Fool Me Forever (Confidence Game)

by Ainslie Paton

  Loving him in the now was a gentler, slower affair. What it lacked in grabs and hurried thrusts, it made up for it in the simmering of deliberate pleasure. Without urgency, they were careful with each other but no less strategic. He knew the place on her neck that made her whimper when he paid it attention and the right amount of pressure to apply when he squeezed her breast and when he used his fingers on her clit. He knew she couldn’t help but smile when he kissed her throat.

  She knew he liked her tongue in his mouth, to feel her slide on his cock, to tease up that moment when she’d take him inside. He wanted the anticipation as much as he wanted the act. He wanted the varying detail and the finer points of tiny caresses and sweet kisses, held eye contact and the seduction of skin, and with him, she wanted them, too.

  In the now they were languorous, a delicious coupling of sensation and trust.

  In the future…

  There were more important things than pleasure.

  There was an Edward R. Murrow quote she’d decorated in her bullet journal: To be persuasive we must be believable; to be believable we must be credible; to be credible we must be truthful. It’s as simple as that.

  The newsman was wrong about it being simple but right about everything else.

  To make D4D a success and restore the Bradshaw name, she had to be persuasive. To be persuasive, she had to be believable, trustworthy, and beyond reproach. It was a mountain to climb to get back to that place, and she couldn’t do it with a master con artist at her side, even as he’d helped her establish toeholds. While she trusted him to catch her if she fell, he was the opposite of a safety net. He was a free fall into another tangled mess of deceit, lies, theft, and criminal activity.

  She could love the man, and oh fuck it, she was falling in love with him, stopped him leaving with kiss after kiss, even under the threat of being discovered by her pizza-satisfied family, but she couldn’t keep him and live the honest life she was trying to rebuild. She had to tell herself that over and over for the rest of the night, and still it was difficult to believe it when she read the morning’s newsfeed to see an art fraud story that named Cookie Jar as having been had.

  Justice was an enormous buzz. And it didn’t feel wrong when she was seated beside Halsey in the dark at the gala performance as his hand strayed to her knee.

  The Ossovian a capella choir was sensational. Their voices thrilling, magnificent in a way that went to her soul and filled it with hope for the world to be a gentler, kinder, truer place.

  When the lights came up at intermission, the theater emptied around them, and they were as entranced with each other as they had been with the singers.

  “The way you look at me,” Lenny said. As if he wasn’t quite sure she was his. As if he was counting down to the time when he could get her alone to make sure she was.

  “If you mean like I’ve only now learned how to use my eyes? Does it bother you?”

  It should. It was flattering. Made happy tears build behind her lashes. It complicated things. She shook her head, and he slipped his hand to the back of her neck and held her for a whisper-tender kiss.

  How were they supposed to give each other up?

  “I’m going to keep looking at you, drinking you in furiously as long as you’ll let me,” he said.

  Sweet tongue, sweeter nature. A walking, talking, rule-breaking definition of too good to be true, and she was hopelessly under his spell. “I need a drink.” Something with a bite that might bring her back to Earth, remind her of what happens when you love a man who lies expertly for a living.

  You could never know when he was lying to you.

  He offered a hand, and they went out to the bar in the foyer because it was time to go to work.

  Cookie Jar had swept into the event with an entourage. He wore a vibrant emerald print, silk tasseled scarf with his tux, and a bulletproof expression.

  Halsey planned to commiserate with him over them both being duped, offer him a donation, and dangle the privilege of membership at his club, all the while knowing what Sonny wanted most was a chance to win back the money he lost on the painting in the cryptocurrency investment scheme.

  It would be three strikes against Cookie Jar’s reputation. The purchase of a fraudulent painting using government funds set aside for infrastructure development, membership of a non-existent club, and a spectacular flame-out in a fictional investment.

  Sherwood deviousness would make sure those things became known while keeping Halsey’s name out of it. Baiba would do the rest to turn opinion against the prime minister and ultimately oust him in a bloodless coup. With luck, Ketija would get to build her power grid.

