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Brandon pulled keys out of his pocket, hitting the unlock button on a fob. A gray BMW lit up.
I pointed to it. “You own this?”
“Borrowed it for tonight to fit in better,” he said. “Mine’s that one.” He pointed to a large black SUV parked across the way.
“Huh,” I said.
“You don’t like it?”
“It just seems big. And expensive.”
I was heading to the passenger side door but he ran around and opened it before I could get to it. I shook it off. Southern guys have certain habits, like opening doors for girls. You just let them do it. It’s that moral code. “We need to pick up some shoes. I can’t go barefoot.”
“I’ll stop on the way,” he said.
He stopped at a shoe store, asked me my size. I described to him a couple of styles that would match. I couldn’t go in barefoot. He came back with some strappy sandals. He showed them to me. “Will these do?”
I tried them on, and they were a bit wide but I could manage. “Not my type,” I said.
“I can tell,” he said. He got into the car and started up again, weaving his way through city streets.
I realized I’d forgotten something. “Pull over,” I said. I pointed to the drug store on the corner.
“Why?”
“I forgot about makeup.”
“You don’t need makeup. You look fine.”
“Just pull up to the curb.”
He did as I asked, pulling close to the doors. I jumped out, rushing into the store.
The clerk was bored at the counter, and the makeup stand was within eyesight. She looked up in a mild expression.
I pointed to the makeup. “Late to a party and my boyfriend forgot my makeup case. Mind if I do a touch up a the sample counter?”
The woman shrugged, gesturing in a way to tell me I could do what I wanted. Perfect.
I dashed to the counter, spotting the overused makeup probably tried on by dozens of people. I sucked in a breath, looking through the palettes for a sample that was close to my color.
Brandon surprised me by touching his palm to the small of my back. “What are you doing?”
“Hold this up,” I made him hold the mirror and I smeared on lip gloss and dabbed my eyes with liner and mascara. A quick brush of powder, and I had a day time look going at least.
Brandon’s lips twisted into an awkward smirk. “You are not the same Kayli I met this morning.”
“Should we use our real names at this party?” I asked. I took the mirror from him and put it away, waving thanks to the clerk before leaving. We got to the car and he held my door open again while I hopped in. Brandon got back behind the wheel and started off once more. “I mean, if we’re going in together, shouldn’t we be all covert about this?”
“They already know mine. We could shorten yours. It’s always best to go with something close to what you’re familiar with.” He glanced over at me. “Kay fine with you?”
“Meh,” I said. “Want me to call you ... Brad?”
He smirked. “No. Maybe stick with pet names. I guess that’ll work.”
Ten minutes later, Brandon pulled in front of a downtown Charleston house. A valet service boy raced to the street and opened my door.
Despite having seen pictures of the house, the closest I’d ever been to a house like this was probably in elementary school when there was a field trip to a plantation house, the name of which I couldn’t remember. Otherwise, it was passing by if I ever managed to find myself downtown, which wasn’t often. Charleston homes were narrow, sprawling front to back instead of wide, almost shotgun style. Deceptive of their actual size, they were still opulent. This house was painted bright white, almost too bright for my eyes with the sun beaming on it. Wide live oak trees towered in front, along with the lush greenery surrounding the property. They were the only things that stopped the white paint from being too eye-crushing intense.
I waited for Brandon, and followed his lead, feeling completely out of my comfort zone. I stood close enough that my arm touched his. We went up a short flight of stairs and were greeted at the door by an attendant, who told us the party was in the garden at the back of the house.
I hadn’t anticipated being outside. The problem with this job was I couldn’t pick and choose my target, and the location was a challenge already since I didn’t know the house. I’d imagined a party indoors with crowds of people and easy reasons to bump into someone. Now we weren’t in the house, but outside in the backyard. Changing the plan in my mind so quickly left me at a disadvantage.
I followed Brandon closely through the house, as we were led to the back doors. The inside of the house had a few lingering partygoers who stopped to looked at knickknacks and paintings on the walls. Several attendants stood by, offering champagne and encouraging people to move out to the garden.
