Pretty Dirty Trick

by Tabatha Kiss

  Beatrix glances casually over her shoulder, her lips slightly curling into a smile as she crosses the lobby.

  I let my gaze ride up and down her curves.

  “Very nice,” I mutter as the doors close, “Ms. Argento...”

  Five

  Trix

  Not very nice, Mr. Tyler?

  You have no idea.

  Still, that smile I flashed at him has lingered for much longer than it was supposed to. The unexpected chat with him in the elevator turned out to be a colorful speck of sprinkles on the top of this shit sundae of a Monday morning.

  With the way Marcus and my brothers talked about him, I pictured Lance Tyler very differently. I thought he’d be an ass-kissing, pompous weasel of a man with about as much charm as a bullfrog. Someone like Jerry, truth be told.

  Not tall, dark, and — admittedly — handsome. Not that it matters, in the end. Doesn’t change the fact that we’re enemies.

  And speaking of Jerry — fuck Jerry. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea of me seeing my father for a second. Just like my brothers, he shot it down without a moment’s thought. Okay, fine. Optics are important at a time like this but are people really going to think badly of a girl visiting her dad in jail?

  And the smile is gone. Oof.

  There are few things that can boost my spirits after a day like this. One of them is at work, kicking ass and taking names as the CEO of an internet company she built with her bare hands. Might not be a good idea to drop in, especially if she and Clive are meeting with HR today. Poor thing.

  The other is probably also working and would most likely cease immediately if I poked my head in to vent and bitch but I also know she has an awful relationship with deadlines, so I really shouldn’t stop by.

  And last, but certainly not least, is the needle and a little bit of ink.

  I unbutton my suit jacket as I walk down the street toward the tattoo parlor. My family marque on my right shoulder isn’t complete yet — and it can’t be finished without my dad’s seal of approval — but I still like to keep it nice and vibrant for the day he gets out. I’ll drop in on Kenny and see if he has a spare time slot so he can finish up the finer details in the leaves surrounding the rose.

  The entry bell jingles as I walk in. My ears twitch from that pleasant buzz of a needle from behind the curtain. It pauses and the curtain shifts as a man’s bald head pops out the side to see who walked in.

  “Oh.” He smiles. “Hey, Trix.”

  “Hey, Kenny,” I say. “How’s your schedule look today?”

  “Slow. I can fit you in,” he says with a nod. “Just give me a minute to finish this up.”

  I give him a wink. “You da man, Ken.”

  He disappears behind the curtain, leaving me to wander around his little shop. I drop my purse on the counter, along with my jacket, and look up at the various drawings and examples of his work. Kenny’s an artist, in every sense of the word. I’d trust no one else to permanently alter my skin.

  I wait for a few more minutes before I hear the curtain move again and Kenny dismisses his current customer. I turn toward the chair, my eyes still focused on the drawings for a second too long, and I run right into a shirtless man holding a leather jacket at his side.

  “Hey, bitch, how ‘bout you watch where you’re going?” he snaps at me.

  I turn my head up, ready to rip this prick a new asshole, but his boyish face twists up into a teasing grin.

  “Robbie!” I gasp and smack his bare arm. “I almost put a hit out on you.”

  He raises his hand and salutes me. It’s still bandaged from his alleged work-related injury but the new bandage is thinner and far less bulky than the original one. His chestnut bangs scratch the edge of his eyebrows as he chuckles at me.

  “If you haven’t already, Trix, I doubt you ever will,” he says.

  I release the tension in my jaw and laugh, instantly forgiving him. “Eh, you’re probably right.”

  He gestures to my arm. “You finishing up your half-sleeve today?” he asks.

  “Almost,” I say. “Just getting it touched up. My dad and I will finish it as soon as he gets out of the big house.”

  “Nice.”

  He tosses his jacket over the counter beside us and slowly slips his t-shirt back on. I take the moment to look down while I still can before he covers up.

  Robbie Wheeler has always been nice to look at and I am a warm-blooded straight woman after all but the attraction — if any — ends there. My best friend’s husband is off-limits, divorced or not. Mostly though, I’ve never been able to see Robbie as anything other than a brother. Hell, I have brothers, but Robbie’s the only one whose loyalty and trust I never questioned for a second.

  My eyes dance along the pure black symbols covering his right arm from his wrist all the way to his shoulder blades. I catch sight of the fresh bandage along his left ribs before it disappears beneath his shirt.

  “What’d you get today?” I ask.

  He shrugs as he reaches for his jacket. “Just a little something I started a few weeks ago.”

  “Let me guess, it’s black?” I joke.

  “I’m adding a bit of color, actually,” he says.

  “Really?” I smile. “That’s new.”

  “Turns out, some people can change.” He slides his jacket on and squints at me. “Hey, you okay?”

  I nod. “Yeah, why?”

  “You popped into a tattoo parlor without an appointment, Blossom,” he jokes. “You’re either pissed off in need of needle therapy or you’re a college chick on a bender.”

  I snort. “Excellent assessment.” I lean back against the counter, dropping my smile. “Marcus.”

  “The bodyguard with benefits?” he asks, settling beside me.

