The Family Jewels

S
adie Leighton spends
her days slinging hash, but she spends her nights stealing from the rich and undeserving, taking what she needs from the worst of the lot to make ends meet. This last job is supposed to be the mother lode…the one to get her out of the biz altogether, if only she can get past the infuriatingly gorgeous stranger intent on foiling her plans and haunting her dreams.

Jake Callahan has one thing on his mind, and that’s revenge. After years of preparation, he’s finally got all the pieces in place to destroy the man who cost his father his career and, ultimately, his life. Now that the end is in sight, he won’t let anything get in his way. Especially not some fake Countess trying to steal his mark, no matter how sexy she is.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Sadie engages Jake in a battle of wits, but winning it just might put her in danger of losing her heart…

T
hat was
one solid hunk a’ man.

Sadie Leighton eyed table number eight while ladling balsamic vinaigrette over the tray of frisée salads in front of her.

“You're looking at that guy like you wish he was your lunch,” Monica murmured as she sidled up next to Sadie, arms laden with baskets of fresh rolls. “Now I know why you wanted that table so bad.”

Sadie glanced back to the table where the focus of her attention had been.

He
was
cute. And if she wasn't in the middle of a job and someone served him on one of those crusty rolls with a side of chips, she wouldn't have turned it down. But right now, she only had one thing on her mind and that was work. Men were a distraction she couldn’t afford.

She tucked a loose strand of her dishwater blond wig back into the bun atop her head and squeezed out the shy smile she kept in reserve especially for her co-workers here at Roberto’s Italian Bistro.

Monica had spent three weeks training her, was always there to lend a hand, and had even given up table number eight tonight without asking for a thing in return. Sadie appreciated it, but her conscience didn’t. Despite her line of work, she still had a hard time lying to people she liked, and she vowed to find a way to repay the woman for all her kindness ASAP. Because, just like with every other job, she was probably going to have to leave in a hurry and wouldn’t be able to thank her on the way out.

“Cute, but not my type. I like ‘em nerdy,” Sadie said with a self-conscious chuckle.

She hoisted the tray onto her shoulder and crossed the room, stopping at the table in question. She set the tray on a stand and began doling out the salads, moving as slowly as she could without calling attention to herself.

Four men sat around the white-clothed table, all dressed in Italian suits. Even if she hadn't created a dossier on each of them, she'd have known it just by the way they smelled. Cologne from Gucci, Tom Ford and Burberry all mixed in the air around them, along with some other scent her keen nose hadn’t yet identified.

Wait…Irish Spring soap?

She took another quick look around the table, wondering idly who the culprit was. Not that it mattered. All four guys in the party were clearly all cut from the same entitled cloth—-even the hot one. One of them probably just didn’t like cologne. She actually appreciated it, because the cloying smell of the rest of them all at once was making her hella-queasy.

“Another drink, sir?” she asked, making sure to keep up the Midwest accent she'd selected for Sadie the waitress. The man she was speaking to --a slick blond with ice-blue eyes-- didn't look up, which was exactly how she liked it. Instead, he gave her a curt nod before returning to his conversation.

He was Alistair Hannigan, forty-seven years old, originally from London, head of Hannigan International. He'd long professed that he was nothing more than an exporter of goods. His company had three offices Europe, four in the States, and did fifty million dollars in legitimate business each year. But the rest of the time, they specialized in forgeries and the dealing of stolen antiquities.

He’d never done any time, but it was only because of his connections. He was a bad apple, and she couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into him.

She turned her attention to the two men across the table from him for a moment and then dismissed them. Both were businessmen with longtime family money, but weren’t dirty enough that she felt entitled to any of it. They ignored her too as she made her way around the table.

She’d almost gotten her hopes up that she’d go four for four when the guy sitting directly next to Hannigan --AKA the hot one-- broke the trend, raising his head to acknowledge her.

