh pit on her own.

  “You know who your targets are tonight?”

  Trust him to be on point. “The three XRad founders.” They’d built their success on stolen intellectual property.

  “I’ll introduce you early in the night, and then you’re free to enjoy yourself.”

  Which meant he didn’t intend to spend the night with her. At least this time, she wouldn’t be forced to listen to boring stories from bitter women who were never even offered a cigar.

  The luxury cars parked in the venue lot told her all about the wealth of the people who’d be inside. XRad employees were stockholders, and some of them got seriously cashed up when the company’s games went global. The conversion of the old power plant told her everything else she needed to know. The whole side of it was laser lit with swirling designs and changing scenes from XRad games. There wasn’t a person on the guest list who couldn’t afford to give to D4D.

  How much money did it take to convert an abandoned power plant into a super cool party venue for a thousand people for one night? The caterer was famous; the event design firm worked for Beyoncé and Lady Gaga. Cal said a million, easy. A million. For a party. It stopped her in her tracks. She stood between the Aston Martin and a lime-green Lamborghini and forgot how to put one foot in front of the other.

  “You’re thinking that’s obscene.” He’d walked on and doubled back when he realized she wasn’t by his side.

  Was that the word for it? “That money could support thousands of families. Whole villages. It could build schools and roads.” Yes, it was obscene. “I don’t belong here.”

  He reached for her hand, but she took a step back. He was part of this world. His fancy car and his stunningly rich business associates. His damn shirt probably cost more than her whole outfit.

  “I can explain to you why it’s a legitimate expense. It’s all to do with market presence and competitive tensions, wooing the press and new customers and attracting the right talent to the firm, but none of that is going to make you feel better.”

  She kicked at some rubble underfoot. She didn’t want Cal’s words of wisdom; she wanted him to feel the same whisk of rage that was souring her stomach.

  “Could they not do all that some other way?” She threw a hand out. “They’re making derelict chic. It’s like one big joke. All these status symbol cars and the whole slumming it vibe, it’s so arrogant.”

  “If you’re serious about D4D, there’s no one in there you shouldn’t take money from.” He spoke softly and took a step towards her, and she didn’t back away because she’d become the inconvenient girlfriend who’d started a shouting match in the parking lot, and they weren’t alone. She dropped her eyes to her scuffed boots. He stepped closer but didn’t touch her.

  “I’m being a shitty date.”

  The tips of his boots met the toes of hers. “You’re being you, and it’s okay to be angry. Use it in there. I get it.”

  She looked up at him. It needled that he doubted her commitment to D4D. “But you’re one of them.”

  “It suits my purposes.” He said that as though he’d read it cold off a script, no emotion to it.

  “Do you do everything calmly?” Maybe he’d spent all his heat on Rory.

  His hand went to her waist. Not a cue, more like a possession. “Not everything.”

  “Good to know.” And hard to care. She broke away because she was angry and irritated with herself for losing it, and she didn’t want to feel any more confused about Cal. They walked into the building together, but not hand in hand.

  The VIP room was an annex with a glass-floored deck that was suspended above the main stage area. It was filled with red velvet love seats and brocade wall hangings and lit with low-hanging crystal chandeliers. Amid the rough brick and stained cement, a cast of eclectically dressed people wandered, while progressive electro trance played. Unlike the Langleys’s dinner, everyone here was young, hip, and ready to have a dangerously good time.

  She took a fancy cocktail from a server, and Cal took a beer. Great, now she was making him drink. “You need a fake girlfriend who doesn’t start fights in parking lots and make you want to drown in alcohol.”

  He shook his head. “I need a drink because I hate big events like this.”

  She might’ve sat on the floor for the way that shocked her. “No way.”

  He gestured to the stage area beneath them where most of the guests were crowded. “Too many people, too loud, a wrong look short of out of control.”

  “It’s not a rave.” It was a private party, and there was evidence of security everywhere. It wasn’t like it was going to get crashed, and if she could get over her sense of outrage, it was a once in a lifetime experience.

  “It might as well be. They have medical staff on site to cope with anyone who overdoses.”

  Oh that.

  “These tech guys got too rich too quickly, have god complexes and zero humility. Some days, I think they’re harder to take than the old-money narcissists.” He finished his beer and stared at the empty glass. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  She almost laughed, but his expression told her he wasn’t joking. It was an unexpected flare of emotion too raw to be deliberately done for show. He put his glass on a side table and surveyed the room as if he genuinely dreaded having to be here and any notion she’d had he was acting took a dive off the balcony.

