I give them an update on Mr. Beaumont, but I leave out the daughter. It’s not like me, but I can’t seem to make myself say her name. She’s in my head, though, and not in the way I want. I picture that hair spread out across my sheets. That mouth open in ecstasy. Those legs spread wide for me.
Sex isn’t forbidden, but relationships of any kind are. It’s just common sense, really. We can’t run the risk that someone would find out what we do and then turn us in. There have been close calls, like with Baz and the secretary, but they’ve been fewer than I expected. As long as the guys can sleep with whomever they want, they seem to be happy. Or at least not miserable.
Once we get through business all of us start hassling Baz to tell us the story of the secretary.
“I just told her that I was married,” he says, but knowing him, he didn’t word it that way. “I let her get the slap in, okay? Figured she’d have a good story to tell. Just didn’t know it would hurt that much, or that she’d go for my balls.” We all wince in unison.
“Never underestimate a woman,” Cash says.
“Hear, hear,” Track says, raising his beer. “That’s why I stay away from them.”
We talk about other things and keep drinking late into the night. I have to work tomorrow, but I’ll survive. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.
Row and Hardy are the first to leave for their apartment, followed by Baz and then Track.
“You doing okay, Sylas?” Cash asks.
“Fine, why?” I say. That’s another thing about Cash. He’s fucking cheerful and fucking perceptive.
“Nothing,” he says, sensing that even if I knew what was bothering me, I wouldn’t be quick to share it.
I say goodbye to him and take a cab back to my apartment, paying in cash so as not to leave a trail.
The next morning I have a break between meetings. Some of the work I do is legit, but it’s mostly there to cover up for the work that isn’t so legit. On the outside, we’re just an investment firm, but appearances are nearly always deceiving.
Working here also has its advantages, since I have access to untraceable Internet. I tell myself I’m doing all this in the name of research and take the extra precautions Cash taught me before I start searching for her.
Saige.
Thinking her name reminds me of the herb. I wonder where her parents got that name from. It fits her, in an odd way. Her name is unusual and matches the way she looks. Don’t get me wrong, she’s definitely pretty. But a different kind of pretty. She’s pretty in the way a thunderstorm with lightning forking across the sky is pretty.
I scan her social media pages, but they’re sparse and the only pictures of her are those that you’d find in the society pages. Even in those, she doesn’t look polished or posed.
In one, I can tell her mother is angry with her, although she tries to hide it. Saige has a black dress on with little white designs on it. Upon closer inspection, I see that they’re skulls, done in the style of Mexican Day of the Dead. I nearly laugh out loud when I see that.
And then I want to slap the shit out of myself. She’s the daughter of a mark. Nothing more. Just a means to an end.
My office phone interrupts my perusal and I quickly click the windows closed, as if I’m worried whoever is on the other end of the line is going to somehow see what I’d been researching.
“Yes,” I say, picking up.
“Mr. Beaumont is here to see you,” Grace says in her robotic professional voice that has just a hint of sex appeal.
“Excellent, send him in.” Just the man I want to see. I’m a little surprised he decided to bring the money himself. Most in his position would send a middleman so they don’t get their hands dirty with all that laundered money.
Grace knocks at the door and it opens to reveal Mr. Beaumont, clad in a superb Ralph Loren suit. After we shake hands, he produces an envelope full of cash from his briefcase.
I count the money quickly, just to make sure it’s all there. You can never be too careful.
“Is it clean?” I ask as I thumb through the bills.
“Do you doubt me?” Mr. Beaumont asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Just double checking. In my line of work, you can never be too sure of anything.” I put the money aside. I’ll check it over more carefully later, and then I’ll have one of the boys put it through its paces to make absolutely sure it isn’t dirty or counterfeit. It happened once before, early on when I wasn’t as careful. I won’t let it happen again.
Mr. Beaumont and I talk more about money and what I’m going to do with his and how he’s going to get paid. It’s simpler than it sounds, actually.
What he doesn’t know, of course, is that part of his money will be funneled to my own account. He’ll never know because I can make the numbers say whatever I want them to. It’s all part of the process. It takes time, but it’s worth it in the end.
Inside, I’m buzzing with the high I get from doing what I do. The edge had worn off in recent months, like an old knife blade. I need to sharpen my resolve. Remember why I’d started this.
