You've Got Fail(14)

He took the bait, his eyes flickering along my chest. “You’re the devil.”

“No, I’m Scarlet Rocket.”

He leaned over, his palms flat on the table, and stared me down. A shudder of desire raced through me, his withering gaze more of an aphrodisiac than a threat.

“We have to work together.” His words barely made it past his gritted teeth.

I licked my lips. “Yes.”

“To do that, we have to trust each other.”

“Sure.” I batted my lashes.

“And that means you can’t steal my wallet anymore. You can’t steal anything.”

I pouted. “But I’m so good at it, Sparky.”

His shoulders tensed, making a mockery of his button-up shirt. He was so many conflicting things wrapped into one—a nerdy, sexy, uptight, built enigma. When he’d called Jason “Commander Reptilian,” I could barely contain my amusement. Willis was the sort of guy who’d go to those comic conventions and geek out over sci-fi movies, but he also somehow managed to have a sensual intensity right under his surface.

Sighing, he seemed to come to some decision.

He pulled up to his full height. “Stay here.” Plucking a twenty from his wallet, he placed the leather back on the table and walked away, then disappeared out of the front door.

Testing me. He was trying to build trust. That’s what I should have been doing. It was the first rule of any con game. People gave me their trust, and then I took their money. But with him, I was doing it all backwards. From the moment I saw him barreling through the gallery, I’d wanted to drive him to the edge, then push him over. Though it took more than a little effort, I let his wallet remain on the table, unmolested.

He returned, likely after paying the angry cabbie, and sat across from me. His glasses slightly askew, he was all Clark Kent.

I patted the seat to my right. “You won’t sit next to me?”

“No. I know your tricks.” He scrubbed a hand down the scruff along his jaw. “We have to come to some sort of a working arrangement. But that isn’t going to happen if you keep stealing from me.”

“I was just borrowing.”

“I have two degrees in lit. Your Jedi mind tricks won’t work on me.” He slid the wallet off the table and into his pocket.

“It was the only way I knew of to get you to have lunch with me.”

He opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut.

“You know I’m right.”

“Sir.” The server arrived with two plates of chicken parmesan and slid one in front of me and the other in front of Willis. Flipping over Willis’s glass, he poured some of my red before asking if we needed anything else.

“You planned all this. Knew I would come.” Willis was gruff, though he unfurled his napkin and placed it in his lap. “What if I was allergic to cheese or something? What if I didn’t like chicken parmesan?”

“You’re not, and you’re going to like it. I promise.” I grabbed my knife and fork. “Give it a try. If you hate it, I’ll pay the tab.” That was a lie. I didn’t have two dimes to rub together after I’d handed over my last haul to Pauly. Hannah’s mistakes were costly, but I would do everything in my power to pay for them and keep her safe.

He cut a corner off the fried chicken, dipped it in the marinara along the top, and crunched the delicious concoction between his teeth.

“See?” I took a bite, chewing along with him. “Good, right?”

He cut off another piece of chicken and speared it with his fork. “I may as well eat it. I paid for it.”

“So true.” His noncommittal act wasn’t fooling me; he liked the food and the company. I took a sip of wine and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

He peered at me through his glasses. “You want to get to know me, huh?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Then tell me your real name.” He took a pull from his wine glass.

“No can do. But I can tell you other things.”

“Why won’t you tell me your name?”

I leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?”

He paused mid-chew. “Yeah.”

“So can I.” I sat back.

He frowned but kept eating. “Fine. Where did you grow up?”

“Brooklyn.” The warm chicken and salty parmesan danced on my tongue, and I almost moaned from how delicious it was.

“Why don’t you have a Brooklyn accent?”

“I do, Sparky. I just like to change it up whenever I feel like it.”

His eyes widened as I changed my ‘r’s to ‘h’s and spoke in my native dialect.

“I can do British, if you like. Australian. German. Do you like Boston? I can do Southie with real verve. Drop every single ‘r’. Simple. The only one I botch sometimes is Southern. I can do new south, but old south is so much more dramatic, which makes it easier for me.” I was showing off, using different accents as I spoke, but I couldn’t help it when he stared at me like I was the most peculiar beast in the circus side show.

“How?”

I crunched through a piece of chicken and batted around the idea of telling him the truth about my talents. A first. No one knew me. Not really. Just my sister, Hannah. I stuck with keeping it vague. “I have a knack for languages. That’s how I knew the writer of Scarlet Rocket was a man.”