Page 47 of Conning the Billionaire
She quipped, “The waste management business?”
Micah shot her a look out of the corners of his eyes. “No, I’m not in the garbage business.”
A hint of his Brooklyn accent whispered in the word garbage, making it sound like gawbige.
With that accent and sharp look from him, it was apparent that Micah knew the term garbage business was a euphemism for old-school Mafia dealings.
Which wasn’t a shock. Lots of people knew it. You could even look it up on Wikipedia.
It didn’t mean anything.
“So then, what kind of business are you in?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “It’s just your usual run-of-the-mill type of place. I’ve got a couple of co-investors, and we’re making enough money that we’re not sorry we made the investment.”
“And yet you’re still pulling cons, even though you tried to go straight.”
Micah continued with the sip of his drink and stared at the lights of Atlantic City far below where they stood. When he spoke, he asked, “How did you get into pulling cons?”
He was smooth, the blond Italian, no matter what he said his name was. Kylie wasn’t conning him anymore, so she didn’t need to tell them a sob story.
Yet, he was asking for one.
She sat on the long couch in the living room and sipped the vodka tonic he’d made her. The drink was strong, heavy on the vodka, and the wedge of lime in the bottom perfumed the air in the glass as she tipped it toward her mouth. The soda’s fizz and citrus scent tickled her nose.
After Kylie had swallowed, she said, “Accidentally.”
Micah sat on the other end of the couch, resting one arm on the back and looking over the nighttime city. “That’s not an answer I expected.”
“After my dad died when I was twelve, things were hard for my mom. Eventually, she couldn’t handle it anymore, so she took my sister and left.”
His voice was gentle, as if he was trying not to scare her. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
Micah’s head swiveled toward her, his pale eyes suddenly worried. “And how old are you now, really?”
She flapped her hand to indicate he could stop worrying. “Twenty, but my ID says I’m twenty-seven. When I was sixteen, I needed a fake ID that said I was twenty-one to work as waitstaff. Those tee shirt bodegas on the boardwalk don’t pay enough.”
He reached for her highball glass. “So, you needed one that said you were twenty-one so you could work.”
Kylie laughed and held her drink out of his reach. “I’ve been living like I was in my twenties for years. I’m an old soul by now. Besides, I thought you already knew everything about me.”
“I thought I had some dates wrong, and that’s why the numbers didn’t line up. I didn’t think you were only twenty. I suppose I should be glad that you aren’t actually seventeen and I just committed a crime. You are actually twenty, right?”
His sparkling gray eyes were flared wider, and he wasn’t smiling. He was nervous.
She laughed at him again. “I have lived twenty years on God’s green Earth, I promise. And how old are you? You don’t look like you’re forty or anything.”
Micah chuckled, then he pressed his lips together, throwing her a glance before he said, “I’m twenty-five.”
Wow. A specific answer. Would wonders never cease? “Yeah, I thought you were older than dirt.”
He raised his eyebrows for a moment before he sipped his drink again.
Kylie asked, “So, when are you going to tell me the deets about this job?”
Micah sighed. “Look, you don’t have to know everything about it, and it’s probably better if you don’t. Like I said, the soldiers shouldn’t know the whole plan.”
