The Con Artist

Sara's POV

I had to sound desperate. That was the reason I was here.

Irene Peters was desperate for a job. Desperate enough to walk into Carlos Alvarez's lair. A woman clinging on the edge of survival, stupid enough to walk into a mafia's lair.

His eyes pinned me, sharp and dangerous, waiting for an answer. I could feel the weight of his gaze, like a predator savoring the tremble of prey.

It must amuse him seeing me this way. He must thrive on seeing women tremble.

And that damned wig. The fringe kept slipping into my eyes, itching my skin. I pushed the fringe aside, silently cursing my Irene Peters act.

My voice croaked, just enough to sound desperate. "I need the job."

He nodded, lips curling slightly, as though he believed me. "How desperate?"

He stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking on the floor. My heart pounded, a wild rhythm against my ribs. "What can you do? Anything?"

I nodded quickly, too quickly. He stopped.

"I don't need your qualifications. I just need one thing."

I held my breath hoping it would not be learning how to handle a gun. Or something worse.

I was just a con artist. Yes, I swindled men.

But I didn't end them. Not even their savings. I took enough to make them curse but never pursue.

"How obedient are you?"

The question formed a knot in my stomach. Maybe it was the way he asked it that made it sound sultry. Suddenly, it was like I had walked into an adult scene I hadn't rehearsed and my dominant partner was asking how obedient I could be.

"I...I can do everything office related," I emphasized.

Emphasis was necessary to avoid miscommunication.

My response brought out a laughing reaction from him that cut through the thick air between us. He stopped impromptu and grabbed my wrist, pulling me to himself. His cologne assaulted him. But it was his gaze that sent shivers down my spine.

Or maybe I was the one misreading.

"Who said anything about an office?" He quired. "Your job description is personal assistant. That means, you belong to me. You assist me."

Okay. I had stepped into the wrong den. He was already personalising me like he had given me the job and I was his possession.

My instinct screamed to bolt, to curse Thomas for dragging me into this mess. But running wasn't an option. Not with a sniper waiting at the exit.

He let go of my hand but not his gaze. "Do you understand?"

I didn't hesitate. I nodded.

I knew men like Carlos Alvarez. I always avoided them. They were always too smart, always a step ahead, and always too difficult to read.

How was I going to steal from this man?

He was watching me like he could hear my thoughts.

"This won't do," she said, gesturing at my blouse and pair of trousers. "We'll have this fixed."

Fixed?

"Am I hired?"

"You're employed. And you'll start now. Not with these rags on."

I stared at the outfit like he had insulted my favourite clothing. If only he knew what my wardrobe contained. And my recent addition, the million dollar dress Thomas had wanted me to appear in.

I curtsied slightly. "Thank you. I'll serve you in my best possible way."

Someone, that statement tasted sour in my tongue. He didn't respond. Only nodded.

"Pat will fix you," he said walking away.

Pat appeared a few minutes later. A middle aged woman who had the body of a model. She smiled warmly when she saw me.

"Congratulations," she said, her voice syrupy. "It's a privilege to work for Mr. Alvarez. He's always considerate towards his staff."

It sounded automated. Like I was listening to a broken record.

She could do better to convince me.

But I was Irene Peters. And she was terribly gullible or good at looking so.

I smiled. "I'm lucky to have been chosen."

She coughed to hide a sneer I already caught.

"Aren't you sweetheart. Now, we have to do something about these clothes. You're the face of Mr. Alvarez and you need to appear striking at all times."

"But-"

"Oh, shush dear. I'm here to handle that. Follow me."

Her heels clacked against the marble as she disappeared from the hall. I stood, contemplating on whether to follow or take the opposite direction.

But the opposite direction had a snipper waiting for me.

So, I followed her.

The hall led to an exit, strangely. And right outside was a sleek, black limo waiting. She walked into it and I stood there, gawking.

"Come in," she beckoned, chuckling. "It's courtesy of the boss."

Was this Carlos' way of keeping his staff quiet? Dangling luxury like bait.

The limo was a dream. Soft, plush leather chairs, chilled champagne, air conditioning that felt like a caress. The true Evelyn Rodriguez lifestyle. For a while, I almost forgot I was Irene Peters.

I had crossed my legs and sank into the cushion. But when I brought the flute to my face and caught my reflection - stubborn wig and a face bereft of make-up - I uncrossed them and sat straight.

It was easy to get distracted in a vehicle this good. But it was dangerous.

As the ride started, Pat started her coaching.

"Mr. Alvarez is a simple man," she started. "All he needs is your honesty."

Well, too bad I sold that for a diamond necklace.

But I smiled shyly and nodded like I was the most honest thing on the planet.

"Obey his orders. Everything he asks...and you'll enjoy your job."

She winked at me, subtly trying to pass a message I didn't want to understand.

"You're young," she continued, oblivious to my growing irritation. "With good clothes you'll fit in perfectly. Who knows what the future might hold for you."

The only future I knew had my twins in a mansion, far away from this madding crowd. No Thomas. No Carlos.

"If I was younger," she continued, despite my irritation. "I would have had a kid for him. It pays a lot."

Was she hired to test my patience? Because she was succeeding at it.

The last thing I needed was a complicated relationship. I didn't even want a relationship. Just a lot of money, enough to find my Evelyn Rodriguez dream.

The limo pulled to a stop and when we stepped out, the towering elegance of Elysian Court stood before us. I gasped softly.

Pat, who was beside me, chuckled. "I told you, didn't I?"

Told me what?! Were we here to shop for him? Or maybe a fiancé since Elysian Court was a female luxurious boutique. One I had been to a thousand times in my head.

"Who's shopping?" I asked for clarity.

But she laughed heartily and stared at me. "You. You have ten free picks."

I blinked unbelievably. Me? Sara Anderson given a blank ticket? I didn't care about Irene's style right now. All I knew was, I couldn't let a good moment go to waste.

Irene Peters could come later.