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“So?” Isla’s voice rasped in my earpiece, and I nearly staggered into a parked car. I quickly tapped down the volume on my phone. “What are you wearing?”

“It’s too early for dirty talk,” I teased, shimmying my black dress up to my thighs to expose more skin. He’d get bait, alright! If this didn’t get the guy’s attention, I was a lost cause. The sales clerk had promised me the black Gucci would stop any man dead in his tracks, even the gay ones, and to prove it, she brought in another sales clerk. From his bleached blond hair to his nose ring and red leather jacket—he was everything that I wasn’t.

Beautiful without trying too hard.

And better at applying eyeliner than most makeup artists. Go figure.

He’d circled me like a lion and then announced, “Electric-blue stiletto, the Pradas.” He’d held out his hand.

And swear to the shoe gods, they appeared within seconds.

And I felt just like Cinderella when my gay prince slipped the shoes on my feet and winked. “Perfect fit.”

My heel caught, causing me to stumble, and I barely caught myself before a nicely dressed couple sauntered by and eyed me like I’d been day drinking.

I wish.

“What was that noise?” Isla hissed.

“I fell.”

“How?”

“I tripped!”

“On what? A pebble? You’re at the Four Seasons, right? There shouldn’t be much to trip on.” She sighed like I was a lost cause. Maybe I was. Focus, Blaire. Focus! “Did you get the location text?”

“Yeah, yeah, my target’s at the bar.”

“It says he prefers whiskey.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Blaire”—Isla’s voice had a warning edge—“remember you’re the bait, which means you have to shove that sarcasm up your ass and try to be … approachable.”

“I’m approachable,” I argued with a hiss as one of the valets opened the door of the hotel, giving me a once-over. I barely held in a snarky comment and pasted a dumb smile on my face. His eyes narrowed before he looked away like I didn’t exist.

Damn it.

My game was off.

Did I even have game to begin with?

It’s not like I really needed it. The guys we caught were so desperate for something new and different, and so blindly willing to follow anyone who promised to take her skirt off that all this effort wasn’t really needed.

With this dress on, I could probably walk up to the client’s significant other, tap him on the shoulder, ask if he would help me change my tire, and end up in the parking lot, blinking up at him with wide innocent eyes while my voice dropped low and husky in my throat. “I don’t have a tire.

Naturally, that’s probably the point where I’d trip on my shoes again and fall against the car, he’d take it as a hint to roughly press me against his Benz and say, “I don’t care, I just want you.”

I’d sneeze in his face out of nervous habit. He’d kiss me anyway—because he was desperate for something new.

“Good,” I would fake moan. “Take me!”

My dress would rip. His six-pack would give my boobs a high five.

And I’d be spread-eagled over him within minutes.

Easy.

Piece of cake!

I swiped under my eyes for any mascara splotches and nearly sailed right into a potted plant before righting myself on the heels.

“You trip again?” Isla sounded like she was yawning.

“Of course not,” I lied through clenched teeth. “I was just daydreaming about a guy with a six-pack.”

“Oh, do tell.”

“He threw me against the car and asked to make sweet love with me.”

“I bet it was good.”

“The imaginary ones always are.” I took a much-needed deep breath. “Now stop asking me questions, people are going to think I’m a schizo, and that’s not the best first impression if I’m going to be bait.”

“Roger.”

“Oh, Roger. Poor guy. I almost felt bad for him when we caught him with his pants down in the men’s bathroom at JC Penney.”

Isla burst out laughing. “I think that cheating was the least of that couple’s issues. I mean JC Penney…” Isla popped a piece of gum. “Now stop getting distracted. Happy hunting.”