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She pushed the door open wider, and he stepped inside the room they’d set up as a reception area. “Don’t be nervous,” she said.
“That’s like telling me not to get a tattoo.”
She laughed and went to take her place at the desk while Halsey moved through the room they’d set up as a lounge. It was stepping into another world full of rich, entitled, and privacy-obsessed one percenters until Dad winked at him.
In the area visible beyond was a bar and an area set up as a restaurant. Mom was out there with a bunch of cousins enjoying a high tea that another cousin acting as waitstaff would serve.
Everything beyond what you could see was a giant construction zone, on its way to becoming a luxury hotel, but they’d created the illusion this was a vast complex, not just a bunch of rooms they’d taken over for the day, by having people come and go through doors as if they were arriving from accommodations, meeting rooms, the gym, or the pool.
Cookie Jar would come through the main doors, leaving his security detail in the foyer. Sherin would greet him with refreshments and provide a glossy prospectus of the club, detailing its facilities and history, as well as a list of prominent members. It was all suitably high quality, designed to make Cookie Jar feel flattered.
She’d present the paperwork he needed to sign, which included a bank transfer of the million-dollar annual fee that ensured all manner of imaginary access, honors, and privileges. Lastly, she’d show him to the lounge and summon Halsey to greet him and begin the process of vouching for his membership.
Should Cookie Jar try to explore farther than the rooms on show, Dad would distract him, and if that failed, Zeke would be there to block his way, claiming a maintenance issue, and beyond that, triggering a fire alarm.
Halsey’s job was to present his prospectus, this one for the cryptocurrency investment. That was home turf. He might not be behind his desk, but selling fake exclusive, large-scale investment opportunities was his idea of a good time.
“Five minutes, everyone,” said Cousin Rory, taking him by the arm. “Come on.” She led him through a side door where they had to duck under scaffolding and plastic sheeting.
Rory plowed her wheely suitcase into a ladder. “What kind of a jet-setting trillionaire heiress flies anywhere with an empty suitcase? Should’ve weighed this down,” she said. “It got away from me.”
He knew how she felt. This whole thing had gotten away from him. He should’ve stayed in his lane. Especially where Lenny was concerned. She was the calculation that didn’t add up, the percentage that didn’t fit, the red line he knew to avoid but stepped over anyway. She was too big to fit inside any single box, and she’d made him want to loosen boundaries and relax the rules.
If he thought about any single moment of their glorious weekend together, or the way she’d reacted when he’d shown up at her apartment, wet and deranged, just as needy and senseless as she’d been, he’d need Rory to shake him until he was focused again. If he thought about his failure to protect Lenny from Cookie Jar and Easton, the state of his own heart wasn’t even relevant.
“Are you okay? If you want to talk, I’m here,” Rory said.
That was a useful jolt. “Goddamn, does every single person in the world know I’ve got a broken heart?”
Rory smiled. “I’m kind of an expert in broken hearts.” That was true. When Cal broke her heart, she’d blown his cover and skittled a large con. “And yes, everyone knows because you look like you haven’t sleep in a week.”
He threw out a hand. “I’ve been working around the clock on this.” It wasn’t easy to transform a derelict building site into a passable luxury club. It was a lot more involved than getting a few paintings forged, and burying himself in the detail had kept him from going insane.
She grabbed for his hand and squeezed it. “Getting your heart broken strips you back to your base coat. It’s like preparation for the rest of your life. You won’t choose just anyone next time; you’ll choose the right person. Someone who loves you for the color and finish you choose, not what they can paint over you.”
He shoulder-bumped Rory. “Next to Zeke you’re a prophet.” Because as much as he loved Lenny, as much as he’d failed her, he’d always known he’d need to be a different man for her to choose him. It was just that somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten that, even speculated there was a way around the fact he was the last friend and lover she would ever need.
It felt like forever before his phone rang. “Mr. Sherwood, Prime Minister Ozols is here to meet you. If you’d be so kind as to come to the member’s lounge.”
“Did he pay up?”
“That is correct, Mr. Sherwood.”
That was the confidence shot he needed.
Cookie Jar was going down.
He gave Rory the thumbs up and said to Sherin, “You’re my favorite sister,” then opened the door and walked into the lounge.
Cookie Jar was seated in the far corner by design. It took Halsey a good five minutes to work his way across the room, fielding greetings from other club members, including Rory, who went by with her suitcase, and an uncle with damp hair tossing what was meant to be a locker key.
Mom made a big show of coming to hug him and talking loudly about her bitcoin investment. Dad waved him over and under cover of his newspaper, asked if he was free for family dinner Sunday night, adding, “This is a bang-up effort. I’m proud of you, son,” which made the smile Halsey wore genuine.
By the time he got to Cookie Jar, his nerves had settled.
The prime minister was predictably on edge. Exactly where they wanted him. He felt slighted because he’d been made to wait, hadn’t been treated as the most important person in the room, but he was intrigued, needed a way to make up for the loss he’d taken on the painting, and he wanted what Halsey had held out as the ultimate prize badly enough for greed to overwhelm pride.
“Mr. Sherwood.” Cookie Jar didn’t stand, didn’t offer a hand. “I trust you will take care of the membership.”
