Page 97 of Brazen Deceits

I nod, but he doesn’t let go. Looking up, he’s scowling at me, his focus drifting from my eyes to my lips and back, his mouth screwed to one side. “If you’re going to kiss me, you might as well just get it over with. Because right now, thinking about it looks torturous.”

Trips glares, a hint of a grin hiding in the tilt of his lips. “Get in there, Crash.”

I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t the one holding me back, jackass.”

Yanking open the door, Trips’ laughter trailing me in, I step into the coziest bar I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve been to a lot of bars, but even I know this one is special. There are deep leather couches, red, pink, and black cozy chairs, coffee tables and side tables, and zoned lighting. The whole thing looks like the living room of the sexiest fem-friend. Sin’sister: I get it.

At three on a Sunday, Jasmine and the bartender are the only people on the main floor, although feminine laughter tinkles down from upstairs.

“Hey,” I say, striding toward the redheaded beauty with more confidence than I ever actually have. I’m getting better at this fake-it-until-you-make-it stuff.

Jasmine offers me a small smile from where she’s perched in a black velvet porter chair, dressed in shades of red and black, just like the bar. “I love your cape,” she says.

I guess I don’t look as much like a panda as I thought. “Thanks. I love your pants. So swishy.”

She grins, the first childlike expression I’ve seen from her, and suddenly, she’s younger, looking the handful of years older than me that she actually is. “Thanks. I like the way they move with me. It makes me feel like a heroine in a historical novel who just jerry-rigged her skirts into pants so she can rush off and solve a mystery.”

I snicker at the imagery, the tension of the meeting broken. Despite Trips’ worries, if this is the real Jasmine Cadieux, then we have nothing to worry about from her. Her family? Unknown. But right now I’m safe.

She waves at the bartender, who brings over a bottle of white wine. “Is this okay?” she asks.

“I’ll try anything twice.”

I get another grin as the glasses fill to the brim. Jasmine settles back on the chair, crossing one leg over the other. I curl up cross-legged on the couch next to her, stripping off my capelet and mittens, setting them beside me.

We both take a sip of the slightly tart wine, and as it slips down, I wish I’d seen what this yummy bottle is. I’d happily pop this out on a warm fall day.

She gestures to the front window. “I see you have a watchdog. I take it that’s the Westerhouse boy?”

Trips leans against the window, looking nothing like a boy. He’s pretending he’s waiting for someone, but I can tell his attention is trained on me. “That’s him.”

The light fades from Jasmine’s eyes, and I wonder how I messed this up already.

After too long of a pause, she clears her throat, turning her attention to me. “I’m glad to see you all made it out of my grandfather’s house in one piece.”

I take another sip of wine. “So are we.” I swallow down my anxiety.Bad bitch energy, Clara. Badass bitch.“This whole setup was a disaster,” I say, hoping that pushing our fence won’t ruin our chances at getting the gig.

“It was. The client insisted on a battle royale format. They didn’t care what the teams competed over, so I used the trial for my advantage. I never intended it to get quite so…messy.”

Push, Clara. “Your grandfather threatened to call the O’Malleys.”

Jasmine’s face blanches. “It never should have gotten that far. I’ve never worked with that other team before. I expect a certain level of circumspection with my acquisitions teams, and suffice to say, they did not pass the test. Unfortunately for our working relationship, my client is not pleased your team won.”

My eyebrows fly up. “Our team? Specifically?”

Her head tilts just enough for me to glean that that was exactly what she wasn’t saying.

“Exactly how much does your client know about our team?” I ask.

“More than either of us would like. And before you toss blame, you should know that he didn’t find out from me. Privacy is a key component of my business practices. But regardless of how he found out about your team, it doesn’t change that he is livid. The smash-and-grab group was his preferred horse in the race.”

“So what does that mean for us going forward?”

Jasmine stares out the front of the bar, her eyes resting on Trips as he rubs his hands together, warming them in the bitter November wind. “It means that I might have to choose between my client and your team.”

My mind whirs. “I can’t imagine you’d want to build a poor reputation with your clients.”

“No. But I don’t want to build up a shitty reputation with my teams, either. You know how much thieves like to gossip.”

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