  She took his hand, and his eyes went to hers. “Lighten up, lover.” His brows jumped. “You’re not dead yet, and you have a hot date who will protect you from too much sex, drugs, and rock ’n roll.”

  He put his free hand over his heart. “My hero.”

  His something; she just wasn’t sure what. Business associate, friend, hopefully.

  “I meant what I said about using your anger,” he said.

  It was still there on a low heat, simmering in her gut. “That’s what you do.”

  He tipped his chin up to indicate the room. “I’m a salesman. They tolerate me.”

  He sounded so weary it made her ache to hug him. “Let’s take this place.”

  He squeezed her hand, and it was curtain up. The XRad founders were younger than her, and if they weren’t high, she’d slap her own face.

  “Fin like the fish,” Neil Chen said when Cal introduced them.
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  “Only to my dear friends,” she responded, biting back the urge to make fish lips at him.

  “Don’t mind Neil,” Cal said. “He’s being a rich-ass dickhead.”

  That caused Neil to throw his arms around Cal and bear hug him. “Glad you could come, man.”

  Cal’s expression was about the same as he might make during a root canal surgery. “Show me how glad,” he said, extracting himself. “Fin like the fish has a charity, and you should support it.”

  Neil shook his head. “Not cool. Not cool. This is a party.”

  “That you spent a mil on.”

  “One seven five,” said Neil with a slick smile, pleased with his own excesses. “The planning permits were exie.”

  “This party cost one point seven five million. Oh shit, that’s a lot of money,” Fin spluttered. Cal’s sharp bark of laughter told her it was okay to have said that.

  “What do you care?” said Neil.

  “I care, because I know how many families that kind of money can support.”

  “Great Gotham, you’re boring.” Neil turned to Cal. “Hope she’s a good fuck,” then back to Fin. “If I give you money, will you go off in a corner and drink till you require medical attention?”

  “If you give me one point seven five million,” Fin shot back, “I’ll strip naked first.”

  Neil’s chin jerked up so fast he might’ve given himself whiplash.

  “That’s my boring girl,” Cal said, hauling her into his arms and kissing her temple. “Your move, Neil.”

  Neil knocked his knuckles against his shaven head. Fin’s heart smacked against her ribcage so hard it was a wonder Cal couldn’t feel it. Her own audacity, that kiss, those arms around her.

  “Can you sing?” Neil asked.

  “I can make do.” It was preferable to stripping and for one point seven five million, modesty could go fly a kite.

  “You sing and each of us will give you a half mil.”

  He meant each of the founders. One and a half million, in a single night, in less than fifteen minutes. Sia had an album called This is Acting which had the perfect song on it called “Cheap Thrills.” The chorus was all about not needing dollar bills to have fun. It was insanely ironic.

  It also meant she had to leave the shelter of Cal’s body. She shoved her hand out. “Deal.”

  Neil spat in his—gross—and slapped it into Fin’s, and they shook. “Deal.” There was a back and forth about the logistics, and Neil left to round up his partners and probably top up his high.

  She turned to check on Cal before she went to request a backbeat from the DJ. “This is where you could have done with a cue for I’m not with her.”

  “Are you kidding?” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m choked up with pride. My girlfriend is the bomb.”

  She didn’t have time to think about that or get stage fright, because Neil moved fast, and it was show time. The DJ had “Cheap Thrills” and could knock the voice track out to give her exactly what she needed, just the beat. He also made an announcement, telling the hundred or more VIPs what was about to happen, so when Fin climbed up on his platform, she had the attention of the whole room.

  “My name is Fin Cartwright, and this is for my charity Dollars for Daughters, which supports disadvantaged women,” she said and launched into the song.

  Her voice shook, and she started out too softly, but by the chorus, random people had started dancing. She couldn’t see Cal, but the three founders were right in front of her, half a million dollars each poorer by the time she sang the last line and took a bow to raucous applause.

  She came off the DJ’s platform, and Neil mock punched her arm. “I’ve been had. Cal never said you were a singer.”

  “I’m a good faker.”

  “You want a job at XRad?” he said. “We need good fakers.” He waved a hand. “Go find my assistant. Green hair, silver pants. She’ll set you up.”

  One and half million dollars. Easy as that.

  Fin tracked down Neil’s assistant. She’d get her money transferred on Monday.

  She found Cal ensconced in a quieter corner of the space with some of his old-money cronies from the Langleys’s dinner party. They looked uncomfortable in casual clothing, with pinched expressions that said they hated the whole scene. It gave her a swooping feeling of satisfaction; sometimes even super-rich people had to do things they didn’t enjoy. Who’d have guessed?

