Pretty Dirty Trick: A Rich Bitches Novel Page 12

Melanie blows him a kiss.

  Clive turns, keeping his gaze on Nora for a few seconds longer before walking to the exit.

  “So, totally unrelated question,” I say, breaking the sweet silence. “Just popped into my head. You guys ever date a single dad?”

  Melanie glares at me. “Don’t do it,” she says.

  “Okay, but like—”

  “Don’t do it.”

  “Ethel,” I whine.

  “Lucy, don’t do it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, just forget the star-crossed part and focus on the single dad bit.”

  She shrugs. “I was.”

  “Really?”

  “Nothing turns me off faster than a dad,” she says. “You’re always going to be put second and I’m selfish enough to know that would piss me off, so I don’t even bother.”

  “I disagree,” Nora says. “Single parents make up forty-percent of Black Book’s user base.”

  “What’s their success rate?” Melanie asks.

  “Better than the younger demographics. I think it’s mostly because single parents are looking for stability and responsible partners while most of the younger users are just there for hook-ups.”

  Melanie’s head tilts. “Makes sense. Still—” she glares at me again, “don’t do it.”

  I point at Nora. “But she said the success rate is good.”

  “That one was for the star-crossed part.” She picks up her glass. “Why was he making the defendant’s daughter dinner in his own house? I’m not a lawyer but that screams ethical shit-storm.”

  I hesitate again. “Okay but you guys have to keep this quiet.”

  Nora nods. “We promise.”

  I lower my voice. “He wants to make a deal with me. Information in exchange for a lighter sentence for my father.”

  “What kind of information?” Melanie asks.

  I wince. “The conversation never really gets that far without his tongue ending up down my throat.”

  She heaves a thick sigh. “You in danger, girl.”

  “I know.”

  Nora leans forward. “What are you gonna do?”

  “No idea. I’m so desperate to get Papa out of there, I’m having trouble keeping my emotions in check. If I cut the deal, he gets out, but what if they find out why, you know? You should hear what my brothers say about my Uncle Al. They’ll never forgive me.”

  “There’s also the very obvious twist that Lance is playing you like a fiddle and plans to drop your ass the second he gets what he wants,” Melanie says. “You can’t trust him.”

  “I know, but at the same time... this whole Marcus thing has left a really bad taste in my mouth.” I exhale hard. “One five-minute face-to-face conversation with my father would clear all of this up. He’d know what to do.”

  Nora rubs my arm. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “You can’t just go to the jail yourself?” Melanie asks.

  “No, they’ll alert Jerry the moment any visitor arrives and he’s made his opinion on me getting in there pretty clear already,” I say. “And I can’t talk about this stuff over the phone. It’s too sensitive.” I look at Melanie. “You really think he’s playing me?”

  “I’m curious to know why you think he’s not,” she says.

  “He just doesn’t feel like the type,” I answer slowly. “He seems... I don’t know, sincere? And there’s chemistry. It doesn’t feel fake at all.”

  Melanie’s phone vibrates on the table and she snatches it up before it even stops buzzing.

  I blink, marveling at her sudden reflex. “Expecting a call there, Mel?”

  She glances around the table, holding her phone close to her chest. “No...” She places it down again. “I’ll just check that later.”

  I exhale. “Maybe if I knew a little more about Lance,” I say. “I was completely blindsided by the whole teenage daughter thing. I should look into him.”

  Nora nods. “Doesn’t your family have people for that kind of thing? Private investigators and such?”

  “Yes,” I say, cringing. “Yes, we do.”

  Of course, my family has a guy for this kind of thing.

  Marcus.

  Eighteen

  Lance

  This makes no sense,” I say, gesturing at the TV.

  Haley slaps my arm, her eyes locked on the screen. “Shh!”

  I force my smile down. “Why doesn’t she just call for help?”

  “Her phone died!”

  “Well, that’s convenient.”

  “Weren’t you paying attention?”

  “I was the first time you made me watch this—”

  “Shh!” she scolds. “This is the good part.”

  “Credits already? Sweet.”

  Haley glares at me.

  I laugh and toss up my hands. “All right, all right. I’m done making fun of your awful movie choice.”

  “Can’t be any worse than Iron Man. Again. Or Point Break. Again. Or—”

  “The Fault in Our Stars? Again.”

  Her jaw drops and I laugh as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I slide it out and she strikes me with her pillow.

  “No phones on movie night!” she says.

  I glance at the screen and grin. “It’s a work thing, honey. I have to take it.”

  “Is this the same work thing from last night?” she teases.

  I answer it. “It’s Max, actually.”

  She sits up quickly and extends her hand. “I wanna talk to him.”

  I playfully hit her hand away. “Oh, now we’re allowing phones, huh?” I tease right back, bringing the phone to my ear as I walk backward out of the room. “Hey, Max. What’s up?”

  “You know, Lance,” he begins, “when I told you to flip the witness, I didn’t mean over.”

  I chuckle. “What?”

  “You. The mobster’s daughter.”

  I lower my voice. “I haven’t touched her.”

  “Then, why is there a photo of you kissing her in the Sun-Times?”

