Cozen

by Bethany-Kris

  “There you are,” he said, not looking the slightest bit concerned.

  Her heart was racing.

  A little too close for comfort.

  Cozen smiled brightly. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  Jett reached for her hand, and Cozen let him take it. “Lunch is waiting downstairs. You’ll have to wait for the rest of the tour.”

  She didn’t even mind, now.

  Cozen looked over the plans she had spread out on the kitchen floor. Using heavy coffee mugs on each corner of the paper, it kept the ends from rolling back up while she worked. The kitchen was the best room in the apartment when it came to light, so she was using that to her advantage at the moment.

  She stood above the plans and chewed on the end of a black pen. Letting it hang from her mouth, she put her hands to her hips, and stared at her work.

  A whole two weeks of work, actually.

  Two weeks …

  Of having Jett continue to pursue her. Of accepting invitation after invitation to his home. Of being taken out to place after place—although with a bit of her trickery and suggestions, they almost always ended up back at the mansion.

  And despite finding the safe in the office, and also not finding the ring, she had not gotten the chance to get back inside the man’s office. Not with her tricks, or her distractions. And she was going to need time to be able to crack that safe, too.

  She was going to get her chance, though. Eventually, it always happened. And, of course, Jett kept bringing her back time and time again to his home.

  Without sex, of course.

  Cozen didn’t even put the offer—or the idea of it—on the table. She often wondered how long it would take before Jett got tired of her flirtatious nature, and how quick she was to find some excuse to dodge his physical advancements.

  He was a man, after all.

  He clearly wanted something from her.

  It wasn’t all innocent.

  However, those two weeks gave Cozen access. And that was what she needed the very most when it came to Jett Griffin. Accessibility to his home, and private areas. Time to check out the property and the inside of the mansion. The ability to watch for cameras where they might be hidden, and learn the view angles.

  The tour Jett had given to Cozen inside the mansion was a godsend, too. She figured he might be so arrogant as to point out something she had missed on her own.

  And he did.

  The secret staircase hidden by a bookshelf that led up to the wing of his private quarters. Another passageway that led between downstairs rooms.

  None of that was important, though. Not like the office with the safe was. Anything that was everything important to him was kept in the office—or that’s how he put it when he finally gave her the tour of the upstairs.

  Cozen went back to her plans, and marked more down on the blueprints of the mansion’s downstairs floors. Every little detail she could remember. How many steps long a hallway was. How many cameras in one area, and where they were located. Although all the cameras were simply downstairs—not one was upstairs.

  Anything helped.

  All of it.

  Writing it down, or sketching out floor plans, helped her more because she could memorize it, and keep it in the back of her mind.

  She didn’t have any reason to actually believe the ring might be in Jett’s office, but she didn’t have a reason not to believe it, either. She suspected the piece would be important to him.

  Sacred, even.

  Especially considering the Astors wanted it back. Not to mention, how Jett had taunted the Astors with the ring by having some floozy chick wear it to an event. No doubt, he was absolutely keeping the ring locked up, and safe.

  She didn’t like to take risks that might expose her, but she was kind of running out of time here. This job needed to get done already, and she was starting to think she might have to take more risks just to get back in front of that safe again.

  Cozen went back to her plans for a moment—her bread and butter of this whole goddamn thing. This heist was made impossibly more difficult by the fact that the thing she needed to steal had not yet been in her sights.

  The ring, that was.

  She suspected she knew where it was, but that wasn’t a certainty. And an almost certainty was not entirely good enough for her, but it was all she had to go on at the moment. Since this was the first time a job left her without every piece of knowledge about the mark in question, she had to do what she had to do. Whatever it took to get this done.

  Her hope was that it would all be far easier than any of this—the ring would be in the safe, most likely, and she could open it with the program she developed with a friend.

  Shit was never that easy, though.

  Still … Cozen hoped.

  For now, though, her phone buzzed. A reminder popped up on the screen as she slid it closer to be able to see it. Her mind was so super focused on finishing this job that other things were sometimes falling to the wayside on her.

  Hence the need for reminders.

  Like this one.

  She had to work today.

  The act had to be kept up.

  Joy.

  “Zen, I’m going to need you behind the bar for the rest of the shift,” Chase said as he strolled on past Cozen. Like he hadn’t just dropped that bomb on her, or something.

  “Wait, what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I can’t mix The Kingdom’s specialty drinks,” she said.

  Chase was already gone. He didn’t even hear Cozen’s refusal.

  Fuck.

  “Um, do you need a moment, miss?”

  “Yeah, we’re okay here,” the guy’s wife said.

  The people she was supposed to be serving.

  Cozen gave the couple at the table an apologetic look, and waved at another one of the servers to come and help. Once she was free, she darted after Chase to find out what cold hell she had slipped into.

  A beer, or a specific wine was one thing. Cozen—and most of the other servers—were fully capable of pouring a drink like that. They usually did just to make things a little easier on Marissa because she was typically busy enough.

  But working the whole bar?

  Entirely different.

