I kicked around for a few hours while I waited for Ruby to finish her shift, taking Leandra’s car to Silver Lake and Echo Park area and sitting out on a patio, drinking cold beer and dreaming up the perfect scam. Ruining a man was a delicate task, as you had to do it without him noticing that his world was shifting, sometimes right before his very eyes.

After a couple beers and a burger, I walked down Silver Lake, toward my father’s house. Sound clips from our last conversation echoed in my head. Him telling me that I was fucking up our family, and our relationship. Him saying that my mother would never approve of it. God. Of course, with the magic of hindsight, I know that I should have listened to him.

Standing at the top of my father’s driveway, I gazed at the windows, trying to catch any sign of movement. The blinds were closed, but the slats were broken, revealing the darkness behind. According to Leandra, Dad hadn’t left the house in ages, only for the odd grocery run or coffee at the corner café.

Guys like Clark Lambert knew exactly who to target. A business like his ran off of lonely people, the ones who didn’t have anyone to ask for advice. The ones who seemed lined with wrinkles, counting the days until the end of their lives. Nobody was watching out for them. Nobody would care if they lived, died, or went broke in the process.

But Clark Lambert hadn’t counted on my father having anyone like me around. I had known men like Clark back in New York, men who scraped up the dirt of the city and made gold from it. And because I knew men like Clark, I knew how to use him to my advantage.

My father needed me. He needed me to avenge him. Maybe I was trying to make it all up to him. Maybe not. Maybe I just needed to prove to myself that the bonds between a father and son were never really broken, no matter how much time had passed.

After another few hours deep in Silver Lake, I drove back downtown to wait for Ruby. It was almost six, and the knowledge that I was about to put everything into motion was making me jittery, amped up in the way I usually was when something was about to go down. The boys said my eyes grew wide, manic, and I seemed bigger somehow, filled with ideas and bad decisions.

I could sense that a girl like Ruby yearned for that excitement. Her life was dismal and dry-looking, even to someone like me. She wasn’t washed up yet, but you could imagine it in a few years—in her 30s, still working at an agency, living paycheck to paycheck. She needed a kick-start, a moment to live for.

She needed me.

I popped in to see Leandra on my way back to the agency, tossing the keys on her desk and chatting with her over the head of her client. She stank of hairspray, but her smile was vibrant and alive.

Over margaritas we had talked about everything and nothing, but I could sense that she was avoiding something. I could see it in her eyes.

When I got up to leave a few minutes later, she swept up to the door, holding the handle firm. “You have to promise me something,” she said, her eyes dark and serious. “You have to promise me that you’ll be careful, with whatever you’re planning. I can see it. You have about eight things up your sleeves.”

“You called me for a reason,” I replied, giving her a wry smile and putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

After a long pause, she pulled the door open, gesturing with her sharp chin. “Then get out of my hair already,” she teased with a smile.

Today, she was cheerfully chatting and snipping away, and it did my heart good to see her doing something she loved.

“Will I see you for dinner? I promise I’m a better cook that I used to be.”

I waved off her invitation and flashed her a smile.

“Wish I could, Sis, but I’ve got a dinner meeting.” I gave her client a wink and left the shop, with Leandra shaking her head. I was too cocky, but that was because I knew when I was going to win.

Ruby was organizing a stack of papers when I entered the agency again, standing tall on her heels and without a single strand of blond hair out of place. When she saw me, her eyes grew large, and then a small, careful smile drew itself across her face.

“I’ll be ready in two minutes,” she said softly.

I nodded, pushing my hands into the pockets of my dark jeans and waiting, leaning heavily against the far wall. As she shifted her position, slipping files into folders and turning off the computer, I couldn’t help but admire how graceful she was: like a gazelle, careful, but fluid, even as she was surely nervous in front of me.

Her heels clicked across the tile moments later, her cheeks lightly pink. “There’s a bar across the street I sometimes go to.”

We left together, walking side by side, pausing for a long time at the crosswalk as traffic whizzed past. Our hands were hanging so close to one another, and I had half a mind to hold onto hers, to touch her for the first time. But in just moments, we were rounding the corner toward the bar, which was beneath a canopy and cozy and dark, despite the still-bright sun overhead.

In the back, a single table held a flickering candle. It was situated beneath what looked like a Dutch painting, giving the impression of 15^th century Europe, rather than downtown Los Angeles. I wondered what this said about Ruby, that this was a place she came to. Did this mean she missed England?

She sat across from me at the table, flicking her fingers across the wood. Moments later, a tired, crochety old man appeared in the back doorway, lifting his chin.

“Gin and tonic,” Ruby said.

“Whiskey neat for me.”

We waited for our drinks to arrive, each glancing around the place and speaking in murmurs.

