In my defense, I made a valiant attempt not to lose my shit when I woke up. Late in the day, approximately two days out from Rio, and things just weren’t going my way. You’d expect a con artist to be used to things going awry, but I wasn’t your average con man. When I put my mind to it, I had a way of making things work. I had worked hard to weasel my way onto this exorbitantly expensive cruise ship, even if it was only as a performer.

It was times like this when I thanked my deadbeat birth parents for letting me run away to the circus. Most parents wouldn’t consider it the most forward-thinking move, but mine just didn’t care enough to stop me. I wouldn’t accept anyone’s pity, though. A couple of freak show workers took me in as their own, in spite of the fact that I didn’t exactly fit in with the crowd.

You learn a lot when your adoptive dad is the world’s strongest man, and your adoptive mom is the world’s hairiest sword swallower. They got a package deal with Ma; she was a bearded lady of many talents.

Granted, in my travels growing up, I’d seen much hairier women who weren’t slated to work as a circus novelty. Not that I’m implying there’s anything wrong with an unshaven lady, but perhaps a little sympathy for that girl with the mustache at age thirteen, yeah? My tastes lay with the clean shaven, but beggars can’t be choosers. Fortunately, I was no beggar.

My good looks were one of the reasons I excelled at the whole con man gig. It was easier to win people’s hearts when you were conventionally attractive, and women tended to drop their panties wherever I went. Not to brag or anything.

In any case, my current job required a lot more than a pretty face or a ripped body. The skills I’d learned at the circus helped, sure, but you had to have your wits about you. Specifically, for this job, I’d have to find a way to get close to a crotchety old broad and get her out of her clothes.

Well, hopefully, it wouldn’t come to getting her completely naked; I just needed that magic flash drive that hung around her neck. It didn’t pose that difficult of a task for Paul Drake, the most gorgeous entertainer any of these bored office drones had ever laid eyes on.

That’s me, for the record. At least, for the sake of this con.

That was another fun tidbit about being a con artist. Having the opportunity to explore your various identities, play up the most appealing parts of your personality. Or, in some cases, the least attractive. It all depended on the job, bucko, and whether you had to sweep someone off their feet or drag their head out of the clouds.

Some may have figured me a madman, but you certainly couldn’t tell your therapist that the voices in your head served a particular purpose. Not that I could justify the price tag on a good shrink anyway—yikes.

Back to the matter at hand: getting Martha Beck’s most valued piece of property off of her person. I knew bits and pieces about the old lady, in the sense that nearly everyone in the country had heard of her. A bit of a hard-ass when it came to getting the job done, as far as I could tell. The word was that she had a cute daughter, but as much as I’d like to think with my other head, I had to keep the one that held my brain in the game.

I’d paid off a disgruntled former EBgen employee with some of the hauls from my last con. In exchange, he’d fed me a bit of information that wasn’t well known outside of old Martha’s closest circle of confidants. Apparently, the flash drive she wore contained some prime trade secrets that could ruin the woman if they were to get out.

Moreover, they could put the right buyer in the position to form their own fortune 500 company. I wasn’t much of one for the business side of things, but I was sure some old codger would be willing to cough up the proper price tag. It was just a matter of getting the information, and getting away with it.

There was just one problem with this entire con: days into the company cruise, with only two days until we hit port in Rio, I was no closer to snagging that damn flash drive than I had been in the beginning. I wasn’t one to lose my cool when it came to business, but I was getting a bit crunched for time. I would have to double down for the remainder of those final days if I had any hope of coming out with my prize.

This was what had me frantically rummaging through my battered old suitcase the moment I woke up, trying to decide on the perfect outfit—one that screamed, “Of course I’m not here to steal your valuables.” I was charming as hell, but if the intel I’d received on this old broad was any indication, she would be hard pressed to trust someone enough to let them near her, let alone her prized possession.

Maybe I’d have been better suited coming up with a persona for the cleaning crew, but hell, as far as I could tell, the lady never took the damn necklace off. It’d do me little good to be alone in her cabin if the drive was on her at all times. As much as I hated the thought of breaking in while the old biddy was sleeping, at this rate, I was running out of options. I was a miracle worker, but it wasn’t as if I could just snatch the thing and run. We were on a cruise ship! In the middle of the damn ocean!