  “It was for charity.” I pause. “Wait, it’s in the Sun-Times?”

  “Dancing with the Enemy,” he reads. “Just for the kids? Or does this Assistant State’s Attorney have a trick up his sleeve?”

  I wince. “Well, shit.”

  “Gotta love clickbait.”

  “When was that posted?”

  “Today, I guess,” he answers. “The article came up while I was doing a little digging into your girlfriend’s family.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I say. “And what kind of digging?”

  “Well... I called up my dad’s office and sweet-talked a paralegal for a while. Ended up with some information I think you should know.”

  I smirk. “And how’s that girlfriend of yours again?”

  “Oh, she was there, listening in, actually. Was all part of a... you know, never mind. Anyway, there are more important matters at hand.”

  I roll my eyes. And I thought this guy was kinky in college. “What’d you find out?”

  “Turns out that a murder confession isn’t the only thing Brittany Ives got out of Alonso.”

  I step into the kitchen. “Oh, yeah?”

  “The Argento family has been operating a protection racket throughout Chicago since the mid-90s,” he says.

  “Really?” I reach into the fridge for two new sodas.

  “Large-scale. We’re talking huge — and I know those mob guys just love to brag about size but he wasn’t lying about this. Angelo has a pinky in the accounts of nearly every locally-owned business from Norwood Park to Woodlawn. They pay up on time and he keeps their windows from getting smashed in by local gangs. Now, whether or not those gangs get a cut... well, that’s all part of the fun, isn’t it?”

  “How did they keep something like this quiet?” I ask.

  “Rackets aren’t nearly as glamorous as murder and Ives is all about glitter and gold,” he says. “My father’s team managed to bury it so long as Alonso came clean about the dirty details surrounding his
little trip to Los Angeles. But if you can uncover it yourself…”

  I nod. “It might be big enough to make me a shoe-in for State’s Attorney.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Thanks, Max. I’ll look into it.”

  “Yeah, maybe ask your new girlfriend,” he says, amused. “I’m sure she knows a thing or two.”

  “She’s not—”

  I stop as I walk back into the living room. Haley’s face turns up and I grin.

  “Thanks again for the heads-up, man,” I say. “Now, if you’ll kindly move your phone about six inches away from your ear, I know a teenage girl who’s dying to talk to her Uncle Max.”

  I drop the phone into Haley’s lap.

  “Max!” she squeals loudly into the phone as she hops up and rushes into the next room. “I miss you! You never text me anymore... Nuh-uh!...”

  I shake my head as her voice echoes throughout the house, enacting a bit of sweet revenge on my old college buddy. That should give me about five minutes of semi-peace to think this through.

  I pop open my soda and take a long, smooth drink.

  A protection racket? Not glamorous, as he said, but still very illegal. And tricky to prove — but if I can, then I might not even need Trix’s help…

  “Hey, Dad! Can I spend New Year’s in New York with Max and his girlfriend, Phoebe? He said he’s cool with it if you’re cool with it.”

  “Yeah, hun...” I blink as I realize what she asked. “Wait. No! You can’t.”

  “He said yes!”

  “I said no! Hal...”

  I stand up and follow her voice through the house.

  Nineteen

  Trix

  I roll my hand into a loose fist, feeling a very strong urge to turn tail and get the hell out of here. It’s strange to think back on all the times I came out here for sex or... well, sex. That’s really the only reason why I ever came knocking on Marcus’ door, so this might get awkward.

  I rap lightly on the door and wait.

  After a few silent moments, I knock again. “Marcus?” I ask.

  I cringe. Ugh. Please don’t be masturbating...

  “Marcus?”

  I twist the knob and push the door open with one eye closed.

  Luckily, it’s empty. I step inside, closing the door behind me. Marcus has lived in my family’s guest house for nearly a decade, and it shows. He’s made himself quite the little home here. While my grandmother always kept the main house bright and full of color, Marcus prefers to live in the shade. He doesn’t need much. Even his bed is a simple pull-out in the living room. He uses the bedroom as an office, an epic treasure trove of my family’s darkest secrets.

  I step over the dirty socks and walk around the bed toward the office. If I can say anything positive about Marcus, it’s that he is a very thorough investigator. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s already compiled a pretty epic dossier on Lance. I just need to find it before he comes home.

  The office is one small desk, an old chair, and lined wall-to-wall with file cabinets. A family like ours comes with a lot of contacts and colleagues and enemies, and it’s Marcus’ job to keep all of them straight. Just please, for the love of god, let them be sorted alphabetically.

  I find the cabinet marked T and pull it open. I sift through the hanging files all the way to the back, breathing a happy sigh of relief when I find Tyler, Lance.

  A pleasant flutter of butterflies ruffles my insides the second I lay eyes on Lance’s ID photo. That dark hair and awesome jawline. I set the file down on the desk and lean over as I push the photo to the side to get to the good stuff.

  Born in San Francisco, California. Went to Stanford University and then... Harvard Law? Goddamn, son.

  Oh, here we go. Married once. One child. Haley Anne.

