Shame on Me

“Would you like to have a drink with me?” I ask, gesturing to the bar stool next to mine.

Matt looks back at the door for a moment. My hackles immediately go up when I realize he’s probably trying to decide if he should keep waiting for his “date” or take a chance on scoring with a new girl. He’s probably calculating the odds in his head and part of me hopes he’ll turn me down. What kind of a man cheats on his wife and cheats on his mistress? That’s just gross. When he turns back to face me with a smile and a shrug, I want to kick my own ass for being attracted to this douchebag.

“Sure, I’ll take you up on that drink. I think I owe you one anyway. I was kind of a dick last night,” he explains as he pulls out my stool for me and waits for me to sit down before taking his own seat.

“It’s fine. We all have bad nights,” I tell him with a reassuring smile as I lean my elbows on the bar so I’m closer to him.

“You can say that again. Although right now, I think I’m having more of a bad life instead of a bad week.”

Geez, this guy is really that depressed that his mistress stood him up? His poor wife. Why the hell didn’t I think of bringing a recorder with me? It would be a lot easier to just tape all this shit he’s spewing than try to get him to make out with me. Shit! The camera is in my purse. Now that I’m not going to be able to catch him with his mistress, I’m back to Plan A and need to get him to kiss me.

“Would you excuse me for a minute? I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

I give him a wink, grab my purse from the bar, and quickly head toward the hostess station, glancing back over my shoulder to make sure he’s not watching me.

Pulling the camera and a hundred-dollar bill out of my purse, I set the items down right in front of the hostess.

“I need you to do me a huge favor. I’ll give you another hundred dollars if you can get a few good pictures of me making out with that guy I’m sitting next to at the bar,” I tell her quickly, pointing to Matt, who still has his back to us and is chatting with the bartender.

“Awww, how sweet! Why don’t I just come over there now and take a picture? You don’t have to pay me,” the young girl replies happily.

“No, no, no. He can’t know the picture is being taken. I’m a private investigator.”

She looks at me in awe for a few minutes as I check over my shoulder again to make sure Matt is preoccupied.

“Wow. Are you, like, undercover? Do you work for the government? Am I being taped right now?” she whispers.

Rolling my eyes, I back away from the hostess stand.

“Yeah, sure. It’s top-secret government work. I could tell you about it, but then I’d have to kill you,” I reply with seriousness.

Don’t judge me. I’ll do whatever it takes right now.

“You can count on me.” She salutes me and clutches the camera close to her chest.

With a sigh, I turn around and rush back to Matt’s side.

“I ordered you another glass of white wine; I hope that’s okay,” he tells me with a smile as I take my seat next to him.

“Perfect, thank you.” I reach up and place my hand on his bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze, and act like it’s perfectly natural for me to be touching him—all part of the job. If you’re touchy-feely with a subject, it will make them more inclined to be touchy-feely with you.

Rubbing my palm up and down his arm, I swallow thickly. Holy hell, he’s got some muscles hidden under that button-down. I have to forcibly remove my hand from his arm, otherwise I might start looking for more muscle. Needing something to do with my hand other than molest him, I pick up my glass of wine and take a healthy swallow.

“So, what do you do for a living, Paige McCarty?”

The wine immediately goes down the wrong pipe and I begin coughing and sputtering. Matt reaches up and gently pats me on the back as I set my wineglass down. When I’m finally able to catch my breath, I turn to look into his eyes to see if he’s serious. I still find it hard to believe he has no idea who I am. There isn’t a man alive under the age of fifty who doesn’t know who I am. Maybe this is part of his shtick; his way of trying to charm me. Fine, Mr. Russo. We’ll play it your way.

“Actually, I’m a model,” I reply with a smile.

He blinks in surprise and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was genuine. “Wow, no kidding? Have you done a lot of work or are you just starting out?”

It’s my turn to stare at him in shock. This guy is really good. I almost believe him. I’m going to need to stay at the top of my game with him.

“Oh, just a few jobs here and there. Nothing you would have seen.”

Why the hell am I lying to him? What difference does it make if he knows how famous I am?

“Good for you. I hope someday I can see you in something, but the only magazines I read are ones about graphic design,” he says with a shrug.