All things considered, I was pretty stressed. Out of time and out of options, I had to cobble together some way of making this crapshoot work. I decided on a simple pair of shorts, and hell, forget the shirt. Maybe Martha wasn’t as much of a man hater as she claimed to be.

Examining my reflection in the mirror, I ran a hand through my shaggy black hair. I had grown a stubbly goatee for the sake of this con; something about it just screamed ‘carnie.’ Hell, if I weren't so concerned with looking good, I’d have grown one of those mustaches that curled up at the ends. Not sure I’d have been able to contain my evil laughter in that case, however. It might have been a step too far.

As I grinned at my own reflection, my ice-blue eyes shone in the low light of my room. People had accused me of wearing contacts, but that brilliant shade of blue was all natural, buddy. I ran a brush through my hair, tossing my head to make sure it was just so. I was no pampered prima donna, but a man can recognize when he’s a looker, can’t he?

Satisfied, I slipped out of my room and began making long strides in the direction of the entertainment hall. The gig was some frilly circus number, lots of trapeze and death-defying drops. It was pretty to look at, sure, but I’m sure the passengers would have much rather seen my fire dancing or sword swallowing; something that might actually shake them out of their happy hour fog.

I checked my watch, forcing myself to focus. I had to plan out every conversation, every bit of information I would reveal about myself, or rather, this particular persona of mine. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I nearly collided with this cute little chick who looked like she was a thousand miles away.

I managed to sidestep her at the last possible second, fighting a smile at the star-struck look she had fixed upon me. I made a brief assessment, taking in her chestnut-colored curls, the warm chocolate hues of her eyes. That wasn't even to mention that body, man, Jesus Christ. I had no time to introduce myself; I was so crunched for time that I couldn’t even entertain the idea of laying some girl in the midst of my brilliant plan.

I would consider making an exception, depending on how the meeting at the entertainment hall went, but as it stood, I had places to be and people to see. I checked my watch again, trying to remember what exact time we were supposed to meet to check in with the other performers on board the ship. As far as I was aware, we were expected to run through a quick routine to gauge each person’s compatibility with each other.

I hadn’t met the other entertainers yet, and I thought it strange that there hadn’t been any rehearsal before my hiring—I had only been required to run through a short solo routine—but I wasn’t about to complain and draw more attention to myself. The director was so flamboyant that I was certain he could burst into flames at any given moment, and there was no question that he had the hots for me. Not that I could blame him…

The director having a raging boner for me suited my purposes better than I could have anticipated. He’d tried to give me the lead in the show, but I’d played the shy little wallflower and asked to be placed on the sidelines a bit. No one would question the sweet, bashful little circus boy when the flash drive came up missing.

The whole sweet and timid act was pressing all the wrong buttons for me, but at least I only had to maintain it in front of these bucks with bigger wallets than brains. I couldn’t wait to get off of this damned ship.

I stepped into the entertainment hall, startled to see the place empty, save for the director. He seemed to be taking down the props, and I approached him mock-warily.

“Sir?” I started, cursing how shy I had to act.

The director jolted, turning to face me with wide eyes. He brightened immediately upon seeing me, and I shuffled uncomfortably as his eyes roved my exposed skin. Maybe going shirtless wasn’t the best plan.

“Ah, Paul. We were wondering where you had gone off to.” He smiled, stepping closer to me, and I resisted the urge to jolt back, gesturing vaguely towards the props he was taking down.

“I thought we had a rehearsal thing,” I said, unable to keep the boredom from creeping into my tone.

Keep it together, Paul, keep it together.

The director chuckled, waving me off.

“Well, we did! That’s why we were wondering where you were. Some of the others suggested we fetch you from your cabin, but I was certain you would show up. I must say, I’m a little disappointed, Paul. I expected more from you.” He pouted, poking his finger into my chest.

I stared at him in horror, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind. Had I blown it? Was I screwed out of this job? It’s not like they could kick me off the boat, could they?

“Oh, don’t panic, buttercup. I’ll have a place for you in the show. Don’t worry your pretty little head,” the director crooned, tracing his finger down my chest before drawing away.

Unpleasant shivers ran through my body, but he looked delighted. Probably thought I was getting my rocks off or something.

“Thanks. I’ll be here for the show. Actually on time. Heh,” I managed, and he quirked his lips in a smile.

Before he could keep me any longer, I turned on my heel and ran out of there as quickly as my feet would take me.

Well, that was one crisis averted. Now…back to Martha Beck.