Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Will there be a picture of him and his wife with a couple of kids tucked away in his suitcase? Even thinking that makes me want to throw up. The way he makes love to me. All of his touches. They’ve been special.
At least I thought they were, but maybe I’m naïve. It took him no effort at all to get me into bed with him. I knew him for five seconds and gave him my virginity.
I’m kind of the perfect mark really.
Chapter
Seventeen
FINN
“What happened to the phone swap that was supposed to happen at one?” Mercy barks into my ear.
“That's happening, only at 1:30. Is he still there? Can you stall him?” I half-walk, half-jog down the sidewalk, dodging tourists.
“I could, but I don’t know if you deserve it.”
“We’re in this together.” I spot a pile of freshly dropped dog shit and leap to the side, knocking into a set of lovers. The man glares at me, but I glare right back before continuing on. For a man who doesn’t like to draw attention to himself, I’m leaving a shit ton of traces behind.
“Oh, now you remember we’re in this together?”
Mercy sounds pissed. I try a bribe. “Didn’t you say your favorite store was Dior?”
“Are you trying to buy me off?”
“Is it working?”
“No, not yet. What are you thinking of?”
“Ahhh….” What would Mercy want?
“You better get to him in the next ten minutes or he’ll be gone. I cut off the merchant connection at the restaurant so no one can check out, but they’ll fix it soon enough.”
“You’re the best.”
Winded, I pause outside of the hotel where my mark is enjoying lunch. After a nod toward the white-gloved bellman who holds the door open, I slip inside. Soft scents and softer carpet greet me inside the luxurious entrance. I walk straight through to the long corridor that runs the width of the hotel. On either side of the space are large, oversized tufted sofas and chairs where all kinds of the rich, and maybe famous, are eating. Waiters are hurrying around providing complimentary champagne along with apologies for the downed credit card service. I swipe a flute off one of the trays and carry it in my left hand. My mark is sitting toward the back with a companion on the right. His phone is under his right hand next to the aisle. Across from them sit two older ladies, both decked out in Chanel and more pearls than you can find in all of Tahiti. Both groups are pissed.
As I approach, I hear him say, “Darling, I am as unhappy as you are. No, I cannot stay longer today.”
The woman, at least a solid eight, makes a face and reaches out to stroke my mark’s hand. “I’m just so sad our time is going to be cut short. I’m not sure that I can even summon a smile.”
“I’ve got something that will make you euphoric,” he replies. I think the woman would want a necklace, but we both know he’s talking about whatever it is he has in his pants. The woman gives him a tight, fake smile.
While the two are pretending to be in love with each other, I pour the champagne over the Chanel-clad arm next to me. The old woman shrieks, and every head in the establishment turns toward her.
“Ça va pas non!!” she shouts. A waiter and then a manager rush over to the aggrieved woman. “Ça va pas non!! Vous ne pouvez pas faire attention!" What are you doing, pay attention! She repeats to the staff. While they’re bowing and apologizing, I drop to my knee as if to tie my shoelace, swipe the phone off the table, and replace it with the dup.
In the men’s room, I hook the phone up to mine. “You connecting?” I ask.
“Give me a sec. Okay, I'm in. Downloading the software. You see how easy this is? You could've had this done days ago.”
“I wanted to give you something you could look forward to.”
“You’re so generous. Done. Signal me when it’s time to make the text.”
“Will do.” I unhook his phone and return to the gallery. The two Chanel ladies are gone, but my mark is there, signing the credit card slip. He picks up the dummy phone, which has no battery life, and fiddles with it, a frown on his face. “You don’t have a portable charger?” he questions his companion. She shakes her head. “I need to stop and get one. I’ll meet you at the apartment.”
I hurry out to the exit and hand the first driver in the cab line two hundred euros. “My lover is coming out, and my wife is arriving. Please take my lover to her hotel.”
He grins and nods vigorously. The mark’s mistress steps out of the hotel, and the bellman calls for the taxi. The driver winks at me and pulls ahead.