The Billionaire and the Con Artist: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Girls Series Book 1) by Leanne Brice Page A
Authors: Leanne Brice
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“You could go a little lighter,” she’d said, “but that’ll work. Plus you’re lucky you’re blue-eyed. That particular combination disarms most people. Don’t get me wrong—this combo works pretty well too,” she said, pointing to herself. “That is, before this happened, of course.” She frowned as her finger traced the scar on her cheek, which she told me she got while fighting off a sexual assault.
The guy hit her and happened to be wearing a ring that ripped through her face.
She says her suddenly-bleeding face gave her the opportunity to escape since it distracted her attacker momentarily.
She does her best to cover the scar with makeup, but anyone within a few feet of her can see it.
I sense bitterness from time to time about the blemish, which I can’t blame her for—it has made the hustling game a bit harder for her since she now has a very identifiable mark, but she still manages.
What am I saying? Manages is an understatement.
The thing is, just about everything can be turned into an opportunity.
She has an angle for the blemish now, and though she doesn’t exactly troll boulevards with a sob story and a cup, she has formed new characters to play.
I try to read Taylor’s face before she says anything and before she can mask how she really feels.
"How did it go?" I ask.
She shrugs. "Didn’t quite work out as I’d hoped, but when one door closes, another opens."
"Tell me about it. You won’t believe what just happened."
Her eyes quickly go from looking sort of distracted to arresting me with interest.
"Whatever it is, looks like good news," she says with a slight smile.
"The best. So I hit up this older couple, got their shit and end up in this huge hotel suite."
"That was dangerous. Way too high-profile, April."
"I know, but I didn’t plan to stay there long. Anyway, I’m hanging out when I get a knock, and, thinking it’s room service, I open it. It’s some guy who usually stays there apparently, and guess what—he’s super hot. So I fuck him because, why not? But also, he was ripe for the plucking—he’s obviously totally loaded. We made plans to ‘hang out again,’" I say with air quotes, "but, of course, I just took everything he left behind and got out of there. Some things, he didn’t even know he left behind,” I say with a grin, producing the watch.
I hold it up by my index finger, wiggling my eyebrows.
"Wow," Taylor says, eying it. "I wonder what it’s worth?"
"Me too. I was hoping you’d have an idea, but I’ll just google.”
"I’m impressed, April! You got hella lucky, but you maximized that luck. As for me, even with one plan falling through, I’ve still been cleaning up so far. We’re both killing it, and since your birthday will be here soon anyway, this definitely deserves a toast.”
She heads to a bottle of champagne and two glasses, pours them, and heads back.
She hands me one.
"Cheers," she says.
We clink our glasses together and both take a sip.
"So tell me more about this guy," she says. "You can’t leave out the best parts!"
I am only too happy to indulge.
First I describe his looks—his height, his build, and those muscles rippling beneath his casual clothes.
But then I find myself describing the richness of his voice, the way his smile lights up his face in a way that makes him look unbearably boyishly cute.
I don’t mention the way I trembled beneath his touch, the warmth that ran through me while looking into his eyes.
Eventually, I start feeling about drunk, and while this isn’t exactly my first time drinking, it usually takes more that what I’ve had for my brain to feel fuzzy, for me to feel dulled.
"Do you remember the first night we met?" Taylor suddenly says with sort of a sly look on her face.
"How could I forget? I’m crying my eyes out in the rain and someone approaches me, then reaches out a hand. I looked up and into beautiful hazel eyes."
She laughs.
"I had recently pick-pocketed a man when I
“You could go a little lighter,” she’d said, “but that’ll work. Plus you’re lucky you’re blue-eyed. That particular combination disarms most people. Don’t get me wrong—this combo works pretty well too,” she said, pointing to herself. “That is, before this happened, of course.” She frowned as her finger traced the scar on her cheek, which she told me she got while fighting off a sexual assault.
The guy hit her and happened to be wearing a ring that ripped through her face.
She says her suddenly-bleeding face gave her the opportunity to escape since it distracted her attacker momentarily.
She does her best to cover the scar with makeup, but anyone within a few feet of her can see it.
I sense bitterness from time to time about the blemish, which I can’t blame her for—it has made the hustling game a bit harder for her since she now has a very identifiable mark, but she still manages.
What am I saying? Manages is an understatement.
The thing is, just about everything can be turned into an opportunity.
She has an angle for the blemish now, and though she doesn’t exactly troll boulevards with a sob story and a cup, she has formed new characters to play.
I try to read Taylor’s face before she says anything and before she can mask how she really feels.
"How did it go?" I ask.
She shrugs. "Didn’t quite work out as I’d hoped, but when one door closes, another opens."
"Tell me about it. You won’t believe what just happened."
Her eyes quickly go from looking sort of distracted to arresting me with interest.
"Whatever it is, looks like good news," she says with a slight smile.
"The best. So I hit up this older couple, got their shit and end up in this huge hotel suite."
"That was dangerous. Way too high-profile, April."
"I know, but I didn’t plan to stay there long. Anyway, I’m hanging out when I get a knock, and, thinking it’s room service, I open it. It’s some guy who usually stays there apparently, and guess what—he’s super hot. So I fuck him because, why not? But also, he was ripe for the plucking—he’s obviously totally loaded. We made plans to ‘hang out again,’" I say with air quotes, "but, of course, I just took everything he left behind and got out of there. Some things, he didn’t even know he left behind,” I say with a grin, producing the watch.
I hold it up by my index finger, wiggling my eyebrows.
"Wow," Taylor says, eying it. "I wonder what it’s worth?"
"Me too. I was hoping you’d have an idea, but I’ll just google.”
"I’m impressed, April! You got hella lucky, but you maximized that luck. As for me, even with one plan falling through, I’ve still been cleaning up so far. We’re both killing it, and since your birthday will be here soon anyway, this definitely deserves a toast.”
She heads to a bottle of champagne and two glasses, pours them, and heads back.
She hands me one.
"Cheers," she says.
We clink our glasses together and both take a sip.
"So tell me more about this guy," she says. "You can’t leave out the best parts!"
I am only too happy to indulge.
First I describe his looks—his height, his build, and those muscles rippling beneath his casual clothes.
But then I find myself describing the richness of his voice, the way his smile lights up his face in a way that makes him look unbearably boyishly cute.
I don’t mention the way I trembled beneath his touch, the warmth that ran through me while looking into his eyes.
Eventually, I start feeling about drunk, and while this isn’t exactly my first time drinking, it usually takes more that what I’ve had for my brain to feel fuzzy, for me to feel dulled.
"Do you remember the first night we met?" Taylor suddenly says with sort of a sly look on her face.
"How could I forget? I’m crying my eyes out in the rain and someone approaches me, then reaches out a hand. I looked up and into beautiful hazel eyes."
She laughs.
"I had recently pick-pocketed a man when I
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