My heart started to race. I realized the attendants would be watching our every move, trying to anticipate what we needed. If I was caught, there would be absolutely no place to run, either. I’d have to go through the house, or maybe run for a neighboring yard? Neither option felt like it would work.
Out on the porch, wide steps opened up to a flat lawn. The yard itself was smaller than I thought an expensive house should have, but space was limited on the peninsula, and they fit as many houses as they could. The grass yard had a few old live oaks, shared in the corner with other properties behind it. There were flower gardens and pathways nearer to the house. A stage was set up at the far end of the yard with a small orchestra playing a concerto piece. People stood around in small groups, talking with champagne flutes in their hands. There was a large buffet table. Attendants filtered through the party, almost invisible as they fetched and retrieved what anyone might need.
My hands started shaking. This was worse than I thought. Everyone seemed taller, prettier, wealthier. A few couples swayed and danced to the music. Most were talking in groups, with backs turned. Any interest in us, any look cast our way, seemed to tell me exactly who I was without anyone saying a word. I was the rat at the swan party.
As if reading my mind, Brandon pressed his palm against mine, squeezing. He leaned in, and his lips brushed against my ear. “You’ll be fine.”
He started to let go, but I held tight, intertwining my fingers with his. I didn’t know how to say it out loud, and I didn’t know him well, but he was the only one there I knew, and I needed him. I needed a connection to the real world. These were the wealthy I’d abhorred from a distance for years. And I was about to steal from one of them. They were the very people who, with a snap of fingers, could summon security or bring down the police, because they were important, and superior.
He let me hang onto him, and he led the way down the steps and into the crowd. He did it with such ease that even though I’d shared a pizza with him only an hour or so ago, I was in awe that he seemed to blend in so well. His handsome face, the casual stance, his clothes and everything about him seemed to work together. I tried to mimic him, but felt myself wanting to hide behind him instead. This made me stand closer than I probably would have otherwise, and my cheek swiped occasionally against his shoulder when I leaned in.
And he squeezed my hand on occasion. I knew he was trying to be reassuring, but the only thing I wanted at that point was to leave. I’d go back to the apartment and fetch a thousand sodas for Raven. The confidence I’d faked this entire time had been zapped.
We took our time shifting through the crowds. I picked up a champagne glass just to fit in, but realized my mistake quickly. I needed both hands when the time came. I didn’t know where to put it down, and caught how another lady finished her glass a
nd an attendant came near her instantly and took it from her.
I brought the flute to my lips and drained the glass in one gulp. I felt the light burn of alcohol on the back of my throat and coughed.
“Hey, hey,” Brandon said. “No drinking on the job.”
On cue, an attendant materialized next to us. He took my flute and another attendant followed, offering another that was filled. I declined this time. I was fitting in enough.
Brandon spotted our target on the outskirts of the party by the buffet table. We got close enough that I could keep my eyes on him, and Brandon positioned himself to turn to me so I could peek over his shoulder at him.
When he let go of my hand, I felt some of the remaining confidence seep out of me. We were close to other couples and groups chatting. Talking to each other, we probably blended in enough. I wondered how many people here knew each other. Would they recognize I didn’t belong?
Brandon’s sad eyes darted out to the crowd behind me, covering my back as I kept an eye on our target. “How’re you doing, sweetie?” he asked.
“I don’t like champagne.
He chuckled. “How’s our target?”
I zeroed in. I remembered Marc had called him Mr. Coaltar. I couldn’t remember his first name. Mr. Coaltar’s back was turned to me, so all I saw was a sports coat, and smoothly brushed dirty blond hair that hung long around the nape of his neck. “Taller than I thought. This party’s pretty extravagant. Are you sure he’s doing drugs?”
“Some guys are so rich, they get bored. That’s when they get stupid and start dealing in illegal activities.”
“So you think he’s a bad guy?”
His head tilted, and I felt his gaze on my face. “I get hunches about people. I’m usually not wrong.”
I hoped the makeup was hiding how hot my cheeks felt as I was sure I was blushing. I met his stare, trying to feel as brave as I wanted to appear. “Any hunch about me?”
His eyes never wavered. “Yeah.”
“And?”
He smirked, and then drifted his focus back to the crowd. “Probably should have left you at the mall picking pockets.”