Jake Callahan. One of the newest, albeit wealthiest, venture capitalists in the city. He was already growing into a big fish in the veritable shark tank of Manhattan. The weird thing though? Up until seven years ago, it was like he hadn’t even existed. There were no school files on him, no police records, nada.

He was a question mark, and, of all the punctuation marks, that was her least favorite. It put her on edge. She still wasn’t sure whether he was one of the bad guys or not.

She was still checking him out when his perceptive gray eyes caught hers again. Then? He smiled at her.

Shit.

Her biggest asset was the ability to blend into the background. Play the chameleon. People seeing her --truly seeing her-- was a job hazard she couldn’t afford.

Jake Callahan held up a finger to shush Hannigan’s seemingly ceaseless babble and turned his attention fully her way.

“That martini was delicious…Sadie, is it?”

Ireland dripped from his every syllable and she resisted the urge to lean closer and find out if he was the soap guy.

“Perfectly dry, icy cold. Please give the bartender my regards. I'd love another.”

As much as she was kicking herself for engaging, it was still hard not to stare at him.

His black hair was unruly and thick in a way that made her fingers itch to dig in. His eyes were the color of granite and should've been cold, but they were lively. His nose was straight and masculine, his jaw lean and square, and it all came together for quite the picture.

But it was the smile that did it.

Wide, capped off by a dimple on one side, and genuine. Not the practiced, smooth smile of a man used to getting his way. This was the kind of smile that, along with his warm compliment for the bartender, made her want to smile back.

Which made her not want to smile at all.

Because there might be a time when she would have to use him, and if and when that time came, she couldn’t hesitate. There was no place for friendship…or anything else in her line of work.

She swallowed hard and nodded, squeezing out a weak grin.

“Certainly. Be right back with that, sir.” Feeling flustered, she broke eye contact and walked briskly to the bar.

“Martini, same as the last,” she called to the bartender. Her pulse was skittering like mad and she needed a second to pull herself together. She hadn’t spent sixteen weeks setting up this job just so she could blow it all over a cute guy.

The bartender handed her a chilled glass and she headed back into the dining room, her resolve renewed. Eyes averted, she set down the martini silently at Jake’s elbow and quickly rounded the other side of the table to top off their water glasses.

“I'm going out of town on the fifteenth to Berlin for five days,” Hannigan was saying to Jake. “But I'll be hosting games tomorrow and the following Friday, if you'd like to join us.”

Sadie’s ear perked up at that, and a rush of adrenaline drowned out the nerves that had cropped up. This was what she'd been waiting for. More information.

Hannigan would be out of town on the fifteenth. Yet another option if things didn’t go well on Saturday. She ran through the other information she’d managed to gather in the past few weeks.

Monday through Thursday, he was in Manhattan splitting time between his office and his penthouse. Thursdays he had lunch at Roberto’s, and then it was poker every Friday night during the summer at his estate in Long Island. Last but not least, he spent Sunday nights with a pair of prostitutes, although they didn't stay long.

Although, even twenty minutes alone with Alistair Hannigan would be a chore, never mind twenty naked minutes. There wasn’t enough money in the world…

“I love a good poker game,” Jake was saying. He paused to thank her for the drink before returning his attention back to Alistair. “But I’ll have to check with my secretary and make sure I don't have a prior engagement.”

Alistair nodded, looking slightly miffed, and leaned in after a quick look around to ensure no one was listening. Lucky for her, in his world, mousy little waitresses didn’t count.

“It's a fifty thousand dollar buy-in to start, so make sure you crack open the piggy bank, eh, Callahan?” He laughed heartily at his own joke and the other two men laughed along with him like a pair of synchronized puppets while Jake just smiled. “Also, my harpy of a party planner is insisting on a head count for Saturday night. Will you be joining us then, at least? I promise, I won't let anyone hard-sell you to donate.”

D-day. The big charity gala. Sadie’s heart pounded at the very mention of it.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it,” Jake replied, voice tinged with regret.

