Page 23 of Goose

I set my cup on the table between us with one hand and simultaneously pushed my Neverfull bag beside his chair with the other. It was a standard slight-of-hand maneuver, drawing attention to my coffee cup to keep him from noticing what was going on beneath the table.

I crossed my legs and placed my folded hands in in my lap. “Bad day of investing?” I asked. “I’m Jasmine, by the way.”

“Kenny B. Gottschalk. The pleasure’s mine.” He chuckled a composed laugh. “Let’s just say I’ve had better days. I’m not worried, though. It’s just money. I’ll make it up, and then some, on Monday.”

I tilted my head toward the parking lot. “Well, at least you’ve got that awesome car to drive. I love those things.”

His brows lifted. “BMWs?”

New cars were a waste of money. So was the bag I was carrying and the shoes I was wearing, but I needed them as props.

“Well, of course.” I slid my palms along my bare thighs as if warming my legs. “But I meant the M5, more specifically. I was skeptical about them going to all-wheel-drive this year, but who can argue with six hundred horsepower, five hundred and fifty pounds of torque, and a zero to sixty time in three seconds? Find an American car that can do that.” I laughed. “I think not.”

“A beautiful woman who knows as much about cars as a man.” He set his cup beside mine and looked me over good. “Well, aren’t you an exquisite find?”

His contrived nasal tone was the fingernail against my life’s chalkboard. Rich people, in general, made me want to vomit. People who spent their entire income in an effort to be perceived as being rich were much worse.

To slap him into awareness, I began my Del Mar Heights acting debut. I stood, took a step, and pretended to catch my heel on something. With my knees buckled, I plummeted toward his lap.

He steadied me before I landed, which was exactly what I’d hoped for. The shoes I was wearing—a pair of Louboutin red-bottoms—had been altered to appear ‘broken’. I used them for such occasions.

I brushed the wrinkles from my dress and peered down at him like he’d saved my life. “Oh my gosh,” I gasped. “Thank you.”

He glanced at my feet. “New shoes?”

You’re a piece of shit, you unfaithful prick. Your wife outrun you in a pair of these. Guaranteed.

“Oh, these things?” I said dismissively. “I’ve got a dozen pairs. I must have caught the heel on the tile.”

He looked me up and down, taking an ample amount of time to make sure my cleavage wasn’t damaged in the mishap.

While his eyes were glued to my tits, I continued my act.

“When you caught me, I couldn’t help but notice your hands. They’re so soft,” I gushed. “I can’t get over it. I love soft hands. There’s nothing worse than having a man with hands so rough that he can’t, well, you know, touch a woman in all the right places.”

“The Mexicans do the yardwork, and a maid cleans my home,” he said in a pompous tone. “These hands don’t do much but spend money.”

You’ll be spending some on a new watch here pretty quick.

“Can I touch them?” I reached toward him and then paused. “Do you mind?”

Beaming with hope, he turned his palms up. “Be my guest.”

I bent at the waist, giving him a full view of my cleavage. I cupped his wrist—and watch—with my left hand. I rubbed his palm with my right.

“Wow,” I murmured. “They’re incredible.

With a quick slip of my right hand, I unclasped the watch. Retracting my hand along the surface of his palm allowed me to remove the watch with my left hand without him noticing.

Still bent over in front of him, I dropped his watch into my bag. “I can only imagine if they were touching…” I fanned my face with my hand and stood. “I need to get something to cool to drink.”

I took a step back and stumbled. A quick “inspection” revealed a missing rubber pad on the heel of my right shoe.

“Well, here’s the culprit,” I said. “One of the little pads came off.”

He leaned forward and stared at the shoe. “You’d expect they’d stay glued on as much as those things cost. I’ve bought a few pairs of them. Damned things aren’t cheap.”

“I’ve got a pair of flats in the car.” I reached for my bag. “Let me go get them. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here,” he said with a smile. “Waiting impatiently.”

I batted my eyelashes and turned toward the door. After hobbling out of sight, I got in my car and drove away ten thousand dollars richer.

I knew Kenny B. wouldn’t care. It was just money. He could make it up, and then some, on Monday.