“I leave,” Nicholas says.
“What about me?”
“You will receive a call and then make an excuse and leave as well.”
“It sounds too easy,” I say.
“It won’t be,” Nicholas assures me. “You will have to play a role. You will have to read him. Put him at ease. Then let yourself out without hurting his pride or his ego.”
“And what if something goes wrong?” I ask.
“That’s when we go to plan B. I really don’t want to do plan B.”
Again, I wait for him to explain but talking to him about this is like pulling teeth. He gives me the bare minimum of information and that’s nowhere near enough.
Whenever I did my previous jobs, I always made sure that I thought of at least five escape plans; things I would say and things I would do in case A, B, C, D, and E happened.
This isn’t how I operate.
I’m going into this blind and it doesn’t feel safe.
But I don’t have much of a bargaining position if I want to hold on to the deal we made. I can see him hesitating about getting me involved. He wants this thing that he took but he’s wondering if the risk is too great.
“Nicholas, I need to know more. I need to know what his suite looks like. What he’s like. I need to know what I’m getting myself into so I can protect myself against him in case anything happens.”
Nicholas swallows hard.
“If anything happens, you won’t be able to protect yourself. That is the fucking problem. That’s why this is such a bad idea.”
He starts to pace again.
His body makes short, jerky movements.
He rubs the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, he takes a calming breath and turns to face me.
“No,” he says after a moment. “This isn’t a good idea. Too many things can go wrong.”
“But you had everything planned out.”
“I don’t. You are right. I don’t know the layout of that hotel room. I don’t know anything about him but his first name. Jobs are only successful when you are prepared. I was prepared back there in the club. I had intel that he was going to bring the laptop with him and leave it in his locker. He always felt safe there.”
Laptop.
The word slips out of his mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. Nicholas and I make eye contact.
No, it wasn’t a slip.
Nothing with him is by accident.
He wanted to tell me so he did.
“This is a good plan. I’ll distract him while you go in and take the computer,” I insist. “You were planning on switching it? You already have a replica, right? A laptop that’s identical in every way except one.”
I want to ask him what’s on it but that’s not important now. What’s vital is to go through with the plan so I can get back for the parole hearing.
“It doesn’t look like it but I’m good with people. Small talk, that kind of thing. I’ll put him at ease,” I lie. “I’ll take him to the bedroom, everything will be fine.”
I’m so positive and confident that I manage to convince myself that this job is going to be no different from walking into a department store and taking a dress off the rack.
I ask Nicholas to lay out all of the details.
He shows me the laptop.
He tells me the name of the hotel. The guy’s room number.
I already know the time that I’m supposed to be there.
It sounds like he’s starting to ease into this plan. It sounds like he is starting to believe that it’s, in fact, possible for us to get away with it. But then he throws a bombshell.
“No, absolutely not,” Nicholas says. “I’m not letting you do this.”
23
When the plan changes…
I try to change his mind for a bit longer but then give up. There’s no use. He has made his final decision.
Angry and upset, I go back to my cottage.
It’s seven o’clock. I only have one hour before the deal is officially off. My mind starts to race.
I’m in free fall and my adrenaline is on high. A nagging thought keeps popping up in the back of my mind. What if I do this by myself?
I don’t need Nicholas’ permission. I have done plenty of jobs entirely only my own. Now, he knows only a little bit about my past but he doesn’t trust me.
If I were to do this and get the laptop to him then it will take our professional relationship to a whole new level.
I sneak back to the main house.
I hear falling water and I know he’s taking a shower. I open the drawer where he keeps the laptop and place it into my backpack.
Tiptoeing into the guest bedroom, I grab the lingerie off the hanger and stuff it into my pockets. The shower stops and I freeze for a moment, holding my breath.
Snap out of it, I say to myself, forcing myself to focus. The worst thing you can do in a situation like this is to do nothing.
On the console table near the front door, in a porcelain bowl, I see five pairs of car keys.
The door creaks.
There’s no time left. I grab the first one and carefully turn the knob so that it makes the least amount of sound possible. Once I’m on the other side, I close it with the same meticulousness.
I slip down the stairs.
Running my fingers along the house and sticking as close as possible to the siding, I make my way to the garage.
Luckily, it’s open and there are a number of cars parked right in the front. I click the button on the key chain, pointing to one car at a time.
A silver Mercedes responds.
I climb in, press the accelerator, and drive out slowly, praying that Nicholas doesn’t hear me.
I arrive at the hotel five minutes before eight. After being barefoot since I walked up the stairs to Nicholas’ door, the wedges that I got from Marshall’s feel heavy and cumbersome.
I say hello to the valet and walk straight to the bathroom in the lobby.
First rule of a good con, if you want to act like you belong somewhere then act like you do.
I don’t look around.
I don’t look like I have any questions.
I hold my head up high. I have to look like I know exactly what I’m doing even if I don’t have a clue.
The stalls are all empty. I consider using the one meant for disabled people or families with the changing table. Since I don’t fit into either category, I decide against it.
Second rule of a good con, never break unnecessary rules and regulations.
Never speed.
Never park in the wrong place.
Never use a stall not meant for you.
It may not seem like a big deal but it’s little things like these that will come back to haunt you later on.
I change out of my clothes in the smaller stall, stuffing my other clothes into the backpack that I hang on the hook above.
Once I clasp the bra in the back, I look down and bounce my naked breasts in the air. The space between my legs is equally unsupported by the crotchless underwear. I wrap myself up in the trench coat and apply a coat of red lipstick in front of the floor length mirror.
“You can do this,” I say to myself.
I stretch out my fingers as a rush of excitement courses through me.
I should be afraid but instead I’m strangely turned on.