Chapter 1
"Jesus fuck Scarlett, this is a terrible idea."
"Camilla!" She reproaches me with a gentle smack of her clutch on my arm. "You can't curse and say Jesus' name in the same sentence."
I snort unattractively. "So you're above taking Jesus' name in vain, but not drugging and robbery?"
"What can I say? My moral compass is of my own creation."
"Yeah well, only one of those acts will land us in prison."
At that Scarlett laughs, her head thrown back and burgundy curls falling over her shoulders creating a mesmerizing sight. A group of businessmen at a nearby table halt their conversation, and I feel the prickle of watchful eyes as we stride towards the bar.
It's a Friday night, and Eddie V's is packed with the after work crowd, groups of CEOs and executives loosening their ties over a glass of expensive bourbon. This is our first time at this particular restaurant, but we've been doing this dance for a long time now.
It's always the same, no matter the place.
I pull off my black leather trench coat, draping it over the back of the bar chair before sliding atop the soft velvet. My posture is perfect as I drop my handbag on the bar top, terrified to lean forward too far and have my tits spill out over the top of this strapless number. I knew I should have ignored Scarlett and worn the one with the sweetheart neckline instead.
"You look absolutely stunning tonight," Scarlett tells me softly, sensing my discomfort. She runs a perfectly manicured hand through my freshly dyed tresses. "And I knew these caramel highlights would look perfect in your hair."
I roll my eyes but can't fight a smile. "You don't look too bad yourself."
It's a comical understatement, of course. Scarlett is always the most beautiful in the room as far as I'm concerned. She's all soft curves and pouty lips, mischievous green eyes and an aura that works like a gravitational pull.
Don't get me wrong– I'm more than just easy on the eyes–but you can sense the anxiety that surrounds me like a skittish cat. Confidence is an important part of allure, and that's where Scarlett surpasses me.
"We shouldn't still be in Atlanta," I insist under my breath, a sudden bout of anxiety causing my heart rate to climb. "It's been six weeks already. We should have moved on two weeks ago."
"Patience, my dear friend. Nothing is going to happen to us; I have a good feeling about sticking around."
I fight the urge to drop my head into my hands. I don't know what sixth sense Scar always swears is guiding her, but staying in a city where we have ten pissed off tycoons looking for us is a terrible idea.
"Good evening, ladies." A pretty bartender stands in front of us, her smile extraordinarily bright in the lowlights of the restaurant. "What can I get started for you?"
"Two lemon drops. Whatever top shelf tequila you recommend." Scarlett slides her a fake ID. "Start a tab, please." Not that we'll be the ones paying it at the end of the night.
"Coming right up." The bartender glides away.
Scarlett slides me a menu, and I look it over for something to do. I know I won't get anything to eat; every time we do this, my stomach is in knots until I'm safely back in my own bed.
That won't be for hours.
As always, Scar can read me like a book.
"We're almost there, Camilla," she whispers as the bartender drops off our lemon drops. "Soon, we'll have everything we deserve." A pause. "Could be even sooner, if we went for the big prize."
I fight a groan; I already know where this is going. "Jesus fuck, not this again. What we do is already dangerous enough. We're not attacking a fucking mobster, and we're not having this conversation anymore."
She frowns. We've been best friends for almost eighteen of our twenty three years, and I can count on one hand the amount of times I've denied her something she's wanted. The number of insane antics that she's concocted and I've gone along with could fill a novel.
But this is different. I'm not stupid enough to believe I could swim in a river of gasoline with a lit match between my teeth and expect to make it out on the other side.
Before she can try to persuade me for the hundredth time, a strong hand comes down to rest lightly on my bare shoulder.
I turn slightly and stare up into warm brown eyes.
"Good evening, ladies. Would it be alright if I joined you?"
I plaster an inviting smile onto my face.
Showtime.
Gerald is an engineering CEO with an expensive condo in Tuxedo Park. It didn't take long for him to offer us a nightcap at his place, and I have high hopes that this evening will be over earlier than I expected.
The three of us ride the elevator up to the nineteenth floor, with Gerald looking between Scarlett and myself like he won the lottery.
I hope his fantasy of a threesome follows him into his dreams tonight, because that's the only place it'll be happening.
His condo is at the very end of the long hallway, and he unlocks the door with a flourish. "Welcome to el casa de Gerald, ladies. Make yourselves at home."