  Cozen found Chase in his back office. A place he rarely left unless it was to bark orders in the kitchen, or to meet a particular diner on the floor. He didn’t own the restaurant; he simply managed it. He sure liked to pretend differently, though.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Cozen asked.

  Chase opened his laptop, and passed her a look over the screen. “Hear what? I thought I told you to get behind the bar. Marissa wasn’t feeling well, and had to go home. I don’t need her puking in someone’s glass of wine. The girl who usually takes her place isn’t answering her phone, and the dinner rush is coming.”

  “That’s thoughtful, but—”

  “Cozen, go do your job.”

  “I can’t mix the specialty drinks for the restaurant. I don’t know the mixtures.”

  Chase shrugged. “If somebody asks for something off the restaurant’s menu of exclusive drinks, just say you’re filling in. Unless they want something you know how to make, you’re not capable.”

  “You think that’ll fly over?”

  Because The Kingdom was famous for its special menu of drinks only their bartender could make. A good ten percent of the revenue every day came from only those drinks. People had their favorites, and often stopped in just to get their drink.

  “Not particularly, but it will work for tonight.”

  “Great,” Cozen muttered.

  Cozen didn’t even wait to hear what Chase had to say. She untied the small, black waitress apron around her waist, and hung it on one of the hooks before she exited the kitchen. Making her way behind the bar—one with people already waiting to place drink orders—she prepped herself for another six hours of a whole different kind of hell.

  “Who’s first?” Co
zen asked the waiting people.

  A blond, jock-type dressed in a three-piece stepped forward. The equally blonde, plastic-like Barbie on his arm made Cozen want to roll her eyes.

  A bartender wasn’t like a waitress. She had to be nice and pleasant to the people on the floor, but she didn’t have to stay with one table or person for very long before she could move on. She considered that a benefit, despite the eight to ten hours a day in heels that make her feet feel like they were on fire.

  A bartender, however, had to be something else entirely. Charming, interested, and willing to engage in conversation. It was kind of hard to talk with food in your mouth, but not as difficult when a person was slightly tipsy, and probably had a reason for drinking alcohol in the first goddamn place.

  Cozen was a good two hours in to working behind the bar before the number of patrons started to slow a bit. It was days like today when it became a little bit harder for her to remember why she was here and doing this crap in the first place.

  For the job.

  It was all for the damn job.

  The act she had to keep up.

  If anything, it made Cozen all the more determined to finish this job, so she could return back to her quiet, content life where she no longer had to do things like this. She wasn’t required to plaster on a fake smile, or spend hours upon hours on her feet in heels. She didn’t have to charm a man just to steal from him.

  Not to mention … the beach.

  God, she missed the beach.

  Sargon flashed into her mind, too, in those moments. A brief second of pause where his features graced her memories, and left her feeling spectacularly heavy in her heart for reasons she could not explain.

  Like her heart was trying to tie him to something she found comfort and peace in. Like her heart wanted to take him back with her when she went, too.

  Cozen wasn’t even sure she should entertain those feelings or thoughts. They were dangerous—even more dangerous than the game she had been playing with the darkly handsome, sex God of a man.

  So he could play her body like an instrument.

  So he could delve into her mind.

  So he was beautiful.

  So … what?

  So you like him, her mind taunted, a lot.

  Maybe a little more than a lot.

  It was difficult and complicated. He had made a hell of a lot of things about a job that should have been somewhat easy and relatively clean very difficult, and particularly dirty for her. He didn’t even know it—or did he?

  Who knew?

  Cozen couldn’t really afford the kind of issues Sargon made for her in the grand scheme of the plans. It was one thing for her mind to know that, though. It was an entirely different matter for her heart to get with the plan, too.

  She hadn’t seen him in weeks.

  Two, actually.

  Since that morning he delivered her to breakfast with Jett after spending the night with her. She hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of him, although she still did occasionally feel like someone was watching her.

  Him, specifically.

  “Could we order?”

  The question drew Cozen out of her thoughts to find a familiar man standing next to the bar with his red-headed wife.

  Silas Griffin.

  Jett’s oldest son.

  As for the woman, Marsha was her name. Cozen met her all but once in passing at the mansion, and it was only from afar. They hadn’t spoken to each other, and it was Jett who explained that Marsha was his daughter-in-law.

  “Silas,” Cozen greeted, “and Marsha. Hey, what can I get for you two tonight?”

  “Where’s Marissa?” Marsha asked.

  Oh, Jesus.

  The woman sounded like a whistling nasal cavity when she spoke. She was pretty, sure, but the voice was terrible.

  “She wasn’t feeling well,” Cozen explained, “so I am manning—so to speak—the bar tonight. I can make all kinds of drinks, just not The Kingdom’s specialty menu. So, what can I get for you two?”

  Silas’s blue gaze drifted over Cozen in a way that felt cold. As though he were simply about to dismiss her with nothing more than a look. He was a handsome young man—in his late twenties, at least. She could see his father’s features reflecting back in a younger version of Jett.

  This man, however, did not treat her like his father did.

