It only goes downhill from there. One extraordinarily beautiful girl after another walks up those stairs. Billy knows what he’s doing sorting the wheat from the chaff, because they are all stunning with a capital S. I’m still mulling this over, half-heartedly checking in girls as they come up the stairs and sending them into the studio in groups of five, when the freight elevator dings.

We hardly ever use the freight elevator. Most of the time everyone just takes the stairs because the elevator is slow and clunky. So this ding actually makes me stop what I’m doing and turn around just in time to see a thin blonde girl exit with a man in a suit. It takes me a minute to recognize her because of the cute outfit and lack of make-up. She’s wearing pink sweatpants, a white tank top, and a cropped pink zippered jacket to match her pants. Her fresh face is glowing, her eyes are bright, and she is the picture of health. Her long hair is tied back in a ponytail and she looks like she’s about to model for Victoria’s Secret Pink line. She walks past me, never even looking in my direction, and the white letters splash across her ass. Yup. Pink all right.

“Who’s that?” someone asks from behind me.

She disappears behind the tall black partition wall put in place for the interviews and I can hear Ronin’s roar of delight.

“Clare Chaput,” I reply absently in a whisper. “That’s Clare Chaput.”

Chapter Three - RONIN

GIDGET is the first project that Roger and I are working on exclusively. The first project where Antoine is not involved at all. So everything is just slightly more important than normal. At least for me—I’m a perfectionist ninety percent of the time and I’ve been obsessing over this contract since I won it a few months back. If I play my cards right I might be able to make a go of fashion marketing. Not that Rook and I need the money. Work stopped being about money a while back. I’ve lived in money for a dozen years now and at least half of those years I was earning a significant amount on my own just from modeling. The con jobs don’t even factor into my bank account bottom line because it sorta creeps me out.

Stolen money. We stole all that money. Ford, Spence and I ruined more than one family over it and I do feel a little bit guilty about that. People’s children should not have to suffer for the misdeeds of their parents, but we had our reasons.

I don’t touch that money. It’s in so many different trusts and offshore accounts I might not even know how to find it all again, should I ever want to.

I laugh at that internally as I pretend to listen to the group of girls in front of me. Ford would know how to find it. We might hate each other most of the time, but he’s got his skills, and manipulating money and keeping track of bank accounts is one of them. The three of us made a pact after that last job. No spending any of our new money until we all had careers that would justify the lifestyle change and avoid any scrutiny, because I’ll be honest here, we barely got away with one a few years back. It was a technicality really. Rules of evidence worked in our favor.

There was no paper trail because we were strictly virtual criminals, but one detective got nosy with a computer that was not part of the crime scene and he found a teeny-tiny nugget of info which led to something Ford had taken great care to hide. But because the detective had no warrant, meaning he’d accessed that computer illegally, nothing he got from it was admissible as evidence when the grand jury was asked to indict us.

We walked away free and clear and that little bit of info was sealed and not given out to the media, but the cops know what we did.

And they are patient. They watch everything, I’m sure.

Which is why we’re working our asses off. We’re patient too, and besides, all our cons, and that one in particular, were for revenge, not paying bills or vacations.

Ford, Spencer, and I all have the same work ethic and that’s one of the things that bind us so tightly. Each of us has been given opportunities through luck or paternity, and we never took them for granted. We’re professionally successful because we work hard, not because we steal. I don’t need to work, I have a shitload of honest money saved up, but I will be working once Rook and I leave this life behind because sitting on my ass is not an option.

I scroll down the laptop screen as the next group of girls walks in. So far there are maybe one or two who might fit with what we’re looking for. Tall and thin are a given, but beyond that I’m looking for fresh. Exciting. Clean-cut. And wholesome—it’s a retro pin-up type shoot, after all. We like to use pouty and depressed girls for the dark erotic shoots because they sell better, but this is a catalog shoot. Lots of bright artificial lighting is a must so the girls typically at the top of my model list are not really suitable.

I look over this group, absently smile at them as Roger does the interview, then we dismiss them and I choose no one. “Did you like any?” I ask Roger.

“Nah. Next.”

I’m just about to message Rook so she can send the next group when another girl walks into our makeshift room. It takes me a moment to recognize her because I haven’t seen her in over a month, but once I do my happiness is immediate.

“Clare!” I get up and scoop her up in a big hug. “We’re supposed to pick you up tomorrow!” She squeezes me tight as I lift her and everything just melts away. I put her down and hold her out at arm’s length so I can look her over. “You look so good, sweetie!”

She sighs and then flashes me an embarrassed smile as she blushes. “Thanks. Hey, Roger, long time, eh?”