I'm immediately assaulted by the smell of sandalwood as I cross the threshold, and I have to fight against the urge to wrinkle my nose. Why the fuck is this the go to scent for all men? It seems like every Friday night ends with me inhaling this nauseating fragrance, counting down the seconds till I can open a window and get to work.
At least Gerald has tasteful decorating preferences. I perch on his light gray sofa, appreciating the accent rugs and perfectly hung artwork. Every piece is different beaches or forest landscapes, the many hues of blue and green complimenting each other nicely.
Gerald walks over to a large sound system. "Gray Goose is in the top cabinet, Natasha," he calls over his shoulder to Scarlett. "How about you pour us all a few fingers?"
Scarlett winks at him and gives me a knowing look.
I take a deep breath and will myself to become the confident Alyssa. I need to make sure he keeps his eyes off Scarlett.
Soft R&B music starts to play, and I'm impressed with the surround sound. Gerald comes and sits far too close for my liking, his slack clad knee pressed against my bare one. I run my fingers through his dirty blonde hair when he starts to glance toward the kitchen.
He refocuses on me with a smile that's more than tipsy. We made sure the bartender kept his glass filled at the bar. "Have I told you how beautiful your eyes are? Look at those baby blues. And that dark ring around them..."
I smile like he hasn't already told me this at least three times. "After tonight, blue is going to be your favorite color."
"I think it might already be."
"Who's ready?" Scarlett sings as she sashays into the living room. She sets down three coupe glasses on the coffee table, taking one for herself and pushing a glass toward me.
Gerald holds up his glass. "A toast to new friends."
"To special friends," Scarlett corrects in a seductive tone.
I down the glass, unsurprised that it's only water. Gerald empties his cup and makes a funny face.
"That tastes a little off," he mutters.
Scarlett laughs softly, running a hand down his shoulder. "Well, you have been drinking dark all night. I can't imagine your taste buds appreciating the switch."
He smiles dopily. "You're probably right."
I rise to my feet, slinging my handbag up my arm. "Where's your bathroom?"
"First door to your right." He points an unsteady hand toward the hallway.
Scarlett winks at me and starts to dance her fingers up his thigh.
I suppress a shudder. At least that part isn't in my job description.
The plush carpet silences my footsteps as I make my way down the hallway, flicking on the bathroom light and closing the door behind me.
Nerves rise like bile in my throat; I take three slow breaths to force them back down. You'd think after two years of never being caught this would feel like a walk in the park.
It doesn't.
I sweep my hair up into a claw clip and slide on a pair of black disposable gloves from my bag. I quietly open the door with a Clorox wipe, and clean the knob on both sides.
Scarlett's sultry voice and Gerald's slurring one travel down the hallway in muted tones. With one last glance in their direction I slip into his bedroom.
He must entertain guests in here often.
An extremely large waterbed– who the hell still buys waterbeds?– dominates the east wall, with a red velvet loveseat directly across from it. The entire ceiling resembles a funhouse mirror, and multiple different versions of my disturbed face stare back at me.
"Fucking weirdo," I mutter.
I start to rifle through his dresser, taking care to keep the clothes in their neat piles. After turning up nothing, I move on to his nightstand and get excited when I find a Rolex Datejust; that excitement quickly dampens when I realize the 'R' is just barely crooked.
A fake. Back to the drawing board.
A glint in the corner catches my eye as I head towards the closet, and I see a tiny side table I didn't initially notice when I walked in.
"Jackpot."
I pick up the silver decanter that sits atop it, doing a quick reverse image search on google. It's an antique Belle Epoque and retails for over $5,000.
"That looks expensive."
I nearly drop the decanter and scramble to grab it, turning on Scarlett with a glare. "You almost lost us five racks."
She grins. "Holy shit. Five, huh? Ten more and we're done-zos." A throaty laugh. "I got the dosage perfect this time. He was out in ten minutes flat. I already cleaned out his cup and wiped our prints."
"Then let's get the fuck out here."
Less than five minutes later we're exiting the lobby, the decanter wrapped safely in my trench coat.
"See? Quick and easy," Scar teases lightly as we slide into our Uber. "You were paranoid for nothing."
"With the amount of men we've made enemies of? There's always something to be paranoid about."