  They’d reached the bar when a man delivered a message to Halsey. Cookie Jar wanted to see him in backstage. Now there’d be fireworks. Lenny slipped her hand into his. “Let’s go.”

  He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “No. Wait for me. It’s better that I do this alone.”

  It would be exciting, knowing what Cookie Jar didn’t. And unbearably hot to see Halsey set the final snare in place. The culmination of what they’d worked together to achieve. “So I hear a little shouting. That’s no big deal.

  “Keeping you clear of any trouble is very much our deal. You sold me on doing D4D business and being one more guest in the crowd.”

  He wouldn’t deny her. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No. I can’t let you do that.”

  Let me.

  This was about his pride as much as anything else. “You don’t want me to see you grovel.”

  She expected he’d smile at that. His expression was blank. “This isn’t a game.”

  He left her by the bar without another word. He was keyed up, out of his comfort zone, but that didn’t stop her regretting the exchange.

  Halsey had too many spy cameras and not enough experience in fieldwork. This was a game of etiquette and power, and she knew the rules. If she couldn’t watch him work, she’d spend the time apart furthering her own agenda.

  Earlier this week, she’d been cut on the street by a former colleague who’d been a foundation D4D donor, and an old college friend had pretended not to know her in Trader Joe’s. The embarrassment of that still stung, but at this gala she had an advantage. She could choose friendly targets and trust no one would deliberately avoid her as an invited guest in such a public setting.

  They were in a brilliantly lit theater foyer, everyone was drinking, flashing jewels, and showing off their finery. She took a flute of champagne and went to work the room.

  She spoke to Ruth and Buddy Berzinger, regular D4D donors who’d stuck with her. She posed for a photograph with Delilah and Jonas Schwartzman, occasional donors who she wanted more from. Mirabelle Yang made her laugh, and Abigale Allworth asked for the name of her colorist. Intermission was almost over, and she was set to flit across the room to speak with Spike Hawthorn when a man deliberately blocked her path. The same man who’d brought a message to Halsey. He stepped aside, and she was face-to-face with Cookie Jar.

  “Prime Minister, how nice to see you.” She extended her hand for him to shake, checking left and right for Halsey. “The choir is wond—”

  “It is not nice to see you, Miss Bradshaw.” He ignored her dangling hand and spoke loudly, turning her spine to steel.

  “I don’t und—”

  “The fault is mine. I did not do my homework on you. I did not realize you were the daughter of a grifter, a common criminal. The two of you were trying to scam me.”

  “No, I. We—” She couldn’t finish, her tongue too tied by truth and lies, and the awareness all the chatter around them had stopped, every ear tuned to the drama.

  Cookie Jar wagged a finger at her, close enough to her face she had to lean away. “You thought to profit from being near me. Shame on you. The Heroes League does not want your dirty money.”

  The fringe of his emerald scarf scored across her middle, a final public cut, as he turned to walk off, leaving a hole in the crowd in his wake. A hundr
ed pairs of eyes lasered in on Lenny, frozen in place, watching her face flame and the fragile remains of her reputation go up in smoke.

  She looked for somewhere to put her champagne flute, her hand shaking. She caught the vicious interest in Delilah Schwartzman’s eyes and knew the full horror of this was still to come. The gossip, the donors who’d drop out, but she couldn’t afford to make this a bigger scandal by showing her despair. She gripped the stem of the flute so hard it might snap in her hand. Any minute now the bell would go, calling everyone back to their seats and saving her further embarrassment.

  “Prime Minister. You wished to talk with me.” That voice edged in shards of glass was close behind her, so unlike Halsey’s it made her start, slopping champagne over her hand. It cut through the gossipy murmurs and stopped Cookie Jar. Made him turn back.

  “I wish to have the two of you arrested,” he growled.

  Halsey put his hand to her shoulder. It was all she could do not to crumple into the shelter of him.

