I found Jane standing in the corner of the balcony, half hidden behind a cocktail table. Her elbows on the railing. A cigarette held between her slender fingers, lazy tendrils of smoke curling from the lit end. She had one ankle crossed over the back of the other. My eyes trailed over the feminine lines of her calf. She was all smooth skin and hard muscle there.

I could just make out the shape of her knee and thigh and ass underneath her dress. Her body was tight. Beautiful. Distractingly so.

I blinked. Focused my attention on the task at hand.

Jane did not like Charles the douchebag billionaire. I needed to know why. Maybe she’d been with one douchebag too many.

Or maybe she just wanted something different.

If there was one thing I could offer her that those tools upstairs couldn’t, it was whiskey. And maybe—just maybe—real conversation. If I got lucky enough to dig up something we had in common.

That was a big if.

I could give her the real me. Most of the real me, anyway. It was a gamble. I’d never done it before. But I was running out of options.

Running out of time.

My footsteps crackled on the flinty concrete. Jane’s brown eyes slid to meet mine. They hardened.

She looked away. Thumbed her cigarette.

“Are you all right?” I began. “You couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

I set the champagne on the cocktail table beside her clutch. She didn’t look at me. Everything about her—her body language, the set of her jaw—screamed leave me the fuck alone.

“Kind of you to bring that,” she said, still looking away. She took a drag of her cigarette. “But I don’t like champagne. Too sweet.”

Well that was a first—a wealthy woman like her turning down expensive bubbly.

“It’s not for you,” I said. “They’re both for me. I’m double fisting. Only way to get through this thing.”

Her gaze darted to meet mine. She narrowed her eyes.

“You don’t like the races?” she asked.

I looked at her. Might as well tell the truth. I had nothing—everything—to lose.

“I like the races just fine. It’s the people I can’t stand.”

“The people? People like me, you mean?” Jane turned to face me, leaning her hip into the railing. Her gaze trailed up my suit. “People like you?” Another drag.

“People like Charles Redford. So yes.” I looked at her. She was responding to my honesty so far. I decided to go all in. “Can we start over?”

She peered at me. Unsure what I meant. Unsure if she should buy it or not.

I held out my hand. “I’m Charlie.”

She didn’t take it.

“Look,” I said. “I was a pretentious asshole up there, and I’m sorry. I have no excuse. But I want you to know that’s not who I am.”

Jane arched a brow. “So you’re not the guy with the tallest tower in the Bay Area?”

I blinked. Was Princess Jane—the woman who always wore a polite, slightly bland, slightly haughty smile for the cameras—really making a dick joke right now? I could see her making one with a friend, but never with a total stranger.

In all my years of conning, this had never happened. Not once.

I was so taken aback I laughed.

“Well,” I said. “My tower is on the tall side. But I’ve got more to offer than that.”

Her lips puckered. “Like what?”

I pulled back my outstretched hand. Pulled my flask out of my coat pocket.

“Like whiskey,” I said. “You said the champagne was too sweet, so…”

Her eyes flashed. My heart thumped. I’d just hit on something.

Holy shit, I’d just found something we had in common. Another first in, what, less than a minute?

Who the fuck was this chick?

“How’d you know I like whiskey?” she said.

“I didn’t. I do, though, and I figured having some on hand today’d probably be a good idea.” I held out the flask. “Ladies first.”

She looked at it for a long moment. Then she looked at me.

After a beat, she stubbed out her cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the table. She took the flask, careful to not let our fingers touch.

“Thank you,” she said.

She took a good pull. A thirsty one that was not at all polite. She held the back of her hand to her lips while she swallowed. Her shoulders fell a little. She looked relieved. Relaxed, even, for the first time since I’d seen her across the box upstairs.

Her eyes slid to meet mine. “Jameson.”

“Yes,” I said slowly, still not fully comprehending what the hell was going on here. Jameson was good whiskey. But it wasn’t fancy. It was expensive for someone like me. But for a princess? This shit was swill. “It’s my favorite.”

“One of my favorites, too.” She held up the flask. “May I? Again?”

“By all means,” I said, one quick nod at the flask. She tipped it back. Another impolite pull. I found myself wondering what drove her to drink like this.

I did not wonder about my marks. Ever.

Somewhere in the back of my head, a warning bell went off.

I ignored it. Had to. My freedom hung in the balance here. Mine and my brother’s.

“I take it this episode of The Royal Bachelorette wasn’t your idea?” I said, glancing at her from the corner of my eye.