“You’re a gin girl, huh?” I asked her, trying to break the tension.

“You’re a whiskey guy, eh?”

She wasn’t giving me anything, and she certainly wasn’t going to make it easy on me, either. The drinks clinked between us, and we each sipped, not taking our eyes off one another. It was like we were each trying to con the other, trying to appear stronger. But as I drew taller in my chair, I sensed my dominance over her. The tattoo on my bicep flashed from underneath the sleeve of my T-shirt, and her eyes flickered, catching it.

“So…this acting gig?” she finally stuttered, giving me the upper hand.

“That’s right,” I said, my voice growing low. “It’ll be the easiest way you make money in your life. Even easier than manning a reception desk.”

“Does that look easy?” she asked. “Because it certainly doesn’t pay the bills. And I hate myself more every second I spend there.”

The words struck me as truthful. Not wanting to fall into some kind of horrendous pit of despair with this girl, I gave her a sneaky smile and a shrug. “Consider this the first of many tickets out of that place.”

I wasn’t sure it was possible. I didn’t know her life, couldn’t comprehend it if I tried. But the way she looked at me—like I was the last and only man on earth—shook me to the bone. I wanted to wrap my hands around her waist, thrust her against the wall of this dank bar and kiss her with abandon. I wanted to make her forget her wants, her hatreds, and all of her sadness.

“I’m all ears,” she said.

“Right.” I shifted, taking in half of my whiskey with a single gulp. “I need a rather high-class ‘English Rose type’ to play the role of my fiancée for a night. You’ve got this accent. This British accent…”

“But it’s no ‘English Rose’,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes. “Haven’t you been to England?”

I laughed, caught off guard. “Are you saying you can’t sound like some high-class Londoner, then? Are you saying I should go back to the agency?”

Ruby sat up, straightening her spine. Lifting her eyebrows toward her hairline, she looked at me with large, doe eyes, her mouth falling into a pout. “Oh, darling, I don’t see how you can possibly live with yourself, being out with a Coventry girl. You need a girl like me. An English Rose.”

The accent was similar in my ears, but clearly worlds apart in class. Immediately, she wasn’t the bright, sarcastic young woman I’d picked up at the agency. Rather, she was a woman with class, married to someone with money. She knew the inner workings of the monarchy and probably owned hunting dogs.

I laughed aloud, tossing my head back. I snapped my fingers. “That’s it, Ruby. That’s the exact accent I need.”

Ruby gave me a grin, clearly pleased with herself. “Sure, I can do that. But why? Why do you need some fake, British fiancée? It’s a rather strange request, if you ask me.”

She gestured for the bartender to bring us another round—doing so even before I’d gotten to the bottom of my glass. She was a surprise in every sense.

“It’s not terribly important that you know my plan,” I said.

“Then it’s not terribly important that I help you,” Ruby replied with a shrug and a quick smile.

The bartender set the two glasses down between us, then returned behind the bar and turned the radio on, giving us a strange, ‘80s inspired ambiance. He chewed gum with a bored expression, gazing out the window.

I could sense that Ruby still wanted to be involved in my plan.

“All you really need to know,” I said, sipping the last of my first whiskey, “Is that I need to impress someone. Someone with whom I’d like to do business.”

“Business, huh?” Ruby said, almost chortling. “Are you saying that you’re in Los Angeles on business? You don’t look like a businessman to me.”

“You have no idea what kind of business I do. I’ve been operating on the east coast, in Brooklyn, mostly. But my father’s fallen into a bit of trouble, health and otherwise, and I figure I could find a reason to set up a few contacts out west.”

“What kind of business are you saying you operate?” Ruby asked, teasing me, now. She knew I wasn’t going to give an inch, yet she was still going to pester me, trying to find the cracks in my plan.

“You know. The general kind,” I replied, teasing right back.

“A businessman in a ratty T-shirt who stinks of hairspray. I don’t know how I feel about New York businessmen.” She arched an eyebrow, and I grinned.

“My sister owns a hair salon,” I explained.

“So, she’s more of a businessman than you are,” Ruby laughed.

“Look,” I smacked my palm on the table between us for emphasis, halting her laughter. My voice dropped to a whisper; I didn’t want the bartended to hear, and I wanted her to lean closer. “If you agree to this—if you playact this little ‘English Rose’ bit, smile, pretend to be head over heels in love with me, and all that bullshit—then I’ll pay you a thousand dollars.”

That got her attention. Her lips parted, showing her tongue darting left and right against her white, glittering teeth. Her blue eyes sparkled. The money had locked her in. I had sensed it in her already; her desperation could blind her.

“All right, businessman Billy Jay Johnston,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her breasts lifted slightly, showing cleavage above the neckline of her dress. “I’m intrigued. Tell me the plan.”