  Silas wasn’t fond of Cozen, and hadn’t made a secret of his dislike during their brief encounters. Oh, sure, he was respectful, but that was just about all he was willing to offer her. He didn’t go out of his way to be nice, or even particularly polite.

  He likely thought she was some gold digging woman after his father’s money. It had only been less than a year since his mother passed on, too.

  Shit, Cozen was younger than Silas. He was likely taking that little factor into account when it came to his feelings about her, too.

  No doubt, it was awkward for him.

  She didn’t care.

  She was here for a ring.

  Not Jett’s money.

  Not his life.

  Not his heart.

  “She’s certainly pretty enough, isn’t she?” Silas asked his wife. “I can see why Dad thinks she’ll fit right in with everyone else.”

  “Well, at least she won’t need a dozen surgeries like all the other wives,” Marsha muttered.

  Cozen straightened on the spot. “She is right here.”

  Silas cocked a brow. “Quite aware, yeah. Shame, too, that he had to pick some woman from a gutter—basically. My father could have his pick of women, and yet he found some strange interest in you. Who are you even, Cozen? Where do you come from that you think you’re not reaching way out of your league when it comes to my father?”

  Wow.

  He wasn’t hiding a damn thing. He was so entirely unashamed about his delivery, too.

  She respected it.

  A little.

  It didn’t even bother her.

  “Maybe you should ask your father that,” Cozen returned.

  “Oh, I have,” Silas grumbled as he fixed the gold cufflink on his shirt sleeve. “And I get told to mind my own business. He forgets that our fortune and family name is my business just as much as it is his. What are you going to give him other than a good fuck, and a pretty wife that’ll outlive him by a good twenty or thirty years?”

  “Not very much,” Marsha put in, passing Cozen a stinging look, “other than another name in the Will to take a share.”

  Silas looked Cozen over again before adding, “Maybe a child or two—boys if you’re lucky, or spoiled little girls if the rest of us get to be unlucky.”

  Okay.

  This had gone way too far.

  “If there’s nothing I can make for you,” Cozen said, forcing her tone to remain polite, “then I’m going to have to take my break.”

  So fuck off.

  Silas smiled thinly. “No, you can’t make my drink. It’s the Griffin, by the way. Named for our family.”

  Cozen widened her gaze in false amazement. “Fascinating, Silas.”

  “I do look forward to seeing how you do at the party Dad is having soon. You certainly do okay in a small group of his people—what about a larger group? A whole mass of rich people that will remind you of how far you’re actually reaching here?”

  A party?

  What party?

  Silas must have seen the question in Cozen’s eyes because he chuckled and asked, “Oh, you didn’t know about that? Maybe you’re not invited after all.”

  All right.

  Cozen had enough.

  She tossed the rag to the bar, and brought up the little sign from underneath that said We’ll be back to serve you soon.

  “We can wait,” Silas murmured, looking over the sign.

  Cozen smiled. “I’ll serve you when hell freezes over, Silas. Have a good night.”

  Jett was standing in front of Cozen’s apartment door when she finally got home. She almost thought about turning around when
he hadn’t seen her come through the hallway door, but decided against it when the man standing at the other end of the hall caught her eye.

  Sargon.

  He stood in all black guarding the door. His hands were folded at his front, and his gaze never left hers from the second she stepped into the hallway. It was her first glimpse of him in two weeks, and it left her just as confused as ever.

  Before she could think about anything else, Jett finally saw her standing there, and offered Cozen one of his wide, charming smiles.

  “Cozen, sweetheart,” he said with arms already opening. “I thought you were never getting home.”

  Fuck.

  This was not good for many reasons. She listed those reasons off in her head as she headed down the hall, and took Jett’s embrace. His arms did nothing for her, a lot like the kiss he tried to place to her lips, but she diverted to the corner of her mouth at the last second.

  The flash in Jett’s eyes told her the truth—she was right; he was getting tired of this cat and mouse between them. He might have liked it before when she distracted his physical affections toward something else, but not anymore.

  He was looking for something.

  He wanted it from her.

  Soon.

  “Are we going out?” Cozen asked.

  “I wanted to drop by, actually,” Jett said. He gestured at her door, saying, “Can we go in?”

  Not particularly.

  He had never been inside her place, and it wasn’t exactly up to spec when it came to visitors. It still had very little furniture, the walls were bare, and Cozen rarely used anything beyond the living room, kitchen, and bathroom.

  She had packed her plans away of Jett’s place before going to work that day. She considered that one win to her benefit.

  Jett did not look like he was letting this go. “Inside?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Cozen murmured.

  She glanced down the hall, and her gaze locked with Sargon’s for a brief second as she opened her apartment. Their staring contest—thankfully unnoticed by Jett as he was too busy murmuring something in Cozen’s ear that she wasn’t listening too—was only broken when they slipped into the apartment together.

  The second the apartment door closed, Cozen tried to put a bit of distance between herself and Jett. There had never been a time when she was in such tight, closed quarters with him, and at the same time, locked in as to not be able to have a means of escape. He had never done anything to make her feel unsafe, but that didn’t mean anything.