  “Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with the Kandinsky being a forgery? I’m as much a victim as you.” He ran a finger over her bare shoulder and slowly down her arm, making her twitch from the unexpectedness of that intimate gesture in this strained moment. “And you cannot seriously think little Lenny Bradshaw has the wherewithal to con you,” he said with an amused snort.

  She flinched away from the wrongness of his touch as the intermission bell rang. Had he called her little?

  He was nervous. Hadn’t expected a confrontation like this. Cookie Jar must’ve stood him up. Her head was spinning, and her heart was beating too fast. She had to hold it together if she was going to salvage any self-respect out of this.

  “I think she is your partner in crime,” Cookie Jar said with a flourish of his hand in her direction. “Her family—”

  Halsey laughed over him. “I find that most amusing.” That laugh was mean and harsh and so unlike him it spiked painfully, deep in her chest, making her gasp. “Her father was a crook, but Lenny is too honest for her own good. I feel sorry for her. She’s a pretty diversion, nothing more. My personal charity case until she becomes a liability.”

  A diversion.

  Her stomach lurched and she recoiled, taking a step away from Halsey. There was nowhere to put her drink, no way to stop her eyes stinging, making her blink on unshed tears.

  A liability.

  That’s exactly what her surname was, and the whole room was just reminded of it.

  What was he doing? Embarrassing her all over again.

  Halsey wasn’t looking at her, his jaw was hard, and his body was rigid. He might as well be a stranger.

  “You needed me,” she said, voice raised in confusion. So much he’d come to her in the rain, loved her with nothing held back, and looked at her with something like utter devotion.

  And she loved him. Oh, God, she was in love with him, and all he felt for her was sorry; all he needed her for was to keep his con alive.

  She stared at him, but he didn’t break his focus on Cookie Jar to acknowledge her.

  She’d been such a fool. Believing he was a better man than her father. That she wouldn’t be taken in.

  No one was moving. The bell got louder, but not louder than the alarm that went off in her head when Halsey took her chin in his hand.

  “Desperate people are easy to manipulate, Lenore. You should know that.”

  And she’d thought she was manipulating him.

  The whole room tilted. The whole world. This couldn’t be happening. She wrenched free.

  He looked her over. Coldly. “Run along, PowerPoint Girl. Let the men talk business.”

  The lid on the anger she’d pushed down lifted; bitterness scorched her lungs and pricked her skin. He was a bastard, an untrustworthy liar. She’d known it. Ignored it. One minute he acted like he was in love with her and then next he made her his stooge without missing a beat. She couldn’t catch a breath or her balance, and her throat was too tight to let her speak.

  She threw her drink in his face.

  There was a shocked exclamation from those standing closest, and she forced out the words, “Fuck you, Halsey Sherwood.” He shouldn’t be too surprised. He was the one who’d taught her sometimes you had to throw things.

  He said what sounded like “good girl” in a muffled voice as he wiped a hand over his face.

  A new sound under her raging heartbeat, alongside the insistent bell, was applause. Someone took the glass from her hand.

  A woman said, “Well done.”

  Another asked if she needed help.

  She needed to get out of here.

  Blinded by tears, she made it through the foyer to the street without crashing into anyone. She’d been utterly deceived by Halsey’s Paul Newman looks, his nice guy, Excel Boy routine. She’d fallen for his easy manner and shy humor. His protectiveness and his quirks. And then, the sheer romance of him had overwhelmed her when she’d been so very alone.

  He was right. She’d been desperate to deal with Easton, desperate to fix her family, desperate to make D4D work, desperate to be loved, and he’d used all that against her when he needed to.

  His alicorn wasn’t a lesson; it was a warning and she’d read it all wrong in thinking he was the good kind of con man, when she’d known there could be no such thing.

  Walk. She had to walk. Get away from people. Get away from the betrayal and the painful humiliation of what she’d put herself through.

  A block. Another. Slow going in shoes not made for running away from her own stupidity, for stumbling in the hot shame of being taken in. She had to put a hand to a wall to steady herself, because she was going to be sick.