  “The one and only.”

  His voice hardens. “What’d he do?”

  I sigh. “He asked me to marry him.”

  “Don’t do it,” he says quickly. He pauses and tilts his head toward the floor. “Wow, that was quite the knee-jerk.”

  I chuckle. “Mel really messed you up, huh?”

  “You could say that.” His throat clears. “So, you gonna be Mrs. bodyguard with benefits now?”

  “Hell no.” I shudder. “But everyone — and I mean everyone — seems hell-bent on this plan to force me to marry him and start popping out little mob babies and I don’t want that. That’s not me.”

  “Definitely not you,” he agrees.

  “He told me it was time for me to grow up,” I add. “Stop acting like a slut with my whore friends and do my duty to the family.”

  “He said that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Those exact words?”

  “Yeah,” I repeat.

  Robbie frowns and grabs my purse off the counter. “Let’s go,” he says.

  I blink. “Where?”

  “We’re gonna get out of here, you’re gonna point him out, and I’m gonna kick his ass.”

  I laugh, grabbing his arm. “No, Robbie, you’re not.”

  “You think I can’t?”

  I flick the bandage on his palm. “I think you have one good hand.”

  “And two quick feet.” He bounces twice on his ankles. “I can take this guy.”

  “Robbie...” I raise a brow. “I love you but this guy is military. And very much armed. At all times.”

  He scoffs. Unimpressed.

  “And...” I say, throwing a pout. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything bad happened to you.”

  His face softens. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess it can wait.” He leans against the counter with me again and rolls his right hand into what he can make of a fist. “But once this wound heals...”

  “I’m sure he’ll never see you coming.”

  Robbie nods. “That’s right.”

  I smile. “Thanks, Rob.”

  “Anything else going on?”

  I breathe a thick laugh. “How much time you got?”

  He winces. “That ba
d, huh?”

  “Just...” I shake my head. “Got a whole lot on me all at once, is all.”

  “Yeah, I know what that’s like.” He stands tall. “I don’t want to rush off during your pain but I have somewhere I need to...”

  I wave a hand. “Go. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll feel a lot better once I hear that needle, believe me.”

  “Okay, but… you call me if you need to talk later, all right? My ear is always open.”

  “I will. Thanks again.”

  He nudges my chin as he starts toward the door. “See you around.”

  I bite my lip in thought. “Hey, Robbie, hold up.” I reach for my purse. “What are you doing Friday night?”

  “Uh...” He thinks for a second. “Whole lot of nothing. Why?”

  I slide a rose golden ticket free from my purse. “Want to come to my family’s charity auction? I have an extra ticket.”

  He chuckles. “Is this the thing where you sell yourself off for a dance every year?”

  “It is.” I grin. “You bought me one year if I recall.”

  “I did. Melanie was pissed.”

  I scoff. “Well, yeah, you used her money.”

  He takes the ticket and flicks it up and down. “I did it to make her jealous because she picked a fight with me a few hours before.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t even remember anymore.” He gives a far-off stare. “We ended up having make-up sex beneath the table with the champagne fountain on it.”

  My jaw drops. “I didn’t know about that.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t hear us, to be honest. We were not discreet.” He laughs. “Thank god you hired the swing band that year, that’s all I’m saying.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, you’re welcome to tag along this year again if you want. I’m happy to have you.”

  He stares at the ticket in his hand, his face screwing up. “No, thanks,” he finally says, handing it back to me. “Black ties. Shiny shoes. Not really my affair.”

  I keep the ticket in front of him. “Melanie will be there…”

  His eyebrows instantly arch upward with temptation. After several seconds of internal turmoil, he snatches it from my fingers again.

  “I’ll think about it,” he says.

  My smile widens. “See you there, Rob.”

  He raises his bandaged hand and salutes me as he nudges the door open and walks out.

  “You ready, Trix?” Kenny asks from behind the curtain.

  I happily slide toward the chair to sit down. “Yes, please.”

  Six

  Lance

  How would you describe your personal relationship with your father, Ms. Argento?”

  “We’re close.”

  “How would you describe your professional relationship with your father?”

  “Professional.”

  Every time I listen to this, I smile right here. I’m not sure why exactly. Just the way she said it with the slightest twitch of her bottom lip and the twinkle in her eye. Or maybe I’m just remembering it wrong. Maybe she thought it was a stupid question. Maybe it was.

  Christ, one meeting with her and I’m doubting everything.

  I bump forward a few seconds in the sound file and turn my computer speakers up a notch.

  “You think he’s innocent?” I asked her.

  “I think there’s more to it than what we’ve read in the papers.”

  “And your father? Do you think he’s innocent, too?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Objection, Lance.”

  I sneer at Jerry’s drawl and quickly fast forward ten seconds.

  “The night of his arrest.”

  “You haven’t seen him since?”

  I recall the way she looked at Jerry here and the few words of their argument by the elevator. Beatrix hasn’t gone to see him — but not by choice. They’re keeping her from him.

  Why?

  You’d think his public relations rep would have full access to him but he’s received no calls or visits from her. His only daughter hasn’t bothered to go see him in jail.

  There’s something else going on here.

