"You don't need to prove anything Calvin Klein. I can see right through you. I can probably tell you what you ate for breakfast."

She crosses her arms and looks up at me, her eyes fixed on my face. "You're gorgeous and you know you are. It's something you use to your advantage. But there are times when it's not to your advantage so you try to tone it down, such as with those glasses you're wearing."

Stunned, my hand reaches up to touch the clear frames I wore this morning to make myself look older. It's something I only do when I need to appear on behalf of the business.

"I bet you don't even wear glasses," she continues.  "A guy with cheekbones like yours wouldn't want anything obscuring the view of his perfect face. I bet you had laser eye surgery and you just wear those glasses because they make you look intellectual. They also save you from the envy of men around you because they'll either dismiss you as a nerdy type or assume that you're gay and not their competition."

I stand as she neatly dissects me, ticking off each point on her fingers.

"I've dated pretty men like you before so I've already seen this show.  I'm not impressed by flattery or whatever line you're currently thinking up. You're probably not even listening right now because you're thinking of how to sweet talk me."

I'm stunned again because she's right. In the middle of her rant, I was only half paying attention because I was trying to think of what to say to calm her down. As I stand in front of her, the entirety of who I am exposed as if she'd ripped my seams open, I can't think of a single thing to say in my own defense.

"Goodbye, pretty boy." She rounds the car and climbs behind the wheel while I stand gaping at her. Once inside, she puts on her seat belt and then pulls out slowly. I watch until her taillights turn right on the main road and she disappears.

Once she’s gone, I’m able to clear the cobwebs from my brain and suddenly I can move again. What the hell was that? I let out a breath and turn in circles, looking around the parking lot as if the asphalt can give me answers.

The first time I meet a woman who can see past all of my bullshit and she wants nothing to do with me.

*   *   *   *   *

I am a good guy.

I remind myself of that fact as I drive to meet my brother at our father's hotel, the StarCrest. Getting dressed down by a pint-sized girl with innocent eyes shouldn't have shaken me this much but I can't help it. She took one look at me and instantly saw everything that I've worked so hard to hide.

I've spent a lot of time training myself to hide my roots and to appear the way a responsible local businessman should. I help little old ladies cross the street. I recycle. I make a number of charitable contributions each year. Anyone looking at me will see a solid, respectable, upstanding member of the community.

Which is exactly what I want them to see.

As I pull up in front of the hotel, I lift my hand and wave to Zack, who is leaning casually against the side of the building. When I step out of the car, a valet appears instantly. His lips curl up into a grin of appreciation as he takes in the restored 1967 Chevy Corvette. As he takes the keys and the twenty dollar bill in my hand, I slap him on the back. “Take care of my girlfriend for me.”

Zack rebuilt the engine for me and the leather seats and exterior have all been painstakingly restored. I've spent more money on this car than most guys would spend on an engagement ring. Hell, I love this car and since the 400 hp under the engine practically gives me a hard-on every time I slide behind the wheel, this is the closest thing to a long-term relationship I've ever had.

“Yes, sir!”

As I move back, my eyes land on a man across the street. He's too far away to see clearly but I know what I'll see if I get closer. He has a thin white scar across his cheek. This is the second time I've seen this guy. The valet is waiting patiently so I move out of the way and meet Zack in front of the doors leading into the elegant lobby.

As we walk across the polished marble floors, Zack peers at me with a concerned expression. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Although his question is annoying, it’s an honor since I know that I’m one of the few things in the world that my brother gives two fucks about.

“I’m fine. We decided this is the best way so we’ll stick to the plan.”

Zack doesn’t look convinced, which just serves to remind me of all the things that I’ve been trying to forget all week. That I’m breaking a promise I made to myself years ago. That what I’m about to do is unethical, possibly even illegal, and most importantly, just wrong.

But knowing that I should feel guilty for what I'm about to do doesn't change anything. Neither does the very real possibility of failure. I'm about to pull my first con in years and I'm excited.

After all, it’s not every day you pull a job on your own father. 

We enter the elevator and I’m glad there’s no one else getting on. I need a few moments of peace before I have to turn it “on.” That’s how I think of it. Like a game. Manipulating people into doing what you want — whether it’s to give you money, access or information— is about making them feel that you’re on their side. That you’re their friend. It’s completely mental. It’s a rush but it’s also exhausting and requires one hundred percent of my concentration and focus. And what we’re doing today is too important for me to risk screwing up because I’m shredded with second thoughts and guilt.