The event was small, but it had enough cream puffs from the upper crust to be worth my while. I stopped at the door and flicked my long red hair over my shoulder as a small handful of photographers clicked away. The warm spring breeze ruffled my short skirt, and I soaked in the start of the social season.

“Scarlet Rocket.” I smiled at the doorman and peered past him into the gallery. People milled about, drinks in their hands and prattle on their lips.

“Welcome.” He checked my name off the guest list as I walked past.

A small bar was set up to the right. I skirted around a group of people and stood in line behind an older man in the middle of a drink order. Sizing him up, I figured he was some sort of a banker or an investment guy given the cut of his suit, the size of his money clip, and the few strands of silver in his hair. His shoes cost more than most people made in a month, and everything about him screamed “cash.”

I coughed into my palm, mainly for attention, and also to try and rid my lungs of his ridiculously strong cologne. He looked over his shoulder at me, taking in my low-cut black top, red skirt, and high stilettos with a practiced sweep of his gaze.

“Hi.” He smiled, his laser-whitened teeth dazzling even in the low gallery light. What would he go for? Extrovert sex kitten or shy schoolgirl? It was a toss-up, but I went for the latter.

Dropping my gaze to the floor, I peeked at him through my lashes. “Hi.”

His smile widened, and I knew I’d chosen correctly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“It’s an open bar.” I nibbled my bottom lip. His eyes tracked the movement as I’d hoped.

“I mean after this.” He swiped two drinks from the barman, one of which I assumed was for his wife, given the gold band on his ring finger.

“I’m not sure I should.” I stepped forward and stumbled into him.

“Whoa.” He raised the glasses so as not to spill on me.

“Sorry about that.” I winced and righted myself. “I’m so clumsy in heels.”

He shook his head. “I’d say you’re fuck-hot in heels.”

Inward cringe, outer smile. “Thanks.”

“I’ve got to get back, but I’ll catch you when this thing’s over.” He licked his lips.

Not a chance. “All right.” I gave him a demure smile, then scooted past him and ordered a champagne. After tucking his money clip into my sparkly clutch (a girl’s gotta earn a living, right?), I spun around and assessed the rest of the room.

The walls were adorned with various paintings and photos of people performing some rather creative sex acts. I was particularly fond of an image of a woman doing a backbend with an indescribably large penis wedged in her throat. If this was art, Tumblr deserved its own fancy-smancy gallery.

My next mark stood and stared at a photo of two women entangled in a Sapphic embrace. Tall, older, and running his hand along his potbelly, his “creeper with cash” vibe practically called my name, which, at the moment, was Scarlet Rocket.

I eased through the crowd, cursing the women who held onto their clutches with the strength of eagle talons. No chance with them. But men with wallets tucked away in pockets? Easy pickings.

“Scarlet?” Someone pushed through the crowd toward me. A toothily handsome man approached.

My hackles rose. Whenever someone recognized me, I held my breath and waited for an accusation. Despite my worries, no one had ever connected me to their missing valuables. Even so, I was still wary.

“Hi.” I plastered on a smile and tried to place the man.

“Todd, remember?” His million-megawatt smile flashed a memory loose. Last weekend. His wallet sat in a pile of wallets in a basket beneath my bed.

“Of course.” I let him take my elbow and guide me toward a quieter alcove. I threw a longing look at the mark with a hard-on for the lesbian love painting. Maybe I could try him later once I shook off Todd.

“Did you get my email?” he asked as we stopped next to a vibrant image of a multi-pronged, neon green dildo. Who was this designed for? An alien with eight vaginas?

I dragged my eyes away from the octodildo. “Um, no, I must have missed it. I get so many from the blog and everything.”

“Yeah, I try to skip over mine, but my secretary makes sure I see the important ones.” He took a sip of his red. “I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in going to dinner with me sometime.”

What had I played with him last weekend? Forward or frumpy? Damn, I couldn’t remember.

He shrugged, his suit hugging his shoulders with tailored flair. “Sorry to come on strong, but women like you don’t stay single for long.”

I pressed my champagne glass to my lips and stared at him. Handsome, moneyed, everything a gal like me should want in a man. But I didn’t want a man, I wanted whatever brand new wallet he had tucked away in his suit coat. Men were a dime a dozen, but cash was forever. Stepping closer, I ran my free hand down his chest. “This color is amazing on you.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing quickly. “Thanks. My tailor recommended it.”

My fingers tickled along the edge of supple leather hidden beneath the wool. How much money had he stashed in the replacement wallet? I was about to find out.

I licked my lips slowly. He focused on my mouth as I deftly slid my fingers to his inner pocket. One twitch of my wrist, and I’d have taken this idiot twice.

“Scarlet?” A man’s voice cut through my spell like a knife through a spider web. The same old cold splash of water rushed down my spine. I hated being recognized.

I stepped back, and the wallet remained in Todd’s coat instead of in my hand where it belonged. Damn.

Another man had walked up.

Bigger than Todd, but nowhere near as well groomed, the man glared at me through a pair of glasses with black plastic rims. “Can I have a word, Scarlet?”

“Hi, I’m Todd.” He extended his hand.

The newcomer ignored him. “I know who you are.”

“And you are?” Todd stepped forward, shielding me from the angry glarer.

“I’m Willis. Her date.”

“Oh.” Todd deflated a bit. “Scarlet?” He turned back to me, a question in his eyes.

