Page 126 of Brazen Mistakes

“Trips, I’m going to write up the contract. Keep our guest company.”

She leaves toward her room, the jangling of keys heading upstairs a moment later. Who gave her a key? Probably Walker.

RJ’s dad slumps forward, head in hands. “You kids aren’t nearly as scary as you think you are.”

“That’s because you’re seeing our nice sides.”

He scoffs, turning to me, and I let out a hint of what I hide. Something I rarely do. When he shivers, I lock it back up, all the rage that roils under my skin. All the fury that bursts out in the middle of the night until my breath comes in pants and my knuckles are sore.

He glares at the blank TV across from him, avoiding my gaze. “RJ’s a good kid. You should keep him out of whatever shit you guys are into.”

“He was a good kid. But the first time you almost lost the house, he crossed a line. One with a federal jail term attached. But it paid for the many months of missing mortgage payments, so you didn’t ask questions about where that money came from. Maybe you should have.”

“Kids do dumb shit all the time.”

“Most kids don’t commit credit card fraud. Especially for tens of thousands of dollars.”

He crosses his arms, like he’s got a winning hand and wants to gloat. “And most college kids don’t risk jail time for their poker nights.”

“Tough economy.”

He huffs out what could be mistaken for a laugh but is probably closer to a groan.

Eventually, Clara returns, a handwritten contract scrawled on a piece of paper she must have found in one of Walker’s many printers. RJ’s dad takes it and reads it, shaking his head. “Are you actually dating my son?”

“Yes.”

“I’d be thrilled for the kid if you weren’t such a frigid bitch.”

Her hand drums on her thigh before she crosses her arms.

That one hurt. Goddamn Bryce leaving another lie in her head. I’ve heard her, and there’s nothing frigid about Clara. Even if the too thin walls make me fucking wish there was.

He signs with a flourish, then gets to his feet. “You know you made a dumb deal, right? It’s not like you’re going to join me every week. I can just lie. How the hell would you kids know?”

Clara laughs, and even I have to grin. He looks confused.

“You don’t know your son at all, do you?” she asks, shaking her head. She picks up the contract, locking eyes with him. “Trust me, Mr. Moore. You don’t want to lie. Because we’ll know. Don’t leave your meeting early. We’ll know. Don’t test the terms because you will not win. And I know you don’t have the cash lying around to fix this.” She leans forward, almost but not quite in his space. “But most importantly, do the work. Be open to it. You owe it to your girls. Don’t let the adoration they think you deserve be a lie.”

His shoulders slump. “I take it I’m done here? Where do I find RJ?”

Clara and I stand, moving beside each other, letting him pass. “We’ll get him,” I say.

“He’s my son.”

“And he’s my best friend.”

Clara says nothing as we walk RJ’s dad to the door.

I toss him a bone for actually caring about his son. “I’ll have him call you when he gets back. It’ll be late—they’re waiting for a drug test.”

“A drug test? On RJ? Those fuckers.”

“That’s a sentiment I agree with fully.”

I hold the door open for him, and he pauses, looking over Clara, still wearing her mask, still cold and unapproachable. “Huh,” he says, before stepping outside, the wind cutting across the icy ground.

Closing the door and locking it behind him, I turn to Clara, wanting to understand how she came up with that plan. I had something else in mind, but her solution was too perfect to not just adopt.

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