  “Would you describe that night for me?”

  I lean forward in my chair without thinking.

  “It was a Sunday night, so we were all at my grandmother’s house for—”

  My desk phone rings. I quickly hit pause and blink out of my trance before answering it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Lance. It’s Ava again.”

  “Hey, Ava,” I greet. “You have some good news for me?”

  “If I had bad news, I would have emailed,” she jokes. “We got you a ticket. Sending it over via courier now.”

  “Yes!” I pump my fist. “Thank you, Ava.”

  “Just the one, unfortunately.” I hear her smile. “If it were two, I would have called dibs.”

  I laugh. “Maybe next time.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

  “Bye, Ava.”

  “Bye, Lance.”

  I hang up and breathe out, happy to cross another thing off my list. Though, this does add a few more things in its place. I haven’t worn my tux in... a long time, let’s say. I’ll need to buy a new tie, maybe. Get my shoes shined. I’ll worry about it later.

  I look at the phone again and my eyes fall to the bright blue post-it note stuck to the desk beside it. I usually don’t take two days to get back to people who call me but I’ve been putting this one off. Getting a call from my brother out of the blue like that usually has a few strings attached.

  I pick up the phone and stare at the post-it for a few more moments before finally dialing the number.

  It rings twice.

  “Hello?”

  “Jake, is that you?” I ask.

  There’s a short pause. “Lance?”

  “Yeah, man,” I say, sitting back in my chair. “Sorry I didn’t call back sooner. I’ve got a lot going on over here.”

  “Yeah, no. That’s… that’s okay.”

  I take a breath. “So, you got out?”

  “I did.”

  “When?”

  “About a week ago. Good behavior, apparently.”

  “That’s good.” I nod, biting my cheek. “Are you doing okay? Where are you staying?”

  “With some friends,” he says.

  That’s not what I wanted to hear. Jake’s friends are the ones who got him into trouble in the first place.

  “Sounds like you’re doing better-than-okay,” he says before I can speak. “Finding your contact info was as easy as searching for your name. You’ve got an office and everything. Assistant State’s Attorney? That’s big, right?”

  He’s going to ask me for money. Drop off the face of the earth for a while and resurface only when you need cash. That’s Jake.

  “We’re doing all right,” I say. “Look, Jake, if you need anything, I can get you in touch with people who can help you find work. Might be tricky with your record but—”

  “I just called to say hi,” he says quickly.

  “We both know that’s not true, man.”

  He scoffs. “You know what, never mind. Sorry to bother you.”

  “Wait, Jake—”

  He hangs up. Regret stabs deep in my gut. I want to believe him. I want to believe that spending a few years in jail changed him for the better. I want to think that my brother just missed me and wanted to say hi, but I know him too well.

  I take out my cell phone to send a text to his number.

  Call me back here if you want to talk.

  I hit send but I don’t expect a reply. Maybe not anytime soon. He’ll call back when I least expect it someday, I bet.

  I peel the post-it off and hide it away in my desk drawer. Without thinking, I tap the spacebar on my keyboard, bringing Beatrix’s voice back.

  “—our weekly family dinner.”

  “All?”

&n
bsp; “Me and my father; my grandmother...”

  I zone out again, listening to her words and picturing her face as she said them. She speaks like a daughter should speak of her father. With respect and admiration — almost like she actually believes he’s innocent. She believes that he’s kind and generous and worthy of respect. She’s either brainwashed... or she’s right.

  “Only the guilty run, Mr. Tyler.”

  I sit back, feeling a touch of calm in my system. Her voice has that effect on me. Like a—

  My phone vibrates on my desk. I pick it, hoping for a response from my brother but it’s from Haley.

  Leaving now! Don’t forget to feed the dog. See you Sunday!

  Drive safe, I write back. Love you.

  She replies with a blowing kiss emoji, along with a tent and a few trees.

  I set the phone down and exhale as Beatrix’s voice fills my head again. This time, from memory.

  It’s father-daughter stuff. You wouldn’t understand.

  If I can be sure of one thing, it’s that Beatrix cares a lot for her father. She adores him. Despite all the evidence that he’s a monster, she loves him. She just wants to see him but they won’t let her.

  That’s it.

  Max was right. She’s the weakness.

  I can use this. If I can convince Beatrix to tell me what she knows about her father’s business, I can probably negotiate a deal.

  “Package for you from the mayor’s office, Lance.”

  Clara drops the envelope on my desk and I give her a thankful nod as she steps out again.

  I tear off the edge, withdraw the smaller, white envelope from inside, and quickly slide out the rose gold ticket hidden within. The Argento family seal stares back at me and I smirk.

  Let’s hope she wasn’t serious about killing lawyers.

  I guess I’ll find out on Friday night.

  Seven

  Trix

  What about this one?”

  I slide the dress off the rack and hold it up to my shoulders.

  Nora spins around and tilts her head in thought. “Too blue,” she says.

  “Blue isn’t good?” I ask.

  “Blue is wonderful, usually, but this is the charity auction.” She waves her arms. “A time for excitement and celebration. Blue might be interpreted as gloomy and wretched and… you know.”