The Billionaire and the Con Artist: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Girls Series Book 1) Read Free

outside seating and a couple suddenly catches my eye. I know the type—wealthy but casual about it. Between the body language and the small indicators of wealth, I refuse to ignore that nudge in my gut—the one that says, here’s a valuable, easy mark; it’s worth the risk.
    Although this is new territory, a plan starts to form immediately.
    I’m glad I cooled my heels a bit—if what I have planned works, I can score big instead of a bunch of smaller hits.
    I know it’s risky since all I know about Vegas is what I read on the net or watched on YouTube or in bootlegged movies and documentaries, but I think I know enough to pull this particular act off.
    Plus I had plenty of time on the six-hour bus ride to figure a few things out. I researched Vegas even more on that ride—I rarely jump into something blind; some degree of casing is always necessary.
    My quickie assessment: this older guy has money out the wazoo, a bit arrogant, probably feels he has the right to do whatever the fuck he wants, including having chicks on the side.
    The woman with him is his wife, scored big marrying him, resigned to her filthy rich husband doing whatever—or whomever—he wants. No fairy tale kind of love going on here.
    I have no doubt this guy takes mistresses, and his wife takes herself shopping often and drinks tons of wine.
    She’s a bit more obvious about her status with that purse and that necklace, but even though he’s more plainly attired, he’s the one who really gave them away with that damned watch.
    They’re chatting casually, but there’s a hell of a lot going on beneath the surface.
    Either way, they are both sufficiently distracted, and it seems they’re almost done with their meal.
    The server brings them their check and I whoop on the inside.
    I better act fast.
    I assess the dress code of the servers and improvise, then sweet-talk my way into using the restaurant’s bathroom.
    Then I head for the couple.
    “Can I grab this for you?” I offer as I slip up to them, indicating the check and the credit card while hoping my makeshift napkin-apron doesn’t fall off.
    I’ve done this part before in L.A.
    I walked around certain areas and noticed what the servers were wearing, particularly in the businesses that have an outside seating area.
    I knew one well enough to slip inside, my true features disguised, fold a napkin over my all-black attire, just at the waist, and help out the couple I noticed were almost done, distracted a little by the argument they were having and trying to make it appear as if they weren’t having.
    People give themselves away in so many ways, verbally, non-verbally—strained faces, folded arms, dirty shoes, expensive-looking watch…
    There’s a slight nod as the couple continues talking to each other in deliberately even tones.
    “And are you staying at the hotel? I can put this on your player’s card,” I say in my best server voice.
    They sort of nod and wave me away.
    I notice their ticket has a dessert on it which hasn’t arrived yet, so I know I still have a bit of time.
    I take off with the cards, discreetly removing the napkin from my waist as I head to the cashier.
    “Can I just pay now? I really have to go,” I say with a bit of whine in my voice, trying to look like I’m being as polite as I can while feeling impatient.
    “Certainly,” he says, then runs the card.
    I collect the receipts and cards and head straight to the hotel counter as fast as I can.
    I pick the shortest line and it’s being headed by a plain girl with dirty blond hair pulled back into a bun.
    “We need to add another room,” I tell her quietly, sliding her the cards.
    “And some discretion needs to be involved,” I add, lowering my voice and giving her a pointed look. “So perhaps a different floor. Preferably facing the strip. I’m here as a guest of Mr. Bullock. And only Mr. Bullock,” I say with an edge, accenting my words with a slight toss of my hair as if I’m slowly ramping up