You've Got Fail(8)

Devious little minx.

I couldn’t get my bearings. “How did you even know—”

“Oh, please darling. I’m Linda Carnavatta. There isn’t a thing that goes on in this city that I don’t know about. Your actress debuted last weekend to rave reviews. When I heard she was at the gallery tonight, I couldn’t pass up a chance to see her in action.” Linda shouldered what appeared to be some sort of faux fox pelt with ruby eyes. “And she’s perfect. I can’t believe you pulled this off without any help from me.” She patted my cheek a little too hard. “But it’s brilliant, and it works.”

“No, you’ve got this all wro—”

“I’m so pleased that you think I’m up to the task of being Scarlet Rocket.” Fake Scarlet beamed and clasped Linda’s hand. “It’s really a dream job for me.”

Linda raised a brow. “Don’t oversell it. That’s part of Scarlet Rocket’s allure. Sexy but aloof. Great at giving advice, but needing none herself.”

Fake Scarlet dropped her hand and straightened, lifting her chin with what I realized was Fake Scarlet’s signature confidence.

“Much better, my darling.” Linda nodded. “That’s the show people will pay to see.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I grabbed Linda’s arm and pulled her away from the imposter. “This isn’t what you think. This is a fake Scarlet. Don’t you see?” I realized my words were insane babble, but how could I explain that Fake Scarlet was…well, fake in the fakest sense of the word? “She’s a con artist, not an actress.”

Linda leaned over and peeked at Scarlet, who stood behind my back. When Linda straightened, she said, “She’s perfect.”

“Did you hear what I just said?” The urge to grab her and shake some sense into her seemed like a bad move. I managed to keep my hands to myself, barely. “She’s a con. A thief. An imposter!”

“And what are you?”

I let my head loll back on my shoulders and stared up at the inky night sky. No stars to be seen. “I’m a blogger.”

“No, you’re an artist. You write. You’ve written a wonderful book that will no doubt help thousands of people, hopefully millions of people, reach their relationship goals. Your blog has already helped so many. Now, it’s my turn. Let me help you. Trust me.”

I met her gaze. “I trust you. But she’s a different story.”

She smiled and patted my cheek, gently this time. “The different stories are the very best ones.” Sweeping past me, she pulled a card from her tiny handbag and gave it to Fake Scarlet. “Call me in the morning, and I’ll have legal send you a contract. We’ll also need to set up a meeting with all three of us to discuss the game plan. Until then, I expect you to be on your best behavior.” She held up a hand to hail a cab. “And I should warn you, my darling. I’m an old hand at trickery and games. As my mother always said, ‘Don’t kid a kidder.’ Are we clear?”

Fake Scarlet nodded. “Yes. What’s the pay?”

Linda leaned closer, the two women speaking in hushed tones as my blood pressure rose. After a few more murmured words, they shook.

“Good.” Linda stepped away from the curb as a cab pulled up.

“Where are you going?” I sounded like a lost child, the world moving too fast for me to keep up.

“Miriam Gallant is exhibiting inside. You aren’t my only client, you know?” She sashayed toward the gallery. “Ciao for now, my darlings.”

Fake Scarlet—though now I supposed she was just Scarlet—looped her arm through mine. “Looks like you’ll be paying my cab fare after all.”





4





Fake Scarlet





He scooted to the far side of the cab and eyed me like I was some sort of wild animal. I slid in and closed the door, the familiar smell of sweat, some sort of old food, and an underlying sour odor that seemed to reside in half the cabs in New York meeting my nose.

“Where to?” the cabbie grunted.

I stared at Willis.

He stared back.

The cabbie let out an irritated sigh.

“Give him your address.” Willis rubbed his tense jaw.

“Give him yours.”

“Give address or get out.” The cabbie had run out of patience in all of five seconds.

“Fine.” I rattled off an address.

We moved away from the curb.

Willis seemed to relax a little but kept stealing sidelong glances at me.

I plastered on a sweet smile. “I won’t bite.”

“What’s your real name?” He pulled at his dress shirt collar, although it was already unbuttoned at his throat. His dark hair hung a little too far over his ears, as if he’d missed a few appointments with his barber. Shaggy, handsome, and pissed at me, his glances turned to glares.

“I told you. I’m Scarlet Rocket.” I crossed my legs at the knee.

He looked at my legs, then winced as if angry at himself for doing it. “Stop playing games. You’ve already fooled my agent with your little song and dance. Who are you, really?”

I tsked and turned to look at the passing buildings, the people strolling along the sidewalks in the cool spring air. “What does it matter? You need me to be Scarlet Rocket. That’s who I am.”