You've Got Fail Read online

  “Yeah. Not a problem. I need to head out anyway.” He turned to me and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Can I get your number this time?”

  “Yes.” I rattled off the digits to my burner phone.

  “Great.” He tapped a few buttons. “I sent you a text, so you’ve got my number.”

  My clutch buzzed. “Got it.” I shook it for emphasis.

  “See you soon.” He dropped a kiss on my cheek, then nodded at the angry glarer. “Nice to meet you, Willis. Have a great night.” Todd struck off through the crowd.

  Angry Glarer took his place, crowding me. “What do you think you’re doing?” His dark blue eyes tried to convey menace, but he seemed more like an angry, sexy teddy bear than a frightening aggressor. And the glasses definitely gave him a Clark Kent flair. Angry, sexy, nerdy teddy bear.

  “What do you mean, Sparky?” I opted for my innocent bystander routine. “I think you have me confused with someone else.” I took a few steps away, but Angry Glarer stayed on my heels. Had I stolen something from him recently? I couldn’t recall his face.

  “Cut the shit.” He grabbed my elbow and whirled me around. “You’re pretending to be Scarlet Rocket,” he whisper-yelled.

  “What?” I cocked my head at him. “No, I’m not.”

  “You’ve been telling people that you write the Scarlet Rocket blog!” His voice rose, but he quieted when some of the people near us began to stare. “And you’re a liar.”

  I sipped my champagne as he huffed, his clean-shaven jaw marred with random nicks from what appeared to be a hasty shaving job. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, the coat mismatched to his gray pants, and his shoes were far too shiny for this event. In short, he was a mess, but I couldn’t deny he was a handsome one. Stony blue eyes, dark brown hair, and a decent build—if he cleaned up a little, he’d leave Todd in the dust.

  Todd. My fingers itched for his wallet, but I wouldn’t be able to make a move on it tonight. He was gone, and instead, I had Angry Glarer in my face. But maybe I could make up for the loss with whatever this guy had in his pockets.

  “Well?” He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  I tried a sweet tone. “Look, Sparky—”

  “Stop calling me Sparky. My name’s Willis.”

  “Sure. I go to parties sometimes, okay? My name happens to be Scarlet Rocket. It’s not my fault if people think that I write your blog or whatever it is you’re saying.” I blinked a few times, waving my fake lashes around like white flags as the lies rolled off my tongue.

  He scoffed. “Your name is Scarlet Rocket?”

  “Yes.” I turned to peruse the painting beside us. A man rode a woman from behind, the look on her face one of raw ecstasy.

  “Show me your ID.” He held his hand out.

  “What do you think of this painting?” I waved my champagne flute at it.

  His eyebrows drew together. “I didn’t come here for art. I came here for you.”

  “Just tell me what you think of the painting, and then I’ll show you my ID.” I had no ID, but he didn’t need to know that. A little sexual misdirection, and I’d be out of this jam in no time.

  He glanced at the art, then did a double-take. His eyes widened. “What the hell kind of gallery is this?”

  “It’s sex. Couldn’t you tell from the name?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about the name. I was thinking about catching the jerk who was pretending to be me.”

  Ah ha. He was the real Scarlet Rocket…or as real as possible, since “she” was a “he.” I should have been walking away from him right then, but instead I asked, “You write the Scarlet Rocket blog?”

  He glanced around, as if afraid someone was listening. “Not that it matters, but yes.”

  “I knew it.” I grinned and finished off my champagne.

  “Knew what?” He stole another glance at the risqué canvas.

  “That the blog writer was a man.”

  He blanched, the color leaching from his smooth cheeks. “How could you tell?”

  “Relax. Only a handful of people would be able to tell. I just happen to be one of them.”

  “How?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t come here for this. Stop telling people you’re Scarlet Rocket.”

  “Why?”

  He sputtered, his words jumbling together. “Because it’s a lie and you’re a liar and it isn’t right.”

  “Feeling threatened, Sparky?” I returned to the sexual distraction part of my plan. “Oh, look at that one.” I pointed to a painting in the corner at his back.

