Tara Sivec - Shame on Me

“I feel like this conversation escalated very quickly,” Matt says with another laugh and a raise of one eyebrow.

I have no idea why I even told him about Kennedy or Andy; it just spilled out of me. I’ve never spoken to subjects about anything other than how good they look and how much money they make. In this line of work, it’s always about them. Do whatever you can to make them feel special and important and they’ll be eating out of your hands in no time. It’s never taken me more than a few minutes to get a guy to show his true colors. A couple of seconds alone with Matt and I’m laughing and forgetting why I’m here.

Taking a deep breath, I slide my hands off of his chest and take a few steps back. I need to get into character.

“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.

“I wish my ex only read graphic design magazines. He subscribed to more magazines than any woman I’ve ever met so he could pimp me out to every magazine editor he could find.”

Shut up, Paige. He doesn’t need to know your life story!

“All my ex cared about was my money, so it looks like we both made huge mistakes in our lives,” Matt confides.

Wait, ex? Is he talking about Melanie or another ex? According to what Melanie told Kennedy, they’re still married.

“So you’re divorced?”

Matt sighs deeply and takes a sip of his Jack and Coke. “Separated. Honestly, we probably should have never even gotten married. We met in college and all of my friends tried to warn me about her. She didn’t show her true colors to me until we were married, though.”

And now the investigator in me wants to know everything about her. Purely for business purposes, of course. It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s easy on the eyes.

“What kind of true colors are we talking here? Crazy possessive female or was she really a man?” I ask, trying to get him to smile again.

It does the trick. He barks out a laugh. “No, definitely not a man. I’m pretty sure she only married me because she saw the dollar signs. She’s going to try and take my father’s company and there’s no way I can let that happen.”

I take a sip of my wine so I’m not tempted to reach out and comfort him. “Wow, that’s not good. I’m so sorry.”

Matt shrugs. “And to add more to my pathetic life story, I’m positive she’s been cheating on me. All I need is proof so I can end this bullshit charade of hers and make sure the company stays in the family.”

My mouth drops open at all he’s admitted to me. He could be lying. This could be how he gets chicks—by laying it on thick and playing the “woe is me” card, but something tells me that’s not the case. His voice immediately takes on a tone of sadness when he talks about his father’s company, and my senses are screaming at me that he’s telling the truth.