Good. The man was unsettling, and far too perceptive. Better if she never saw him again. Still, a tiny part of her couldn’t help but wish that her life was simpler. Would she have had the nerve to ask Jake Callahan out for a drink?

She shoved the thought away and made herself busy clearing salad plates.

“I apologize, but I have plans,” Jake added, not sounding apologetic in the least.

Hannigan didn’t appreciate the refusal one bit. His mouth tightened into a line of irritation. “If you finish up early, stop by. Lots of fine young tail.” His shark-like eyes gleamed with something that sent a chill through her. “Big deals going down left and right, too. Shame you won’t be there.” He took a sip from his fresh glass of water before leaning in toward Jake. “Speaking of big things, you’re putting together that outline for me soonish, yes?”

Jake shrugged his broad shoulders. “We haven’t decided how many investors we’re going to take on for this one.”

“What's the matter, my money not good enough for you now?” Alistair snapped the napkin on his lap once before tossing it onto the table. His lips were smiling, but his body language was stiff, his tone sharp and a little anxious.

She straightened the linens on a nearby table and held her breath, straining to hear the rest of their words.

“That’s not it,” Jake was saying. “I just want to be sure this is airtight. And right now? This is a gamble if there ever was one.”

Sadie looked up then, risking a glance at Alistair to see his reaction. Sure enough, all traces of discomfort were swept away by the excitement blazing in his eyes. “Fine by me. What's that old saying? Greater risk, greater reward?”

Jake ran an index finger around the rim of his glass before inclining his head. “Duly noted. I'll talk to my partners and see what I can do, but I'm not making any promises.” He straightened and sat back in his seat. “Whatever the case, I'll keep you posted.”

As the men started talking about the stock market, she slipped away, brain humming. Today had been the third mention of the poker game. She had both a plan A and a plan B firmly established, and with him leaving town on the fifteenth, she now had a tentative plan C. The good old last resort, Hail Mary her dad had always insisted on, gave her the trifecta for success.

If all went accordingly, this time next week she’d be one step closer to changing her life and starting fresh.

Then, just maybe, she could put the past behind her and find a cute guy with a quick smile to call her own…

* * *

F
uck all
.

Another Friday night was going down the tubes. He hadn’t committed to anything yet, but that was all part of the plan, wasn’t it? To keep Alistair on his toes and guessing. Too bad he really had no choice. If he hoped to get the job done, he’d have to play ball --or in this case, poker-- whether he wanted to or not.

Jake bit back a growl and took a sip of his martini, wishing it was a pint of Guinness. The last thing he wanted to do was spend more time in Alistair Hannigan’s company. He’d tried for months to work this through professional channels. To have his people approach Alistair with a sweet deal from another like-minded, savvy investor, but he’d insisted on meeting in person.

Best first step to setting up a good con? Find the mark’s weaknesses. He'd thought Hannigan's were women and the love of money. That misread had cost him months. Turned out he was way off. Sure, Alistair liked beautiful women and he definitely enjoyed being surrounded by the finer things in life, but they were just symbols of the thing he truly craved.

Validation.

Deep down, Alistair Hannigan was nothing more than a pathetic, self-loathing man who wanted to prove he was good enough. For other people to see just how important he was, at all times, to boost his ego. That meant there would be no deal without some face time. It had been a stroke of pure luck that, during that face time, Alistair had revealed another weakness Jake couldn’t wait to exploit.

He loved to gamble. Got off on risk.

So Jake had adjusted, and now, rather than trying to sell Alistair on a rock solid investment deal, he’d flipped it, forcing Alistair to do the wooing. Just the thought that Jake was trying to shut him out made him want in, and the intimation that it was a risky proposition? Only made it sexier to a gambling man like that. If Jake had to go to a couple poker games to close the deal, so be it. He’d come too far to back out now.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

He squeezed his eyes closed and listened with one ear to yet another story about Alistair Hannigan's threesome with Swiss twins the night before.

“So one of them asks me if I like the rough stuff, and I say-”