  “I’m not falling for that.”

  “For what?” I stepped around him and inspected the canvas. A man smiled from between a woman’s legs, her pert nipples the focal point of his gaze.

  He followed my stare. “Oh.”

  “He seems happy to be there. And those nips could cut glass.”

  His eyebrows lifted in agreement. “Yeah, they coul—” He shook his head hard. “No, stop trying to distract me. You have to promise me that you will stop pretending to be Scarlet Rocket.” His angry whisper cut through the air.

  I rolled my eyes. “Why?”

  “I already told you. Because it’s a lie.”

  “So what?”

  “Well, that’s not right.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  “Isn’t you calling your blog Scarlet Rocket and pretending you’re a woman a lie?”

  He stared at a spot above my head, the cogs in his mind working up an answer. I didn’t care. I just wanted to know what he had in his wallet.

  “Look.” I walked around him and leaned up to whisper in his ear. “It doesn’t matter. I can go by another name if it makes you feel better.” Pressing into him, I slipped his wallet from his pocket and stowed it in my clutch.

  “Yes.” He turned to look over his shoulder, his face only inches from mine. When his gaze flickered to my lips, unexpected heat twirled inside me. I didn’t get attracted to my marks. It wasn’t in my best interest. But this guy—Willis—hmmmm.

  “Consider it done.” I dropped back down onto my heels and pirouetted away from him.

  3

  Willis

  Why did she have to be hot? And what kind of woman went around smelling like vanilla? Like a fucking cake waiting to be tasted. I watched as Fake Scarlet swayed her hips through the crowd and stopped next to a man studying one of the paintings.

  “Did she agree to knock it off?” Elias walked up to my elbow, a drink in each hand.

  “Yeah.”

  “What was her excuse?”

  “She didn’t have one.” I followed the curves of her legs up to where they disappeared under her tight red skirt, then the flare of her hips, the dip of her waist, and the ample breasts on display from her low-cut top. I’d always had a thing for redheads, and this girl was firing on all cylinders.

  Fingers snapped in front of my face. “Are you listening, man?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. What was that?”

  “Did you at least get her real name so we can keep her honest?”

  “No.”

  He shook his head and tsked. “Did you do anything useful besides drool all over her fine, fine ass?”

  “She kept distracting me with the”—I waved my hand in a general arc—“porn.”

  “It is pretty damn distracting.” He stared at the clowns doing a circle jerk on the wall to our left. “I can’t stay long. Claudia bought our tickets for this event, so she’ll be expecting me to put out tonight.”

  “Thank you for your sacrifice.” I couldn’t take my eyes of Fake Scarlet who was still talking to the same guy.

  She moved in closer to the man. Besides the fact that she was clearly out of his league, I didn’t like her getting close to him. Not one bit. Then I saw her pale, delicate hand slide under his suit coat. No more than a second later, she’d slipped his wallet into her clutch.

  “Holy fucking
shit.”

  “Huh?” Elias downed one drink, then started on the second as his on-again, off-again, apparently on-again girlfriend walked up to us.

  “She’s a thief.”

  Elias shrugged. “Look man, I know she’s using your name, but I don’t know if that qualifies as actual theft. Especially since you aren’t really Scarlet Rocket, either.”

  “No, I mean.” I narrowly resisted the urge to point. “She took that guy’s wallet.”

  “We should tell the gallery owner.” Claudia craned her head back and forth, her model height giving her an advantage over the crowd.

  “Hell no!” I quieted when several people turned their heads at my exclamation. “We can’t have it getting around that Scarlet Rocket is a petty criminal.”

  Claudia threw her long blonde hair over one shoulder. “Fine. Have it your way.” She grabbed Elias’s hand. “Let’s get dinner and then fuck.”

  “I told you.” Elias put on a browbeaten look. “Voracious.”

  “Poor you.” I saluted Claudia. “Have fun tonight.”

  “You coming?” Elias asked as Claudia pulled him away.

