Page 11 of Conning the Billionaire
Kylie widened her eyes, going for a wounded-doe expression. “I would never cheat on anybody. Cheaters are the lowest forms of lowlife. And I’m not just saying that because John cheated on me. Anyone who cheats on someone they’re supposed to love or abandons them without a backward glance is just awful.”
“We certainly agree on that, and since you are newly single—”
“And you’re single, too?” she asked.
“Certainly. Perhaps you’ll let me buy you a drink.”
Liar.
Yeah, no mercy. She was definitely reeling this one in.
Kylie smiled up at him. “I’d love that.”
“Or perhaps dinner. It appeared that you were waiting on John at a restaurant.”
“Yeah, I haven’t eaten supper.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
He started walking, and Kylie followed his direction and caught up to walk beside him. As they strolled through the chattering mob and crackling lights of the casino, she felt the warmth of his hand on the middle of her back, a possessive move.
Yeah, she had him. Hook, line, and sinker. The only question now was how much she would take him for before she ditched him at the end of the night.
When they reached Angeline, an Italian restaurant within the Borgata casino that was always booked out months in advance, the man signaled to the maître d’. Kylie was sure she saw him slip a folded-up bill into the woman’s hand.
They were immediately shown to a table despite a crowd waiting near the entrance.
The horseshoe-shaped booth was soft brown leather under Kylie’s hands as she scooted in, stopping right at the edge like the guy did on the other side. They were facing each other over the gray-streaked marble table that chilled Kylie’s forearms, not snuggled up beside each other at the back of the booth.
He wasn’t playing it right. Kylie didn’t like that. The mark was supposed to be finding reasons to touch her and invade her personal space, not sitting all the way over on the other side of the booth like this was a damned business meeting.
She said, “I still don’t even know your name.”
The man said, “And I don’t know yours.”
“Delilah Corleone,” Kylie said.
A ghost of a smile eased his chiseled features, and he raised one pale brown eyebrow, a nifty trick. “Corleone? Like in The Godfather?”
“No, no. Not like that.” Dammit, she needed him to be relaxed, not suspicious or wary around her. Why had Corleone even popped out of her mouth? She shouldn’t associate herself with the frickin’ Mafia, even with a fake name. “I don’t know anything about the Mafia. I thought the author made up the name or picked it out of an internet search for random Italian names.”
She was probably thinking about the Mafia too much because Salvatore Grande had called her down to Philly yesterday to review the books and ensure that her “contributions” included the jewelry her little girl gang often acquired.
Kylie wasn’t stupid. The pawn shops they used to dispose of the jewelry also paid tribute to Salvatore for protection. They probably submitted their books for reconciliation, too.
So yeah, maybe she had Salvatore Grande on her mind.
She needed to distract this guy—her mark, her cheating cheater of a mark—and set him at ease, and she needed to assure him that she was absolutely not a threat in any way. Indeed, she needed to project that she was a defenseless little fawn, an innocent, and easy to take advantage of.
Because that’s when they let their defenses down, and that’s how Kylie got in.
The guy smiled a little at her, and Kylie had an odd instant of elation that she had earned the softening in his expression. He said, “I didn’t realize Mario Puzo made it all up. Fascinating.”
Either this guy was humoring her, or he was stupid. Kylie didn’t think he was stupid. “I mean, surely the author, whatever you said his name was, must’ve done some research about the Five Families. But I don’t know why he picked the name Corleone. We’ve never been involved in anything.”
“Oh? What do your parents do?”
Well, she couldn’t tell him that. “They were just normal people, you know?”