  She caught his eye, and he gave her the stay away signal, which shouldn’t have stung, but she was buzzing on her success and wanted to celebrate with him. She pointed to tell him she was going to go down to the main floor.

  Downstairs, it was hotter and the DJ was louder, and when it turned out the band was Grammy winners Edit the Truth, and she finished squealing, she sent Lenny a blurry picture of them on the stage with the message, #noteventhebestpart. Then she forgot about feeling spun out about singing and the money and fighting with Cal in the parking lot and letting his absence matter. She was deep into the pulse of the music and zoned out about her surroundings, so it was a jolt when arms caged her from behind, but not an unpleasant surprise.

  No one’s touch affected her like Cal’s. It soothed and excited in one complex flavor burst. She rested her head on his chest to bring their faces close enough to be heard. “How did you find me?”

  His chin brushed her hair. “You weren’t missing.”

  “Are we going?” It was too loud to argue, though the band had a second set to play. For Cal to be here, his business must be finished for the night.

  “Want to dance with you.”

  Too good an offer to refuse, but not to resist teasing him. “Thought you couldn’t.”

  He gripped her tighter, flattened a hand on her hip, bent his knees, and shifted his weight. It was exactly the right kind of dancing for the thud of the bass and the amount of space they had, a deliberate sway that was almost a grind and owed its origin to those scenes in Dirty Dancing where the professional dancers showed Baby what they could do.

  She settled into his grip, throwing an arm up and around his neck, and let him lead; eyes on the band, head full of the beat, and her body given over to the heat and hardness of Cal’s chest, the brush of his thighs on the backs of hers, the pressure of his hand over her hipbone, the way his body cradled her ass, and the rhythmic shift of his hips.

  They didn’t talk, breaking to guzzle water when the band did. Cal’s shirt was slicked to his chest and his hair was wet through, pushed back from his forehead. Her own face was hot, her hairline sweaty, but there was no question they were staying through the second set and continuing to dance, careless of their agreed need for distance, as if the music gave them a wild-card excuse to come together.

  It was circumstance, the band, the venue, the fact they were working together, rolling with it.

  It was a seduction so casually deadly it should’ve been a punishable offense for what it did to her heart.

  It hurt to separate after the last encore played, when the lights came on and they blinked painfully at each other, when Cal grabbed her hand and they made a run for it, back to the real world of trying to beat the crush out of the parking area.

  Fin’s thighs were sore, her feet, her throat from singing and whooping. The anger churning in her gut that’d became a wash of anxiety, then a wave of elation, was now a raging sea of need. And that hurt, too, because Cal was all business again when she was melted and softened and wanting, wanting, wanting.

  “Check your account,” he said once she was seat-belted in the car.

  “No point, the transaction won’t be done till Monday.”

  Eyes on the low-slung vehicle in front of them that was having trouble navigating around a crater in the broken concrete, Cal said, “Come on, Sia, do it for me.”

  She pulled out her phone and logged in to the donation whatsit not expecting to see anything and saw a row of zeros that shouldn’t be there.

  “There should be half a mill there from Keith—”
>
  “Belling.” It told her. “How did you know?”

  “You’re my lucky charm, Fin. He’s the blue whale I never thought I’d get.”

  “That’s—”

  He bounced the heel of his hand on the wheel. “Fucking brilliant.”

  Not possible. “I never even spoke to him.”

  “You spoke to every VIP there tonight, and Belling didn’t want to be upstaged by the new-money geeks.”

  And that’s what accounted for Cal’s mood. Not her impromptu performance or the dancing, but that he’d gotten one of his big whales to do him a favor. She closed the website down. She’d made two million dollars tonight with his help, and she should be delirious with joy.

  “That’s incredible.” She sounded flat to her own ears.

  His hand landed on her thigh. “You were amazing. You were delicious. Utterly delicious.”

  Oh…

  “Friday night. We have a gallery event. Not as much fun as this. Long drive.”

  Friday night, another week away. At least Cal thought tonight was fun. She reframed her thinking again.

  Working with him was torture.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cal sat in his hired car and watched while Fin entered her building. What a fucking great night that turned out to be. He wanted to call her back and take her out for a late supper to celebrate their victory, hold her hand, listen to her laugh, then stay with her long enough to take her to breakfast.

  The biggest whale was in his net.

  He liked the Aston Martin. Get Belling on his hook, nudge him into an investment in Everlasting, and he’d be able to buy one like it instead of hiring it. Get Belling and Alington would fall, too, and he could secure his own future.

  All because of Fin.

  She was his secret weapon, his magic potion, and if he thought about having her ass in his groin one more time he was going to need to claim insurance for slamming the Aston Martin up another driver’s rear.