  “No, I think I’ll stay a little longer. See what else Fake Scarlet gets up to.”

  “Well, good work tonight, I guess? Not really. Maybe a little?”

  “Yeah.” I was too focused on Fake Scarlet to give them a proper goodbye. She’d moved away from the man who was light one wallet and started chit-chatting with a woman in front of a sculpture that, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out. It wasn’t body parts, or was it? Maybe. Nothing was obvious in the mush of flesh-colored sculpture. But somehow it seemed sexual in the way the possible-dong-looking pieces sort of lay along the flappy-looking pieces.

  I edged closer, pretending to study a cock collage that took up a large chunk of wall space. Obviously, that piece was done by a man.

  “—loved every bit of his jewelry from last season.” Fake Scarlet smiled big and admired the woman’s necklace.

  “Well, thank you. I like to tell my husband I have wonderful taste. And you’ve just proven my point.”

  Scarlet took the woman’s hand and patted the back of it. “You tell him it’s Scarlet Rocket approved.”

  Goddamnit. And worse, when Fake Scarlet drew her hands away, she’d removed the woman’s bracelet and dropped it into her bag.

  I stepped up. “Scarlet, another word?”

  She gave me a dead-eyed stare, but jerked her chin toward a spot where fewer people congregated. “Fine. Wonderful meeting you, Minnie.”

  “Same to you, Scarlet.” The woman beamed.

  “Was her name really Minnie?”

  “Yes.” Scarlet whirled and crossed her arms over her stomach. “What do you want now?”

  “You’re still pretending to be me!”

  She smirked. “So?”

  I could have strangled her. Maybe made it look like a BDSM art installation, just so it would seem legit. “Didn’t we just discuss this not ten minutes ago?”

  “We did.” She scanned a group of women to my right, no doubt looking for what she could lift.

  “Do you steal everything?” I stepped closer so she was forced to look at me.

  “I don’t know what you mean. Like I said, my name’s Scarlet Rocket, so—”

  “Cut the shit. Unless you’re a stripper, your name isn’t Scarlet Rocket.”

  “It is.” She batted her lashes, the deep brown of her eyes dragging me down while her sweet vanilla scent tempted me.

  “Prove it.”

  “How can any one of us actually prove who we are?” She ran her fingers along my jacket. “It’s really an existential crisis sort of question.”

  I grabbed her wrist. “Keep your sticky paws off.”

  She stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of such bad behavior. I would never take something without permission. You should be ashamed of yourself for harassing me like this. I’m perfectly innocent of whatever it is you think—”

  “Blah blah, lies lies.” Despite my exasperation with her, my fingertips stroked the soft skin on the bottom of her wrist.

  Her gaze dropped to my mouth for a split-second before returning to my eyes. She pulled her wrist away. “You’re bold.”

  I almost laughed. “Me? I’m the bold one?”

  She stepped back, then her eyes widened, focusing on something behind me.

  “You took it!” An older man barreled past me, his cologne almost knocking me over before he even reached my orbit.

  “What?” She pressed a palm to her chest, drama rolling off her breathy word.

  “Don’t do that coy act with me. I just reached for my money clip, but it’s gone. I had it when I got here. It had to be you.”

  “What’s going on over here?” A statuesque woman in a ridiculous outfit consisting of black and white cubes strode up.

  Fake Scarlet shrank back against the cock collage, a cartoonish mushroom head perilously close to her ear. She glanced toward the door, but people began to gather around us, wondering what the bother was. No escape.

  “She took my money clip.” The man pointed at her, and all the chatter around us ceased.

  “Scarlet?” The cubist woman turned to Fake Scarlet. “What’s he talking about?”

  “He’s lying.” She kicked her chin up. “That’s preposterous.”

  “Check her bag.” The chump surged forward.

  “Hey!” I stepped between them. It was a flash of temporary insanity, perhaps brought on by the ungodly number of dicks within my field of vision. Or maybe I was trying to save the Scarlet Rocket name. Or maybe I didn’t want her to get caught—no, surely that wasn’t it. “You need to step away from her.”