  I turn the page, hoping to find out more about his ex-wife but there’s nothing here. His parents still live in California. Boring... He has a brother who just got out of jail for fraud. Wow. Lots of fraud. Wait, Lance recently donated sperm in Boston? That’s weird...

  “Well, well...”

  I twist up toward the voice behind me. Marcus stands in the doorway in nothing but running shorts and sneakers with a thick layer of glistening sweat covering his whole body. Well, I called it.

  Awkward.

  He leans against the doorframe. “What do we have here?” he asks, looking me up and down.

  “Cool your jets, Maverick,” I say. “I’m here on family business.”

  “Like what?”

  I close the file, shoving the papers back in. “Just double-checking a few details.”

  “On who?”

  “I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

  I lay the file at my side and move to walk around him but Marcus doesn’t budge. I’m not about to risk touching his gross, slimy skin so I stand still, glaring up at him until I start to lose patience.

  “Excuse me,” I say.

  “Where do you think you’re going with that?” he asks.

  “Somewhere that smells a little less like mildew.”

  “My files don’t leave my office,” he says. “You need to read something, you do it here.”

  I scoff. “Since when?”

  He snatches it from my arm.

  “Marcus—”

  “Lance Tyler?” he reads, staring at me with judgment. “Really?”

  “Really what?” I ask with annoyance.

  “Yeah, you’re not going anywhere with this.”

  My eyes roll. “My family literally paid you for this information.”

  “Though, I suppose I could be convinced to give you another minute with it,” he says, his eyes lacking all subtlety. “But you gotta earn it.”

  “You live on our lawn, rent-free.”

  “How about tonight? After dinner, you and I can come back here—”

  “My seventy-two-year-old grandmother does your fucking laundry,” I seethe.

  He stops, squinting in anger. “What do you want this for?” he asks.

  “Not your concern.”

  “Oh, that’s not true.” He takes a step forward and I counter backward to keep a healthy gap between us as he walks toward the T cabinet and yanks it open. “As you pointed out, your family pays me to make it my concern.” He files the folder slams the cabinet closed. “And since any business you have with Lance Tyler is professional, that makes it even more my business. Unless you want that information for personal reasons, in which case... no, actually. That’s still my business.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because that makes you a security risk.” His voice hardens. “Is there anything you need to tell me, Ms. Argento?”

  “Yeah.” I spin around to leave. “Take a shower before you come in the house again. You smell like dog.”

  Marcus rushes forward and slams his arm into the wall ahead of me to block my path. I flinch, slinking away from his body odor.

  “Don’t be stupid, Trix,” he whispers. “One wrong step and you never see your father again. Hell, sometimes I think that’s exactly what you want.”

  “Trust me, Marcus.” I push his arm away with one finger. “You’ve never known what I want.”

  I head toward the door, dodging socks as I go.

  “Dancing with the Enemy.”

  I pause with my hand on the knob. “What?”

  He holds up his phone and reads. “Just for the kids? Or does this Assistant State’s Attorney have a trick up his sleeve?”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I reach for it to find a new text from Marcus. I click the link to the article inside and a photo of me and Lance mid-kiss fills my screen.

  There go the butterflies again.

  “A hundred people saw that kiss,” I say. “It’s not exactly news.”

  “No, you’re right. Totally not news.” He smirks. “So, what would you call a shot of you walking into his fucking house last night?”

  I silently swallow the bile rising in my throat.

  Mar
cus shakes his head. “Still think I don’t know what you want?” he asks, his tone cold and bitter. “I know one thing for sure. You definitely want to help put this whole family in prison.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Enlighten me, then.” He steps closer. “What could possibly compel Angelo Argento’s only daughter to fuck the prosecutor on his case?”

  “We didn’t—”

  “Is it some clever ruse?” he says over me. “Some wild machination to whore yourself onto his good side and get your dad out? No, I don’t think you’re anywhere near smart enough to pull that off.”

  I frown. “Excuse me—?”

  “I think this is just little, bratty Beatrix,” he spits. “Cast aside in favor of her brothers before Daddy ever changed a diaper. Always looking for approval but you never got it. Isn’t that right?”

  Tears build in my throat. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re not fucking him to help get Angelo out or to get back at me or because you even like the guy. No, you’re doing it because if Daddy ever found out then he’d have to actually pay you some attention, wouldn’t he?”

  I yank the door open. “Screw you!”

  “No, thanks,” he says, looking smug. “I don’t know where you’ve been.”

  I slam it closed behind me.

  Fucking hell.

  I can't trust anyone. Not my brothers or Marcus. My own lawyer would rather I just sit still and smile. I can't see Nora and Melanie backing me up on this either. As much as I love them, this kind of business has always been a little dark for them.

  I need to talk to my father. He’ll know what to do.

  But how the hell am I supposed to get in there to see him with every person in the way telling me no?

  Twenty

  Lance

  Clara’s head instantly pops up over her desk as I round the corner toward my office. She flashes a knowing grin at me and props her chin up on one hand. The universal sign of a mischievous female.

  I slow my pace.

  “Good morning, Lance,” she says.

  “Hey, Clara.” I pause in front of her. “Any messages?”