The Billionaire and the Con Artist: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Girls Series Book 1) (9 page)

This time, well, I actually am a frightened girl out of money trying to get home.

* * *

I
shower and
wash and condition my hair so I’m nice and fresh, discarding my underwear but putting my other worn clothes back on since I don’t have any other options.

Before leaving the motel room, I rehearse several approaches, running over various scenarios and characters in my mind.

I don’t need anything elaborate—it’s my mom, after all.

Obviously, I’m not gonna tell her what I’ve really been up to—unless it seems she’d like to hear it because she can identify; maybe she has the same streak in her.

Nah, I’ll probably just present as the perfect daughter—healthy, attractive, well-adjusted, independent, and smart; it’s the safest bet.

My current outfit is casual and cute—not super conservative, but not slutty.

I’ll try to brush my hair somehow, but you know what? I look just fine overall.

My natural state seems to be the most irresistible to others.

I wear it when I’m just being me, no plans to approach anyone as I head to the public library or wherever I decide to take a stroll on my day off. But boy, do people approach me—usually with warm, friendly smiles.

As I am—fresh, young, and natural, minding my business—is the most irresistible look of all.

Hopefully, my mom finds me just as irresistible.

"
B
ack so soon
?” Scott asks with a distinctive mocking drawl.

I fake a laugh.

"It’s been forty-five minutes, at least. Not exactly a quickie.”

Nate is looking at me like he knows something went down and I avoid his eyes.

"Anyway, after tonight, I’m probably done with that one. She was fun as hell, but ..."

I shrug my shoulders casually, ignoring the pang in my chest.

"Lucky for me, she checks out in the morning so I get the place to myself and I get to take a new bird back there. Why bring sand to the beach, right?"

Shit, I might be giving myself away—even I can hear the strangeness in my voice, like I don’t believe my own words.

“That’s quite a turnaround,” Pete says. “One minute, you have a real connection, the next, you’re done? What happened? Did you find out she’s married or something?”

I shake my head, although damn it—that was a good cover. Why didn’t I come up with that?

“Did she tell you she prefers girls and was just experimenting?” Scott joins in with a lecherous smile.

I shake my head again, wondering how to put the brakes on this game of twenty questions.

“She’s just… not as special as I thought. I’m sorry, guys—I got temporarily blinded by big beautiful eyes and perky tits. She had, like, the perfect body, and I don’t know if I’ve ever come so hard. So excuse me—things got a bit fuzzy with tail like that. But after I hit it again just now, once we got done and she got to talking more, I realized I’ve been there, heard that. She’s just another airhead. So yeah, that connection I felt was just lust, apparently. You’d think I’d know it better by now. My smaller head tricked my larger one into thinking more was there than there is, that there was more to her than a cozy lay.”

“Bummer,” Scott says. “I was actually looking forward to meeting her after all noise you made about her,” he says. “At the very least, you’re sure she’s still smoking hot, right? Or did the sight of her naked body before you trick you into thinking she was special in that way too?”

I suppose his comment was innocent enough, but his previous crack is still fresh in my mind and rage fills me.

Why should I care if he gets a crack at her?

But I can’t stop the anger radiating through me at the thought of him getting a look, then a taste. Even though it would serve him right if he got robbed blind as well.

“No, she’s definitely super hot—I’m not exaggerating about that—but that’s about all she’s got going for her,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders.

“Well, what more do you need?” Scott pushes. “Not like you’re gonna marry her. Fuck her till you’re tired, then grab the next bird.”

I ignore him.

I can see Pete’s fixing his mouth to dig further, but luckily, a sort of plain but curvy looking brunette comes over, all smiles, with her arms linked with an even plainer, lanky, curly-haired, freckle-faced companion.

Of course, the duo heads straight for Pete.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” the brunette says, “but you’re, like, a famous athlete, right? Football?”

As upset as I am, my mouth twitches with restrained laughter.

I mean, this girl didn’t even try—most just throw a name out there; they take a wild guess.

Blair Underwood. Taye Diggs. Idris Elba.

I don’t blame them, even when they’re way off with the difference in height or build because Pete totally looks like he
should
be some star; his face was made for the screen.

I wait for his
You got me
smile, and when it comes, the girls have a mini-freakout.

“Can we have your autograph?”

He nods and signs whatever they hold out to him, then writes a name after they ask him to do that.

I wonder whose name he used?

Probably doesn’t matter. He could’ve made one up and they probably won’t bother to check.

I watch with great interest to see what the girls do next.

Sometimes girls unabashedly offer to take him back to their room or whatever, and sometimes they leave after the autograph or photo.

Other times, like right now, they try to be slick, but I see when the curly-haired one slips him a room key.

Looks like someone’s getting a menage tonight.

A light bulb suddenly goes off.

It finally occurs to me that the girls are probably in control, that most of them don’t actually believe what they say—it’s just flattery. They’re just hoping to sweeten the pot and improve the chances that Pete will forget all the other, better-looking options for a moment and take them for a spin.

Either way, both parties win.

I smile, grateful for the momentary distraction.

Then I turn to Scott, hoping to extend it.

