Chapter one
Harley
“Mywifedoesn’tunderstandme.”
I pull my best sympathetic face as I nod and listen to the man I’ve dubbed Mr. Gas Station. I know the type—lavishes his mistresses with expensive meals out and perfume, while his wife, who is probably at home right now tucking his kids up into bed, gets discounted flowers from the gas station on their anniversary because he was too busy being an unfaithful pig to remember.
“Really? That must be so difficult for you.” I lower my voice and rest my chin in my hand on top of the bar. “And I bet you work so hard, too.”
His eyes drop to my cleavage, and he puffs his chest out in his suit and nods like the pompous ass he is. “I do. I work very hard, and I like to… relax whenever I can. I think it’s important, don’t you?”
His eyes roam over my figure-hugging dress as he trails the back of one finger over the bare skin on my upper arm.
“Oh, it’s so important.” I smile and let out a practiced giggle as he fails to hide the fact that he’s leering over my breasts again.
“Why don’t you and I… see if we can help each other relieve some tension? I have a room booked a few blocks away.”
I bet you do.
“Really? You want to… um…” I bite my lip, knowing what it does to guys like him. As if on cue, his eyes drop to my lips as I lean closer. “You want to head out now? Together?”
Just as an added touch, I smooth my hands down over my lap, and the movement has his eyes dropping to my legs. He places his clammy hand over mine and pats.
“I do. It’ll be fun, baby.”
Baby. Yuck.
I plaster a seductive smile on my face and slide off the bar stool. He stands, but I place one hand on his chest and nudge him back into his seat. I’ve got the evidence I came for, secretly recorded on a hidden camera disguised as a pin badge on my dress. I don’t want to stay a second longer than I have to.
“Oh, I’m sure we can have lots of fun together. Let me visit the restroom quickly first.”
The smooth smile that crosses his face, thinking he has me, sends sourness spreading over my tongue and down my throat.
Cheating asshole.
I know for a fact his name isn’t Greg, as he introduced himself to me. It’s Grant. And he’s a married father of three who works in real estate, whose wife suspects he can’t keep his dick in his pants. And unfortunately, she’s right.
They always are.
Of all the honey traps I’ve done for the agency, not one has ever been a wife, fiancée, or girlfriend being paranoid. Every single man I’ve been sent a brief on has been more than happy to try and persuade me to keep him company for the evening. One even wanted to fly me to the south of France for a weekend on his yacht.
Cheating pigs, every single one.
I cross the bar toward the restrooms, glancing back to make sure Mr. Gas Station isn’t watching me, and then I dart out of the main door and take a quick right, striding along the sidewalk.
It’s late. Later than I would have liked the trap to run, but Mr. Gas Station/Cheating Pig isn’t exactly punctual. The agency told me which bar he goes to after work on a Thursday to hook up when he’s told his wife he’s working late on viewings in the city. I don’t know; maybe before he came to the bar he was showing someone an over-priced shoebox in Manhattan, convincing them they could fit a king-size bed in and still open the bathroom door. Whatever the reason, it means I’m now late. Too late to use the subway and walk the six blocks at the other end to my apartment alone. Mr. Gas Station is costing me money I can’t afford to spend on things like cabs. But I promised Dad I would never walk alone at night this late unless it was somewhere busy. He always drummed it into me and my sister as kids, and my brother, too. But it’s not the same for guys. They can usually walk alone at night without fearing for their safety at the hands of the men around them.
I shake off my thoughts as a familiar tightening invades my chest, then I raise my arm to the traffic. A cab sails straight past me, so I keep walking as I look for another.
“Hey, Julia! Where are you going?”
I halt in the middle of the sidewalk for the briefest second that it takes to register Mr. Gas Station’s voice growing louder from somewhere behind me.
“Julia,” he says again, his clammy fingers circling my forearm and holding me just a littletootight. “You aren’t skipping out on me, are you?”
I dart my eyes to the black car that’s just pulled up alongside us; its rear door already opening as someone exits.
I turn and smile sweetly. “I’m so sorry, Greg.”Grant. Lying cheat.“Something’s come up, and I need to head off.”