Bad Babygirl: The Con Artist: Bad Babygirls Series Book One by Blake Zoe

Author:Blake, Zoe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zoe Blake Books
Published: 2019-07-08T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

“There is a Miss Piper Clayton to see you, sir,” announced Rose from the threshold of my office.

“Thank you, Rose. Let her in.” I rose and buttoned my suit coat as I stepped out from behind my desk.

She had dressed carefully, I thought, as Piper hesitantly walked a few steps into my office. Good. It meant I was in her head, precisely where I wanted to be. Selfishly, I wanted her to think of me as often as possible.

She was wearing another vintage swing dress. It was black with red polka dots. I couldn’t help but wonder if the crinoline underneath which gave the dress its signature swing effect was red or black. I would learn soon enough.

“Can I offer you some coffee?” I asked cordially, as if this were any normal business meeting. I could see the play of emotions as they crossed her beautiful expressive eyes. They really were the most startling shade of bright green. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she often used contacts when disguising herself since I cannot imagine anyone forgetting those eyes.

“No thank you. I won’t be staying,” she responded primly.

“We’ll agree to disagree on that point… for now.”

I motioned for her to sit. The moment she chose a chair in front of my desk, I approached and leaned against the black surface. Crossing my feet, my legs brushed her skirts. I could smell her Chanel perfume.

She immediately popped up and began to pace around my office. She stopped before an oversized bronze sculpture which was positioned before a large bay window. It was of a man writhing with tortured emotion, each sinew of his muscles strained and defined.

“Szukalski,” she said.

I could tell she was trying to deflect the conversation for a moment. I would indulge her.

“Very good. Not many know his work. Have you ever heard the story of how he learned anatomy for his art?”

She shook her head no. I approached, standing so close behind her I could see the sunlight play off the auburn highlights in her warm brown hair.

Art was common ground for us.

Despite the circumstance of my needing her special forgery skills, I was actually a great admirer and collector of art. It was just one of the things which intrigued me about her. I was honest enough with myself to admit it would be pleasant having someone I could talk to about art.

“He was only a boy when his father was killed in a car accident. Szukalski carried his body to the morgue himself, and then asked if he could be there during the autopsy. So, as he told it, he learned anatomy from his father.”

She shivered. I placed my hands on her bare arms. She quickly shied away.

“What a dreadful story.”

“I could tell a far more pleasant one about the Turner hanging over the fireplace,” I offered with an amused smile.

Her head turned as she walked the few steps to stand in front of the fireplace to observe the painting. It was a classic Turner painting of a storm as sea.

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