“So. You have no plans of settling down
ever
, I take it.”

He shakes his head firmly.

“I have no idea why I would do that. My life’s perfect as it is—no nagging girlfriend, no frowns, no disapproval of my actions. I’m free to fuck and drink and play as I please.”

“So you’ve never met a girl you wanted to lock down?” I ask, suddenly curious.

I’m pretty much a confirmed bachelor myself, but there was a time the thought of settling down held some appeal.

I know Nate’s still open to the whole idea; he’s just cruising along until he can find someone worthy. He always wanted what his parents have, while I was keen on avoiding what my parents had, even though there was a time I’d hoped to fare better and tried serious relationships.

No more.

Scott shrugs, and I catch what almost seems like a shadow crossing his face.

Holy fuck. I hit a nerve.

“I mean, there was this one girl, but it didn’t work out. Haven’t been interested since. She was interesting, that one—kept me on my toes.”

He takes a sip of his Scotch, and I get the impression it’s to help fortify him; he needs that liquid courage.

That girl, whoever she is or was, must’ve done a number on him.

“So you loved her. You wanted to marry her.”

His face tightens and he looks away, and it almost seems as if he’s about to drift into memories.

“I did,” he admits.

I’m a bit surprised—Scott’s usually all about bravado. Then again, I haven’t exactly known him that long. We’ve hung out about three times since meeting at that party over a year ago.

It seems Scott still hasn’t quite gotten over whatever he had with this girl, and I want to ask him more—what happened to her? Why didn’t it work out between them? But I’m hesitant to disturb whatever memory lane he’s now on; it seems painful, but welcome to him. Like he’s appreciating the moment to go back there—the pleasure of it worth all the pain.

Damn, I’m suddenly glad Jewel didn’t get to string me along for much longer—I have no doubt I could’ve fallen for her hard, and the next thing I know, I’m a mess when she does take off, then trying to bang anything that breathes in lame attempts to forget her, including my friends’ sloppy seconds.

As my mind returns to Jewel, I remember I need to figure out what to do next. I’m wasting too much time here.

While Scott’s busy sorting out another drink order, I approach Nate.

"Hey, Nate—I need to talk to you for a sec. Privately.”

Nate seems only too happy to be pulled aside.

"Dude, what the fuck?” he says quietly, his eyes are searching my face, great worry reflected in them.

"Is it really that obvious?"

"That something went down? Yeah. I don’t know if those guys picked up, but spill it.”

I fill Nate in on the rest of the details, unable to look at him as I talk.

I don’t want to see the judgment or worse, amusement on his face at my expense.

I know he’s my friend but everyone loves a juicy story. That’s just a fact.

I run my hand through my hair, frustration filling me again with my recap.

My emotions have risen to the top again.

“I mean, she totally cleaned me out!” I finish, looking at him last, prepared to see some sort of judgment or poorly hidden pleasure on his face.

Thankfully, all I see is sympathy as he lets out a long breath.

"That fucking sucks,” he says, emphasizing each word.

Definitely an understatement, but his tone makes up for it.

"I need to find her,” I say. “You know how much that watch means to me.”

His eyes study me.

"Is it really just about the watch?” he asks, looking a little too wise.

I consider following through with the lie I’ve been perpetrating since I left the suite to head to the casino.

Yes, it’s just about the watch—screw the stolen money. It’s definitely not about the girl herself.

"No," I admit, knowing he’d see right through me. "Despite what she’s done to me, I need to see her again—if only to confirm she’s not who I thought she was, that my gut, for the first time ever, was wrong. I need to get closure in a way. I need her to show me her true colors.”

He takes a breath and I’m not sure how to interpret it.

“What do you need me to do?" he says.

I stare at him, once again struck by how much of a real friend he is to me.

Sometimes I forget some people are actually capable of loyalty. Sometimes I forget there are people you can count on.

"That’s where your skills come in,” I say. “Hopefully, this doesn’t have to get much bigger—I’d prefer to just track her thieving ass down here quickly, get my watch back, then turn her in to authorities.”

“What info do you have on her?”

Boy, do I regret not looking through her stuff earlier—I don’t have a single clue to work with.

All I know is what she looks like and the name she gave me—which I’m damned sure by now isn’t her real name.

I really don’t want to have to break out the big investigative guns, and I sure as hell don’t want to risk anyone else finding out about me getting played by some baby-faced blonde.

Plus, I’m guessing she wasn’t supposed to be in that room after all, that she weaseled her way in somehow.

“Anyway, I don’t want to give her too much of a head-start. Maybe we can start with the suite booking info?”

I can see Nate’s excited to put his hacking skills to work.

We head to his suite where he pulls his computer from the safety box and happily gets to work.

* * *

W
e find
out whose info she used, but it’s pretty much a dead end.

We alert the hotel of the imposter and talk our way into getting access to security footage and nail the booking to a petite brunette.

I figure it’s just Jewel in disguise, so we access additional security footage and eventually pinpoint the same girl leaving hours later—same clothes, same wig.

“Sweet. Another dead end,” I say.

“Don’t you worry. I’ve got more than one card up my sleeve,” Nate says, his fingers flying over the keyboard again.