Jane swallowed, then scoffed. “Not at all. Even if I was looking for someone—which I’m not—I definitely wouldn’t be looking for blokes like that.”

Why not?

“I’m one of those guys, you know.”

“I know.” She met my gaze head on. “But you’re making your way off my shit list with this whiskey.”

“I’m on your shit list?” I tried putting my hands in my pockets. And for the hundredth time that day, I discovered this stupid penguin jacket didn’t have any. “Well shit.”

Her gaze flicked over me before she passed back the flask. “I hate to assume…”

“Because assuming makes an ass out of you and me?”

A shadow of a smile played at her lips. “I’ve met plenty of men like the ones upstairs.” She looked out onto the track, squinting, and rested her forearms on the railing. “And I know they’re a hell of a lot more interested in my pedigree than they are in my personality.”

I tilted my head. That was an interesting comment. More than interesting. Like the rest of Jane’s behavior today, it didn’t make any fucking sense. She’d married within her class. Attended exclusive boarding schools with other members of the superrich. Mingled with them in her adult life. Clearly pedigree was important to her, too.

Then again, her sudden escape and her slugs of whiskey didn’t exactly square with that idea.

Maybe she was just feeling trapped. A feeling I knew all too well—what it was like to be tied down by your circumstances. By your family.

I loved my brother. But Christ could he be a fuck up. I’d been paying for his mistakes for as long as I could remember.

I’d probably be paying for them for the rest of my life.

I took a sip of whiskey. I could taste Jane on the mouth of the flask—cherry chapstick. Simple and girly.

My pulse skipped. I don’t know what I’d expected Jane to taste like. But it hadn’t been that.

“You’ve practiced that line, haven’t you? The one about pedigree and personality,” I said.

She swung her head to look at me. “Probably less than you’ve practiced that line about the tower.”

I blinked for what felt like the hundredth time in as many seconds. This princess had the smartest mouth I’d encountered in a while. A quick mouth. A witty one.

I’d never had a mark challenge me like this. It was refreshing. And, if I was being honest, arousing.

I stepped forward, offering her the flask. She took it. I put my elbows on the railing and leaned into them.

“Be honest. How much do you enjoy torturing guys like me?”

“A lot.” She took a sip, then shot me a glance. “Be honest. Don’t you think you deserve it?”

“Absolutely. I know a douchebag when I see one. And I am definitely a douchebag.”

Her lips, pretty and soft looking, twitched. “Self-awareness. That’s unusual in a douchebag.”

“Listen, princess.” I rocked back on my heels. “I’m not like other douchebags.”

“Because you sneak contraband into the Royal Enclosure?” She held up the flask and gave it a little shake.

I turned to her, resting one forearm on the railing. “Because I know what it’s like to live in a cage.”

Jane’s eyes—her expression—her whole being softened. The sun came out from behind a cloud, catching on her irises. They turned molten, the color of burnt honey.

“People only see the billionaire.” Her tone was teasing but her eyes were not. “Not the boy underneath.”

I nodded. Something like that.

She held out the flask. I took it. This time she did let our fingers touch. A buzz of electricity moved through my skin. Judging by the way Jane blinked and looked away, she’d felt it, too.

“Or they see the handsome stranger and not the brilliant, hilarious guy that I really am.”

Jane scoffed. “Must be quite difficult, being so good looking.”

“It’s a terrible burden,” I replied. “But then you know that.”

She wasn’t smiling. Not really. But her eyes were. A tendril of her dark blonde hair, loosened from her updo, fluttered against her neck in a breeze. She tucked it behind her ear, the movement a little self-conscious. A lot sexy.

I gripped the railing.

“If you’re not like the others,” she said, “then why did you come today? To be set up with me, I mean.”

I shrugged. Put the conman firmly back in place. “I’m a big fan of The Bachelorette, for one thing.” She groaned. I smiled. “And for another, I wanted to mooch off the Queen’s picks—I hear she’s quite the delinquent gambler—and maybe win some cash.”

“To build another tower? This one even taller?”

“To take you out. The places where I’d take you—they’re cash only.”

Jane arched a perfectly manicured brow. “You want to take me out to strip clubs?”

I gathered my fingers into a fist and bounced it off the railing, gently. “Damn it, the strip clubs were supposed to be a surprise.”

She laughed. Actually laughed, the sound full and genuine, a little throaty.

I noticed she had a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose and cheeks.