  Problem was, the angry chump was correct. I had no doubt Fake Scarlet had his money clip in her possession at that moment. I slipped one hand behind my back and held it there, hoping she’d take the hint. “Everyone just calm down. I’m sure Scarlet—” Had I just been forced into legitimizing the imposter? “—hasn’t taken his wallet.”

  Fingers slipped inside the waistband of my pants, and then extra pressure before my suit coat flipped back down. She’d ignored my hand and stashed her stolen goods in my ass… Well, the ass of my pants.

  The sputtering accuser was making enough of a show that no one seemed to notice her sleight of hand.

  The gallery owner clapped. “Quiet, quiet.” She turned to Scarlet. “I’m sorry, dear, but would you mind terribly if I checked your bag?”

  Fake Scarlet stepped out beside me. “Not at all.” She handed her clutch to the cubist.

  Chump watched as the cubist opened the bag and pulled out a compact, a cell phone, and a floral print wallet.

  “Is this yours?” She waved it at the accuser.

  “Of course not.”

  “You never know.” She shrugged and replaced the items, then handed it back to Fake Scarlet. “I’m very sorry about this, my dear.”

  “It’s fine.” Fake Scarlet had the acting ability to appear unruffled, though she had to be going to pieces on the inside. I was. Or maybe she was used to these sorts of scrapes.

  “It had to be her. Maybe she’s stashed it in her outfit.” He took a step toward her, his chubby hands grasping.

  Hell no. I blocked his path and glowered down at him. “You’ve made a big enough ass of yourself already. Don’t add assaulting this woman to the list.”

  “But she—”

  “Let me put it to you this way.” I leaned down until we were eye to eye. “If you lay a finger on her, there will be exactly two hits. I’ll hit you, and you’ll hit the floor.”

  The accuser’s mouth opened, closed, opened, then shut with a snap.

  He stared death rays at Fake Scarlet, but backed away. “It was stolen by someone here. I expect full compensation.” He’d turned his bullying words on the cubist.

  “Henry,” she called to the doorman. “Please escort this gentleman from the premises. If he refuses to leave, call
the police.” The cubist turned and addressed the crowd. “Please get back to your drinks and the fabulous art.”

  The accuser allowed Henry to show him out, though he grumbled the entire way to the door. If he’d tried to make a move toward Fake Scarlet again, I would have made good on my threat. She may not be on the up and up, but that was no reason for some ponce to lay his hands on her. Once he was gone, murmurs started up and quickly returned to full volume.

  “My apologies again.” The cubist took Fake Scarlet’s hand. “I hope this won’t result in a bad blog entry about the gallery.”

  Fake Scarlet shook her head. “Of course not. The art and the rest of the company were wonderful. I can’t wait to write a glowing piece for my readers.”

  “Thank you.” Relieved, the cubist wandered into a nearby group that perused a photograph of an octopus lying across a man’s pointed member.

  “You owe me one, you know th—” I turned to Fake Scarlet, but her red skirt was already disappearing through the front door and into the darkness beyond. “Shit.” I hurried out behind her, doing my best to walk normally despite the extra cargo in the seat of my pants.

  She turned down the side street at the edge of the building. I rushed past the doorman and followed her around the corner into a dimly lit alley.

  Leaning against the wall, she smirked. “About time. Give me the goods.” She opened her bag and stared at me.

  “Seriously?” I reached behind me and scrabbled at the items she’d stuffed in my pants. A wallet came loose, then another. I snagged the money clip, but the bracelet got away and skittered down my leg, landing with a plunk on the cracked pavement.

  “Hand them over.” She shook her bag.

  “No way.” I knelt to pick up the bracelet.

  She shifted from one heeled foot to the other, her fair legs luminous in the faint streetlight. “I could knee you right now, take the stuff, and run.”

  I shot up, goods in hand. “You’d do that? After I just helped you?”

  She shrugged. “It’s the name of the game. But I didn’t do that at all, did I? I warned you. One good turn deserves another.” She held the open bag out farther. “Now give me my turn.”