Pretty Dirty Trick

by Tabatha Kiss

  A random hand rises from the middle of the crowd. “Two-hundred!”

  “Two! Do I hear three?”

  “Three-hundred,” Marcus says, staring at me.

  “Do I hear five-hundred?” the auctioneer raises.

  “Five!” someone else says.

  I look at Lance again. He stands there with his hands in his pockets. Maybe he won’t bid at all. Maybe it was a huge mistake even asking him to.

  Marcus and a few others bid up to two-thousand quickly. This is usually around the time the bidding slows down. I don’t take it personally. A dance with me is nice and all but our family and friends put up some fabulous pieces for this auction. They’re saving their money for the good stuff.

  “Twenty-two hundred!” Marcus shouts.

  “Twenty-three hundred!”

  I recognize the voice and chuckle at the death stare Melanie fires at Robbie.

  “Twenty-five hundred!” Marcus quickly counters.

  Robbie’s too busy laughing at Melanie to keep bidding. A silence comes over the crowd and my gut churns as Marcus’ smug grin starts rising up his stupid face.

  “Twenty-five hundred, going once!”

  I bite down. If there’s a god, please hit me with lightning or something.

  “Going twice...”

  “Twenty-six hundred.”

  I hold my breath and follow Lance’s voice to his face in the crowd. My smile fights to inch up my face but I somehow manage to keep it down as he stares up at me from the floor.

  Marcus glares at him, knowing exactly who Lance is. “Twenty-seven,” he says.

  “Twenty-eight,” Lance says.

  “Three-thousand five-hundred,” Marcus spits.

  The crowd reacts. Even I gasp a little.

  Come on, Lance...

  “Five-thousand dollars,” he says.

  Holy shit.

  My jaw drops. Murmurs ignite into shouts as everyone starts clapping. I look to Marcus, seeing his face glow a bright red. He presses his lips together with rage and my chest tightens.

  “Five-thousand dollars! Going once...”

  I don’t breathe. Please, Marcus, for once in our lives, keep your damn mouth shut...

  “Going twice.”

  I close my eyes in silent prayer.

  “Sold!”

  I exhale hard and open them again to look at Lance.

  He stares into my face and smiles in victory.

  Lance Tyler. The guy trying to lock up my father and destroy my family… and now I owe him a conversation.

  I did not think this one through.

  Nine

  Trix

  I walk off the stage, my heart pounding a hundred beats for every step I take.

  Applause grows louder as I make my way over to Lance. An attendant stands in front of him with a clipboard, making note of the number on his ticket for payment details. He nods politely at her and quickly looks back at me.

  He presents his arm and I take it.

  “Congratulations to the lucky man!” the auctioneer calls out, though I can hardly hear it.

  I’ve done this dance a dozen times with a dozen strangers or family friends or Robbie but my heart has never raced like this before. Maybe it’s just taboo. I know who this man is and what he wants and none of it is good for me but I still melt a little beneath his stare.

  I lead him through the parted crowd to the dance floor. One little dance of tradition and the auction will continue on without interruption. Just a quick few minutes, swaying to music and trying not to let my heart accidentally crack a rib.

  Lance takes my hand and lays the other on my hip as the music rises from the speakers behind us. “So, here’s what I don’t understand,” he says, his voice just above a whisper. “What the hell just happened?”

  I breathe a quiet laugh. “You just bought a dance with me.”

  “And why did I do that?”

  I shrug a shoulder as we sway, counting steps in my head. “Because you care about less fortunate, sick children.”

  “No. Well… yeah, I do, but… no,” he says. “I bought your dance to keep someone else from standing where I am. Didn’t I?”

  “… Yes,” I answer.

  “And if I had to make a wild guess — I’d say Mr. Donner is feeling a little disappointed right now.”

  I turn my head, immediately drawn to Marcus’ ire in the crowd. He turns away as soon as we make eye contact and walks off into a shadowed corner.

  “You’d guess correctly,” I say. “I didn’t want his grubby mitts on me. This is a nice dress and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Lance cocks his head. “Hmm...”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Well, if your family bodyguard has grubby mitts, then what exactly do I have?”

  “Honestly...” I look down at his moving feet. “Very capable hands. You’re not missing a beat here.”

  He laughs. “I’ve done my fair share of waltzes in my time.”

  “I can see that.”

  “And you are doing a wonderful job yourself, I must say. You did say you don’t lead.”

  I smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

  He nods. “You did. Hang on.”

  I hold in a gasp as he raises his arm and effortlessly twirls me around. I land right back in his arms with laughter and butterflies in my gut while the rest of the room claps for us.

  “Well done, Mr. Tyler,” I say, breathing out.

  “I’m actually really happy that worked out,” he says as he looks into the smiling crowd. “I was kind of nervous about it.”

  I chuckle hard, feeling my cheeks burn.

  “Get it, girl!”

  The crowd erupts in laughter and shouts.

  Lance clears his throat. “And who was that?”

  I shake my head. “That was my friend, Melanie,” I answer.

  “Is she one of the brunch trio?” he asks.

  I raise a suspicious brow. “You know an awful lot about me.”

  He shrugs. “Part of the job.”