Once we talk about the money, I move into small talk. The kind of thing we’d chat about on a golf course, or over drinks. I ask him about his family, his wife and finally, his daughter. Nothing too probing, lest I set off any alarms in his mind.
He doesn’t speak much of his daughter, but the second he says her name, his entire demeanor changes. She’s his only child, and from the way the lines around his eyes soften when he speaks of her, she is dear to him.
Perfect. Just what I need. Using her to break him will make this all the sweeter in the end.
Three
“Why do you always get to be the one that gets the pussy?” Baz asks at our meeting that week.
“Need I remind you how you nearly fucked us to hell with that damn secretary? And the girl before that? And the one before that?” Baz has a history of pissing off the opposite sex. It’s a wonder one of them haven’t put a bullet between his eyes.
Baz’s face goes a little red, but it might be because of the beer.
“You have no game, fucker,” Cash says, laughing. Baz chucks an empty bottle at him, but Cash catches it easily.
“Don’t throw shit in my house!” he bellows. I watch Baz, waiting to see if I need to break it up before things escalate, but he just shuts his mouth and sits back on the couch.
“Fuck you,” he mutters in Cash’s direction. I decide to get things back on track.
“As I was saying, it’s our classic plan.” My proclamation is met with cheers and raised bottles.
“I wish it was me,” Track says in a wistful voice. “You sure Mr. B isn’t of the gay persuasion?” We’d done research and hadn’t found any hint of gay activity in his life. In addition, I’d watched him as he talked about his wife and there was genuine affection there.
I shake my head.
“Don’t think so, but I’ll do a little more research, just to make sure,” I say and Track rubs his hands together.
We finish talking about business and then Row tries to pitch his idea of starting a garage that doubles as a chop shop. He and Hardy had worked in one before, which is how I’d found them. Not what I want to get into. At least not anymore.
I entertain their ideas, and then put it to a vote. I can’t shut the idea down by myself. I need a majority. The only one who goes for it is Row. He glares at his brother.
“What the fuck?”
Hardy just calmly sips his beer.
“It’s not the right time now. There are two other shops within a ten-mile radius and they have a combined value of about four million.” Hardy lists some more numbers. I would have been surprised if I hadn’t seen him do something like this before. I’m damn glad he’s on my team. He’s worth his weight in pure cocaine.
Row is pissed, but it doesn’t last long. Hardy has a point, which is why he wins nearly every argument he’s ever had.
“So what’s your plan with the daughter?” Cash asks. We have different techniques for a female mark, depending on what kind of girl she is. I have a number of tools at my disposal, including fancy cars, tons of Tiffany jewelry, and bottles of thousand dollar champagne. Money is an aphrodisiac to a lot of women, but I have the feeling Miss Saige Beaumont will be a bit of a challenge, which makes me smile to myself. I fucking love a challenge, and a redheaded one at that.
“I think I’ll show up at one of her events. Wear the Brioni. Be mysterious. Give her just a taste, but leave her wanting more.” Sometimes it’s shockingly easy, and somewhat boring. I hope she’ll at least give me a little resistance before I dominate her.
Another image of her flashes through my head, of her lying against silky black sheets, her arms tied above her head. I push the image aside as the guys start giving me pointers, even though I’ve done this before. We all have, except for Hardy. Either he’s taken a chastity vow, he isn’t into women, or he doesn’t like to mix business and pleasure. I’ve thought about asking him, but he won’t give me a straight answer anyway. What he does on his own time is his fucking business. Literally.
“She’s going to be at the Hudson Gala this weekend,” Cash says, looking up from the glow of his laptop. Perfect timing. I rub my face, thinking it’s time to get another shave. One of the indulgences I allow myself is the occasional professional shave. I’ll have to get one before the gala so I look perfect.
“Need a wingman?” Cash says and Baz’s eyes light up. Sometimes we work in teams, in case we aren’t sure what the girl might go for. Gotta give her a choice, right?
“No, I think I’ve got this. If I have any problems, then I’ll let you know,” I say, my voice sounding a little possessive. I shake my head to myself. This isn’t any different than any other time. I’ve done this so much I could do it with both my eyes closed. A routine, like brushing your teeth. Simple. Get in, get the money, get out.
I endure some trash talk from the guys and then we all head back to our separate residences.
“Go get her,” Cash says, clapping me on the shoulder. “And if you can’t get it up, call me.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I say and he shuts the door in my face.