I didn’t have a date, and certainly not with Willis, but something in his direct stare told me it was in my best interest to play along…for now. “Oh, Todd. I’m sorry. Willis is my PR guy’s boyfriend. He’s pretty much my secretary, to be honest.” I enjoyed the slight eye twitch from Willis at my assertion. “I told him I’d show him around the gallery. Can we raincheck?”

“Yeah. Not a problem. I need to head out anyway.” He turned to me and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Can I get your number this time?”

“Yes.” I rattled off the digits to my burner phone.

“Great.” He tapped a few buttons. “I sent you a text, so you’ve got my number.”

My clutch buzzed. “Got it.” I shook it for emphasis.

“See you soon.” He dropped a kiss on my cheek, then nodded at the angry glarer. “Nice to meet you, Willis. Have a great night.” Todd struck off through the crowd.

Angry Glarer took his place, crowding me. “What do you think you’re doing?” His dark blue eyes tried to convey menace, but he seemed more like an angry, sexy teddy bear than a frightening aggressor. And the glasses definitely gave him a Clark Kent flair. Angry, sexy, nerdy teddy bear.

“What do you mean, Sparky?” I opted for my innocent bystander routine. “I think you have me confused with someone else.” I took a few steps away, but Angry Glarer stayed on my heels. Had I stolen something from him recently? I couldn’t recall his face.

“Cut the shit.” He grabbed my elbow and whirled me around. “You’re pretending to be Scarlet Rocket,” he whisper-yelled.

“What?” I cocked my head at him. “No, I’m not.”

“You’ve been telling people that you write the Scarlet Rocket blog!” His voice rose, but he quieted when some of the people near us began to stare. “And you’re a liar.”

I sipped my champagne as he huffed, his clean-shaven jaw marred with random nicks from what appeared to be a hasty shaving job. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, the coat mismatched to his gray pants, and his shoes were far too shiny for this event. In short, he was a mess, but I couldn’t deny he was a handsome one. Stony blue eyes, dark brown hair, and a decent build—if he cleaned up a little, he’d leave Todd in the dust.

Todd. My fingers itched for his wallet, but I wouldn’t be able to make a move on it tonight. He was gone, and instead, I had Angry Glarer in my face. But maybe I could make up for the loss with whatever this guy had in his pockets.

“Well?” He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

I tried a sweet tone. “Look, Sparky—”

“Stop calling me Sparky. My name’s Willis.”

“Sure. I go to parties sometimes, okay? My name happens to be Scarlet Rocket. It’s not my fault if people think that I write your blog or whatever it is you’re saying.” I blinked a few times, waving my fake lashes around like white flags as the lies rolled off my tongue.

He scoffed. “Your name is Scarlet Rocket?”

“Yes.” I turned to peruse the painting beside us. A man rode a woman from behind, the look on her face one of raw ecstasy.

“Show me your ID.” He held his hand out.

“What do you think of this painting?” I waved my champagne flute at it.

His eyebrows drew together. “I didn’t come here for art. I came here for you.”

“Just tell me what you think of the painting, and then I’ll show you my ID.” I had no ID, but he didn’t need to know that. A little sexual misdirection, and I’d be out of this jam in no time.

He glanced at the art, then did a double-take. His eyes widened. “What the hell kind of gallery is this?”

“It’s sex. Couldn’t you tell from the name?”

“I wasn’t thinking about the name. I was thinking about catching the jerk who was pretending to be me.”

Ah ha. He was the real Scarlet Rocket…or as real as possible, since “she” was a “he.” I should have been walking away from him right then, but instead I asked, “You write the Scarlet Rocket blog?”

He glanced around, as if afraid someone was listening. “Not that it matters, but yes.”

“I knew it.” I grinned and finished off my champagne.

“Knew what?” He stole another glance at the risqué canvas.

“That the blog writer was a man.”

He blanched, the color leaching from his smooth cheeks. “How could you tell?”

“Relax. Only a handful of people would be able to tell. I just happen to be one of them.”

“How?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t come here for this. Stop telling people you’re Scarlet Rocket.”

“Why?”

He sputtered, his words jumbling together. “Because it’s a lie and you’re a liar and it isn’t right.”

“Feeling threatened, Sparky?” I returned to the sexual distraction part of my plan. “Oh, look at that one.” I pointed to a painting in the corner at his back.

“I’m not falling for that.”

“For what?” I stepped around him and inspected the canvas. A man smiled from between a woman’s legs, her pert nipples the focal point of his gaze.

He followed my stare. “Oh.”

“He seems happy to be there. And those nips could cut glass.”

His eyebrows lifted in agreement. “Yeah, they coul—” He shook his head hard. “No, stop trying to distract me. You have to promise me that you will stop pretending to be Scarlet Rocket.” His angry whisper cut through the air.

I rolled my eyes. “Why?”

“I already told you. Because it’s a lie.”

“So what?”

“Well, that’s not right.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Isn’t you calling your blog Scarlet Rocket and pretending you’re a woman a lie?”

He stared at a spot above my head, the cogs in his mind working up an answer. I didn’t care. I just wanted to know what he had in his wallet.

“Look.” I walked around him and leaned up to whisper in his ear. “It doesn’t matter. I can go by another name if it makes you feel better.” Pressing into him, I slipped his wallet from his pocket and stowed it in my clutch.

“Yes.” He turned to look over his shoulder, his face only inches from mine. When his gaze flickered to my lips, unexpected heat twirled inside me. I didn’t get attracted to my marks. It wasn’t in my best interest. But this guy—Willis—hmmmm.

“Consider it done.” I dropped back down onto my heels and pirouetted away from him.