  “Is it?”

  “Could stand to know a lot more, though.”

  “Well, you’ve got about thirty seconds left in this song,” I say. “Better make it quick.”

  Lance glances around again and licks his lips. “We’re on the same side.”

  “You’ve said that already. Still calling bullshit.”

  “Listen, your father is going to prison. I can’t change that.”

  “Oh, sure you could,” I seethe.

  “But I can get him out sooner if you cooperate.”

  “How?”

  The song ends and the room erupts in loud applause again. I turn away from Lance, keeping a grip on his hand while I perform a bow to the crowd and a quick curtsy toward him. He takes a trained twist himself and bows to me.

  “Come on, Miss Beatrix!” The auctioneer’s voice comes through the speakers again. “How about a kiss on the cheek, eh?”

  I step closer to Lance, leaning in to give his cheek a quick peck.

  Lance turns his head at the last moment and our lips press together.

  I freeze in place as the sounds of voices and whistles fade off in my ears. Heat bounces from my head to my toes, igniting every nerve in my body as his mouth purses against mine. I feel his hand on my waist, drawing me just a little bit closer to him. I don’t even fight it. I stand still, ravaged from the inside out by a simple, little kiss.

  We break away and I look up into his pleasant eyes as his open hand touches mine.

  “I want more time,” he says.

  I look down, feeling his touch as he places a one-hundred-dollar bill in my palm.

  I clench it nervously. “South garden,” I whisper. “Ten minutes.”

  Lance steps away. He smiles at the crowd again before giving me another respectful bow and walking backward off the dance floor.

  Ten

  Lance

  I kissed her.

  Why did I do that?

  The obvious answer
is because it would get her attention. And it did. She agreed to talk to me. Even gave me a time and a place which, suspiciously, she’s late for.

  The other, more realistic, answer is that I got a little caught up in the moment and thought it’d be a good idea. And it was. She didn’t slap me and kick me in the nuts but she didn’t kiss me back either. She accepted it and — possibly — enjoyed it?

  I tap my feet on the grass to spur a little warmth up my legs. South garden in late autumn. Yes, a good place to agree to meet. Maybe she asked me to meet her out here so she could ghost me and literally leave me out in the cold. She is mafia, after all. Why did I think it would be easy?

  I kissed her. Even had a bit of her lipstick on my lips that I wiped off in the bathroom. My face is turning numb but my lips are still very, very warm.

  “All right, I’m here.”

  I spin around but she’s not there. I glance up quickly to find Beatrix standing on the balcony overlooking the garden. She holds a champagne glass up to her mouth and takes a quick sip as she glares down at me.

  “You said ten minutes,” I say.

  “I had to slip out without being noticed. That’s not easy when you’re me,” she says.

  “You’re alone, then?”

  “For now.”

  “Are you gonna come down here?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “These are awful strange questions to fill your thirty seconds with, Mr. Tyler.”

  “Thirty seconds? That’s how much one-hundred buys?”

  “My time is very precious,” she says with a shrug.

  “You…” I sigh, biting my cheek to stop myself from wasting more time. “I can help you.”

  “Are you going to drop the charges against my father?” she asks.

  “I can’t,” I answer. “That’s not my call.”

  “Then, what the hell can you do for me?”

  “I…” I heave in annoyance. “Would you please come down here so I don’t have to shout?”

  “No,” she answers.

  I walk to the lattice below the left of the balcony. “With your father and uncle out of the picture, someone has to be running things.” I ease my fingers between the thick vines to get a solid grip before pulling myself up.

  Her heels move quietly along the concrete balcony, tapping softly in my direction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.

  I roll my eyes. Of course, she doesn’t.

  “Okay,” I say, grunting as a thorn pricks my thumb. I ignore the pain and continue up a few more feet. “You don’t. But let’s say you do. Let’s say the State’s Attorney’s office does, too.”

  I reach the top and look down. Shit, why did I look down? It’s only about ten feet but — shit, why did I look down?

  I ease over to the concrete railing along the balcony, coming face-to-face with Beatrix on the other side. I grip the edge to steady myself, though the quick and sudden scent of her perfume nearly knocks me off.

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Tyler?” she asks.

  “Angelo is facing criminal conspiracy charges,” I say. “That’s twenty-to-life without parole. You help me and I can cut that in half—”

  “No deal.”

  She spins around.

  “Wait — Beatrix.” I reach out, my fingers barely grazing her skin as she slips away.

  “I need him out now,” she says, pausing.

  “Now?” I grip the rail again, exhaling hard. “I can’t do that. No one can do that.”

  “Then, we’re done here.”

  I lean forward, briefly losing my sense of balance but I hold on. “Beatrix, you love your father. I can tell. But you know the kind of man he really is. The kind who comes with a debt to society.”

  Her pleasant face twists quickly. “What the hell would you know what kind of man my father is?” She rushes at me, pausing just short of the railing. I lean back, nearly slipping. “How dare you imply he’s anything but a fucking saint to the people of this city.”

  “I’m not implying, Ms. Argento. I’m stating facts.”

  “You’re spewing bullshit is what you’re doing.”

  “Why do you need him out now?” I ask.

