Page 8 of The Con Artist


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I took in a deep, relentless breath.

“You’re never going to believe what happened.”

“Don’t tell me you lost it.” He kicked back his beer.

“It was stolen.”

“Stolen? The maid at the hotel?” He cocked his head.

“No. By a woman who I met on the plane home and fucked in the bathroom in the sky lounge at JFK.”

A roar of laughter came from him.

“Shut the fuck up!” He continued laughing. “You left it on the sink and then she took it, right?”

“No. She took it right off my wrist, and I didn’t know it until I got in the car to come home,” I spoke with irritation.

“Jesus Christ, Gabriel. How did you let that happen?” He continued to laugh. “I mean, come on, bro, she just slipped it right off your wrist without you knowing?”

“Yep.”

“Damn, she must have been one hell of a fuck for you to space out like that. Just call her up and ask her for it back.”

“I would, but I don’t have her number.”

“Ah.” He finished off his beer. “Did you at least get her name?”

“Hannah, and that’s all I know about her except that she runs some women’s online retail shop. She doesn’t even live in New York. She said she’s only here for a couple of days visiting a friend.”

He tipped his empty beer bottle towards me. “You, big brother, got ripped off by a chick who’s sitting pretty with a thirty-thousand-dollar Cartier watch.”

“Do me a favor and don’t say a word about this to anyone. This little mishap stays between us.”

“Don’t worry. I’m way too embarrassed for you to talk about it.” He grinned. “Thanks for the beer.” He stood up. “I better get going. I have a few things to wrap up before me and the band head to L.A. tomorrow.”

I pulled a few hundred-dollar bills out of my wallet and placed them in Caleb’s hand.

“Gabriel, I don’t—”

“I don’t care if you don’t need it. Just take it. Please. I’ve been through enough today and you turning it down will make me feel worse.”

He let out a heavy sigh.

“Thanks,” he spoke as he hugged me.

“You’re welcome. Good luck with Sony Records tomorrow. I know you’ll nail a contract.” I smiled.

“I hope so. I’ll call you when I get back.” He flicked his finger under my chin. “Cheer up, buttercup. The bright side is you can afford to go out tomorrow and buy another one.”

I gave him a small smile, and as he was leaving the terrace, he turned and looked at me.

“I know it’s not actually about the watch, bro.”

I picked up the bottle of bourbon and poured one last glass for the night. As I stood and looked out at the East River in the midst of the brightly lit city, I knew he was right. It wasn’t so much about the watch as it was about the woman who stole it from me.

Chapter 5

Kate

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