Stone Cold Fox (40)

If I kept files of everyone I knew, which I wouldn’t as it’s all in my head anyway, I would have them digitized, password protected with double encryption and securely stored on the dark web, where absolutely no one could find them without the established protocol that only I would know along with the trusted hacker I would definitely hire with gobs of money to secure their loyalty. Yes, I have a trusted hacker in my network. I’m not some kind of rube. I would also keep hard copies of the files, but not in a safe that looks like a safe in the center of my apartment, just begging to be ravaged in broad daylight. My chosen vessel for hard copy storage would be hidden away, out of sight in a closet or under a floorboard, secured with fingerprints and facial recognition technology.

For God’s sake, this wasn’t hard, was it? Especially if you had money, which Gale did. Meanwhile, I had to learn this all on my own. Not from her. Mother’s forte was not in technology, but obviously she had other merits when it came to conning.

Wrapping things up, I would be taking Collin’s file with me. Cat Man had yet to return with the escape artist, so I managed to slip out of Gale’s as easily as I slipped in.

But I ran into him again in the lobby. Chatting away with Doorman Frank, Hemingway the Cat purring in his gorgeous arms, biceps bulging. He worked out. No question. Cat Man stopped talking midsentence for a moment, presumably to look at me, but I didn’t dare make direct eye contact. He didn’t say anything to me, carrying on his conversation with Frank, so I smiled politely in their direction before heading out the door.

I did notice that when Cat Man clocked the file I held in my hands, he bit his lip, and it was so outrageously sexy. I could be in big trouble if I wasn’t careful.

But I had been careful for so long.





MIKE


   KENILWORTH, ILLINOIS



MOTHER YANKS THE hot-pink gown from my closet, and it reminds me that I want to get a French manicure of my own for the big day. French manicures look so chic next to hot pink. I’ll have to make an appointment at the nail salon soon. They’ll be busy with all the girls.

“What is this monstrosity?” Mother asks me with disgust in her voice and I can’t even believe her. Is she fucking blind? My prom dress is bejeweled, strapless and the it-silhouette right now. It’s gorgeous and I look gorgeous in it and she’s just trying to hurt my feelings, but the dress is too pretty for her tricks to work on me. She’s jealous again, but I’m used to it by now.

I waited in line for almost two hours at Peaches for the dress. Mike dropped me off and I went by myself. Other girls were there with their mothers or friends, trying on gowns, laughing or crying depending on the critique. Another reason to shop alone. The salesgirl asked me where my mother was and I told her she was dead so she wouldn’t ask me any more questions. I didn’t need any company. I knew what I wanted. I wanted this dress.

“It’s my prom dress, Mother. Mike bought it for me, didn’t he tell you? A boy asked me to prom,” I tell Mother, knowing she’ll be floored. Truthfully, I’ve been waiting for this moment.

“The high school prom?” Mother practically chokes on the question. Fair. I’m only in eighth grade, but I know I look older. Brendan James, a junior at New Trier, asked me. I know his sister, Jess, from school. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but all the pretty girls stick together, more or less. Brendan picks up Jess from school and about two weeks ago he got out of the car and asked me to go to prom with him right in front of his sister. I said yes because Brendan is hot and older and I think maybe I’ll get along better with high school kids than the kids my own age. I’m nothing like them.

“Yes,” I clarify for Mother. “The high school prom.”

“When is it?”

“Next Saturday.”

“Hmm, looks like you’ll be able to go.” I can’t tell if she’s impressed that I’m going to the prom and I’m only fourteen. “That was lucky,” she adds.

“Oh,” I say. I know what that means. “Are we leaving soon?” I ask her, not sure how I feel about it. I don’t love Kenilworth, but I don’t hate it either. The winter is brutal, but I like taking the train into the city and pretending I’m somebody else for the day. I go into shops at Water Tower with Mike’s credit card and buy myself clothes and shoes. Sometimes I take things if I know I can get away with it. I feel a little bad when I take, but I think Mother would be proud of me, so I keep it up.

I don’t have a lot of friends and my teachers don’t pay much attention to me anymore, like they did when I was little, even though I’m still one of the smartest kids at school. It just seems like most women avoid me now. I know it’s because of the way I look. I look just like Mother, but the younger version, so the sight of me triggers her now. Another bull’s-eye on my back. It doesn’t help that Mike looks at me all the time. I don’t feel like I’m in danger, not from him anyway, but it definitely doesn’t help with Mother, even though I thought this is what she always wanted. A teammate. An equal. Finally on her level.

But Mike should be looking at her.

I do love that Brendan James has a crush on me. It makes me feel powerful. In control and normal. Like a regular teenage girl with a maybe almost boyfriend.

“Do I get to meet him?” Mother asks me, looking positively thrilled by the prospect.