  “None of your damn business.”

  “It wouldn’t have anything to do with your tattoo, would it?” I nod at her inked shoulder and she falls silent. “That’s your family’s marque, right?”

  “We’re done here,” she says again, turning away.

  I reach for her wrist, successfully taking hold of it. “Beatrix.”

  She stops. “Let go of me.”

  “I can argue for a reduced sentence for your father,” I say, “but you have to give me something first.”

  “I said, let go of me!”

  She jerks free, knocking me off my balance completely.

  “Whoa—!”

  I fall backward and my stomach turns somersaults as I grab for the railing that’s not there.

  Beatrix gasps, her hands slapping over her mouth just before she disappears from view completely.

  “Lance!”

  I brace myself for the pain of impact. I say the quickest prayer to anyone listening as the ground rushes at me. The crash and crunch of tiny branches sound in my ears as the bushes break my fall and thorns prick my legs and back.

  “Oh, shit,” Beatrix says on the balcony.

  I roll out of the bush, instantly regretting ending up on my back as a few thorns stab into my ass.

  “Ouch…” I say.

  It doesn’t last. I take a quick inventory as I stare up at the sky, bending and twisting my arms and legs. Everything moves as it should. Nothing is broken. Good.

  I slowly ease up onto my elbows as the garden doors fly open. Beatrix runs out, her heels clacking loudly on the concrete before she makes it to the grass.

  “Lance!” She drops to her knees beside me. “Lance, are you okay?!”

  “I’m okay,” I say, trying to banish the pain from my voice. “I just need a minute…”

  “Thank fuck!” She heaves a thick breath. “I thought I killed you.”

  “No, I’m all right…”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m…”

  I look up into her brown eyes, so big and full of concern. Not the expression I’d expect… if I ever in a million years pictured something like this happening.

  “Beatrix, it’s only going to get worse,” I say. “For your father and your family… and for you. Please, let me help you.”

  She looks at me, those big eyes growing softer every second. There’s a piece of her that knows I’m right. I just have to pull it out... and keep it out.

  “What would I have to do?” she finally asks.

  I push up onto my hands, coming face-to-face with her again. I expect her to lean away but she doesn’t. She lingers there, her warm, panicked breath barely grazing my cheek. Her pulse rattles her eyes and her plump, painted lips quiver slightly.

  I lean closer. “We—”

  “Trix.”

  She flinches away from me, her face dropping with the sound of his voice behind her. I look over her shoulder at the man standing in the garden doorway.

  Marcus Donner.

  He steps closer to us, each stomp of his shoes bringing darker shadows over her eyes.

  “What’s going on out here?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” she says quickly. She pushes off her knees to stand and extends her hand to me. “Just enjoying some fresh air.”

  “On the ground?”

  I reach up to take her hand but Marcus bumps her out of the way, forcing me to take his hand instead. He yanks me up with a sloppy jerk of his arm and I slip free of him as soon as my balance takes over.

  “I was just admiring some of that wonderful flora, that’s all,” I say, flashing a smile.

  “Is that right?” he asks.

  “Beatrix was telling me about how these flowers were imported all the way from Venice. Pretty fascina
ting, if you ask me.”

  He turns to her. “Get back inside.”

  She looks at me with hesitation. “Actually, Mr. Tyler and I are in the middle of a conversation—”

  “Now, Trix.”

  “Ms. Argento,” she corrects him. Her back straightens as she takes a quick step forward, once again extending her hand toward me. “It was nice chatting with you, Mr. Tyler. We should talk again soon.”

  I take her hand and she shakes with a hard determination. It’s not to intimidate me, obviously.

  It’s to piss him off.

  “Perhaps somewhere a bit more private,” she adds.

  Marcus flexes his jaw hard. It’s definitely working.

  “Absolutely. It was a pleasure, Ms. Argento,” I say.

  She smiles. “You can call me Trix.”

  Her hand falls away and she walks off, leaving me a little breathless and him more than a little enraged. Usually, I’m not too keen on being used but when it comes to this prick, I don’t seem to mind it much at all.

  Marcus glares at me for a few seconds before following her through the garden doors. I want to trail along behind them, maybe even stop the inevitable confrontation that’s bound to go down between them but something tells me Beatrix can hold her own against him.

  Or Trix, as she insisted.

  We should talk again soon.

  I did it. I got through to her, even if just for a moment. I showed her the silver lining around the edge of the black cloud hanging over her whole family. If Marcus hadn’t have shown up when he did…

  I need to see her again. Soon, before someone has a chance to intervene. Somewhere more private, as she said, but that might not be easy with the bodyguard hovering over her shoulder.

  But I’ve done all I can, for now. We can’t meet up here again tonight without drawing suspicion.

  I brush the dirt and leaves off my pants before I head back into the warm hall. The auctioneer’s voice echoes throughout the room, speaking quickly to keep up with all the bids on some priceless work of art from Angelo’s personal collection. Giving back to the community, as Trix claims he does. She’s not wrong, obviously. There’s just more to it than that.

  I glance around, trying unsuccessfully to find her one last time, before heading for the exit. I’ll try and contact her again on Monday.