  “Lenny, please let me help.”

  This time his voice sounded familiar, and it made her sob aloud. “Go away.”

  “I need to explain.” He’d followed her for blocks, stalking her to explain his duplicity in case she was dull enough not to appreciate his genius. He’d pretended not to want her with him tonight and acquiesced so easily to her prodding.

  “That you’re a con artist first and foremost and you made me your mark.” Saw that she was already broken and ripe to take advantage of. “That you’re a heartless grifter and you made me your victim. I got it. Fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, head-over-heels. Congratulations on your planning and attention to detail.”

  “No, Lenny. Goddamn.”

  Sorry son of a bitch, he managed to sound regretful. A brilliant act, like when he’d sounded real and true and loving.

  “You did exactly the right thing.”

  She turned to face him, slowly, on legs that felt boneless. She couldn’t make herself look past his glossy shoes. Exactly right was when she’d left his apartment and had gotten in that elevator with her honor intact.

  “He shanghaied me. He separated us deliberately to get to you, and I should’ve seen that coming. My God, Lenny, I’m sorry I let you get hurt. I’m sorry I hurt you. I was trying to make people see you as the victim and me as the bad guy.”

  He was the worst guy and not enough people knew it. He was going to try to make her forgive him.

  She raised her eyes up above his knees, the edge of his coat, the black cummerbund that divided his pants from his white shirt. His tie was undone, his shirt open at the neck and wet, and his pocket silk shoved untidily in its spot.

  She couldn’t look at his face—it would put her on her ass in a two-thousand-dollar dress.

  She couldn’t listen to his rationalization, because she couldn’t afford to forgive him.

  “I was wrong to ever involve you in this. Just so fucking wrong not to stop you coming tonight when we’d finished things cleanly. I put you in danger. I’m sorry, so sorry for all of this. I’ll clear your name. I’ll make sure none of this comes back on you. Say whatever you need to put the blame on me.”

  He was a much better con than he’d let on. She could almost buy his remorse. “I guess we just broke up. Happy now?”

 
“No, my darling.” His voice broke, and she met his eyes. “This is intolerable. I didn’t want us to ever end.”

  Intolerable, like the way she struggled to reconcile what she’d felt with what she’d always known. Incredible that she’d ever thought Halsey was capable of honesty and had let her see inside his heart. She turned her face away and looked out at the blur of the street.

  “It’s better the gossip is about what a fuckwit I am and how badly I treated you.”

  Lies on lies, deceit so ingrained it was impossible to believe a word he said, and she’d been sure she knew him. Full of pride and arrogance about her ability to be unaffected by his criminal ways. To use him and benefit from it. To love him and want to keep him.

  “I should’ve been more careful with you. I should’ve done all this differently. I fucked it all up.”

  She might as well have been the one saying those words. He’d set her up to fall in love with him when he’d needed an accomplice and she’d needed a friend.

  “I won’t contact you again. I’ll see your money is returned. I’ve called you a car to take you home.”

  She dragged her gaze back to him because he sounded utterly torn, and it was still hard to believe he could hurt her so easily. The sight of him made her heart buck against the arteries holding it in place. His face was contorted by emotion, his shoulders slumped, head hanging low on his neck, eyes squeezed closed.

  She loved him, but like her father, he traded in slippery truths and she’d never be able to trust him.

  He lifted his head, blinked hard on glassy eyes, and winced, putting a hand up to shield his face when headlights flared over them. “You’re an incredible woman, Lenore Bradshaw. I’ve never felt happier than these weeks we’ve had together. I’m forever grateful to have loved you.”

  She shook her head, tears distorting her vision.

  He’d pushed her to react in front of everyone. He’d wanted her to blow it up. He’d said, “Good girl,” when she had. He’d tried to make it better. But she couldn’t afford to be even a little bit wrong about that. About him. She was the daughter of a fraud and a criminal, and she’d been naive to that her whole life.