“But really,” I said. “I couldn’t say no to the Queen. And I’ll admit I was intrigued. A ninety-something-year-old monarch playing matchmaker for her granddaughter—what could possibly go wrong?”

Jane’s expression was pained. “Everything, apparently. She means well, but…”

I waited for her to finish her thought. I needed more clues. More signposts that would lead me to the real Jane. The one I needed to con.

When she didn’t, I held out the flask.

“There’s one sip left. It’s all yours.”

She shook her head. “I’m not going to take the last of your whiskey.”

“I insist. I get the feeling you need it more than I do.”

Her eyes were less flint, more velvet now. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I handed her the flask again. And again, our fingers touched. The electricity was there again, zipping through my skin.

I watched as she finished the whiskey, eyes closing in pleasure as she swallowed. The lines of her throat moved sensuously. Slowly. I wondered what she tasted like there.

I bit the inside of my lip, pushing the thought from my head. I didn’t like how my mind—my body—kept straying from the task at hand.

“I know you’re not looking for anyone,” I said. “So feel free to tell me to fuck off. But I really would like to take you out.”

Jane opened her eyes. Met mine. “To the strip club? No thanks.”

“No,” I said, laughing. Thinking fast about where I could take this whiskey swilling, trash talking girl on a date. “Not to the strip club. I have some other ideas—still cash only places.”

She looked at me for a moment. Then: “Go on.”

“No way, princess. You don’t get to find out where I’m taking you until we’re actually there. But wherever we end up, I promise to show you a good time.”

Somewhere in the distance, bugles were going off. The races were about to start.

It was now or never.

Jane shifted on her feet. She passed me the flask.

“I hardly know you,” she said. “I’m not giving you my number.”

“Then I’ll give you mine. Along with another promise.” This time I let my fingers linger on hers as I took the flask. I leaned in, close enough to make out the light and dark brown flecks in her irises. “I guarantee this will be the last time you’ll ever have to make the first move. I don’t fuck around, Jane. I don’t play games. I want to know more about you, and I’d like to see you again.”

Her eyes, a little uncertain for the first time, searched mine.

She didn’t pull away from my touch. My pulse leapt. What the hell? I tamped it down. Willed it to behave.

“All right,” she said. She dropped her hand and turned to dig her phone out of her clutch on the table. “I’ll take your number. But I make no guarantees. Go ahead.”

“Put it under Charlie,” I said after giving her my number. “Not Charles Redford.”

Smirking, Jane turned her phone around so I could see the screen. “You’re ‘Cash Only’ until further notice.”

I laughed, a real laugh, same as Jane’s. Her eyes danced.

“I’ll take it,” I said. More bugles. The horses were being brought out onto the course below. I screwed the top on the flask and tucked it into my breast pocket. “That’s my cue. I need to get my bets in. Thanks for letting me bother you.”

Jane nodded, crossing one arm over her torso. “Thanks for the whiskey.”

She looked at me for a second, hesitating. Like she wanted to say something.

I waited.

At last she held out her hand.

“I’m Jane,” she said, giving the hand I offered her a firm squeeze. “Nice to meet you, Charlie. And no bother. I enjoyed chatting.”

“Jane.” I searched her eyes. “I hope that means I’ll be hearing from you.”

She held my hand—held my gaze—for half a beat too long. When she finally dropped it and looked away, I noticed her color was a little different. Pink cheeks, strokes of pink on her throat.

She’d wielded the sword of her wit with great skill. Greater strength. But underneath that bravado, I now saw a hint of vulnerability.

A chink in her armor.

The douchebag had done nothing for her. But the nice guy—he had.

Something about that bothered me.

I took a breath. Did my best to ignore the feeling of unease as I smiled at Jane one last time. Now was not the time to start second guessing myself. I was so fucking close to being free from Jimmy and all his shit I could taste it.

Yes, Jane wasn’t what I’d been expecting. But I wouldn’t let that stand in my way. She’d likely prove herself to be just like the rest of the Veronicas in the world in due time.

Rich girls like her were all the same. At least in my experience.

Walking out of the enclosure, an idea popped into my head. A potential spot for our first date. It was a gamble. But then I’d already gambled with Jane by being myself, and it had paid off.

I smiled, feeling weirdly excited about taking her there. It’d be a total Jasmine-sneaking-out-into-Agraba scenario.

I had a feeling Jane would dig it. Because she was going to call. And when she did, I’d be ready.