“We’ll see.” Bell’s perfectly manicured fingers with long bloodred fingernails gripped the wineglass as tightly as the scarlet dress hugged her delicate frame. She sipped her drink.
He looked at the woman. He studied her face, trying to see what was going on in that mind. It is so obvious what kind of woman she is, he thought. As dangerous as she is beautiful. The professional finished off his mineral water.
The maitre d’ came over and told them their table was ready and showed them the way. The men noticed Bell, with her provocative dress and elegant good looks. Obvious stares meant to be stray glances were sent in her direction from all quarters of the restaurant.
The men wanted her and she knew they did.
They were seated at a window table for two. The table was an arm’s width too narrow for the professional’s comfort.
The server took their orders and left them. Their conversation was lost in a sea of voices. The appetizer course came and went, as did the exchange of words about everyday life, careers and other forgettable subjects.
He’d noted boredom creeping into her demeanor.
When the main course arrived, he decided it was time to make the meal more interesting.
“Do you want to play something? Just for fun.”
Suspicion flashed in her eyes. “Like what?”
“I used to work with a guy many years ago and he
had the perfect way of breaking the ice with new people.
He always swore that this one question gave him
more insight into people than weeks of working with them,” the professional lied.
“Was he a salesman?” She dabbed her mouth with
the napkin and sipped her wine.
“Yeah, he used to spring this question on his clients at social functions. You know, business dinners and lunches—stuff like that,” the professional said, embellishing the lie.
“So what was the question?”
“So you’re interested?”
“Yes.” Bell’s dark eyes bored into him.
She was interested. He had her.
“What is the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
“That’s the question?”
Smiling, the professional nodded. He took another mouthful of food from his fork.
“Why not the nicest thing you’ve ever done?”
He put down his fork, swallowed his food, placed his elbows on the table, and interlaced his fingers. “Because the nice things aren’t that interesting. But people are very keen to tell you the worst they have done, because in some twisted way we’re all turned on by the
evil that men or women do. People would rather hear that I hung out with Al Capone than Mother Teresa.
There’s something inherently sexy about being bad, as twisted as it may sound.”
Bell paused on the thought. She picked up her knife and fork.
He smirked. “Well?”
“Well what?” She glanced at him and cut into the
fish on her plate.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” he repeated.
“You really want to know?”
“Yes. I think I do.”
“Okay then.”
The professional grinned.
“I blackmailed someone.”
Although she tried to pass off the comment as no big thing, it was impossible for her to hide her pride. The professional smiled. His question never failed.
“Wow. That is bad.”
“It is, isn’t it? I thought you might be impressed.”
Picking up his knife and fork, the professional
started to eat again. Just the confession for which he was looking. He had the reason why Michaels had sold his life policy. Michaels had to have money for the blackmail. “So, what was the blackmail about?”
“That isn’t enough for you?” she asked, her tone provocative.
“No. I want details. You’ve given me the answer. I’ve seen the menu, but you haven’t let me sample the food.
Without the details there’s no way for me to judge what kind of person you are.”
“I blackmailed a man I was having an affair with.”
“Good. Tell me more.”
The server interrupted them to check on drinks. The professional asked for another bottle of wine.
“So you blackmailed him over the affair?”
“Partly.”
“What was the other part?”
“He once told me he took kickbacks when he was a
building inspector. I suppose he was playing true to form. As your friend was saying, he told me his worst to impress me.”
The server returned with the wine and topped off
their glasses, then moved on to another table.
“Did you blackmail him after he told you?”
“No, I did that when he tried to break up with me.”
“Did you know about his wife?”
“Oh, yes.”
“So you were under no illusions that he was unattached.”
“Oh,
no. I knew about his marriage and I had even
met his wife a few times.”
The professional laughed. “You are a dangerous
woman.”
Smiling, she said, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The professional nodded.
“I found it quite stimulating, having a conversation with his wife while she was completely unaware that I was fucking her husband. It used to make sex very intense after seeing her. I liked to have my tete-a-tete
with his wife and then screw him afterwards.”
“So why the blackmail?”
“He got an attack of the guilts and wanted to break things off. That wasn’t acceptable to me. He’d made a decision to start a relationship with me, but hadn’t had the courtesy to break it off with his wife. So when he decided that his relationship with me had been a mistake and that it was over, I decided I would make him
pay a price for his betrayal.”
“To his wife?”
Bell laughed. “No, to me. He betrayed me as well as his wife. I wasn’t concerned with her feelings. It was up to her to do whatever she wanted to take revenge for her husband’s infidelity.”
The professional noticed the more she talked about Josh, the colder she became. Bell’s deep-rooted hatred for Josh Michaels became very apparent. This was the kind of woman with whom the professional could do
