Cowboy Like Me

Chapter 1.

Petrichor emanated from the afternoon air, that earthy smell clinging to the high-society air like perfume you couldn't quite wash off. I liked rain. Sadly, the people currently around me didn't, especially the rich ones who spent more time worrying about their manicured lawns and diamond-studded stilettos than paying attention to what mattered. Like, oh, I don't know... me.

I adjusted my neckline—just a nudge—and sauntered into the grand ballroom of the Beaumont Estate. The chandeliers hung like overzealous earrings, dripping crystal everywhere, and the marble floor gleamed underfoot. It was all terribly extra, you could practically smell the pretentiousness in the air.

I leaned against a wall, my eyes scanning the crowd. It was a sea of old money. The kind of people who had never clipped a coupon in their lives, but somehow still complained about the price of good help.

It didn't take long for me to find my mark. There he was, tall, distinguished, with hair more silver than gray. He had that air about him—well-fed, well-dressed, and well into his late sixties. The kind of man who probably had an account in Switzerland and a mistress in France. What could I say? I had a type.

"Well, well," I murmured as I slided up to the bar next to him. Just close enough for him to notice me, but far enough to not make it look purposeful. The bartender gave me a glance, and I winked at him. He poured my drink without asking. Always nice when someone gets you.

"Scotch," I said, my voice just loud enough for Mr. Silver Fox to hear. "Neat. It's been one of those nights."

I didn't even have to look at him to know I had him. I could practically feel his gaze sliding over to me, like some kind of well-aged predator sizing up his prey. The trick was not looking too interested—yet.

He took the bait.

"Rough evening?" His voice had the usual gravelly charm of a man who's spent a lifetime saying things like "invest in bonds" and "that's a fine Chardonnay."

I turned to face him, letting my lips curve into a slow, practiced smile. "Oh, you know how these events are. A little too much sparkle, not enough substance." I glanced down at my drink, swirling it around before meeting his eyes again. "Present company excluded."

He chuckled, the compliment clearly pleasing him. "Richard Hale," he introduced, offering his hand. "And you are?"

I took his hand, letting mine linger just a bit longer than necessary. "Laverna," I said, letting my voice dip into something husky. "Laverna Reeves. Pleasure to meet you, Richard."

"Pleasure's all mine," he replied, an easy charm in his demeanor. "So, Laverna, how did you end up here?"

I gave a light shrug, as if attending charity galas at the Beaumont Estate was a common occurrence for me. Well, in some ways, it was. "Oh, I have my ways. Connections, favors, you know how it is."

"Yes, I believe I do," he muttered, his eyes lingering on mine. "Though I have to admit, I'm surprised we never met. Surely you've attended these sorts of things before."

I laughed softly, leaning in just enough to blur the line between interest and indifference. "Oh, you wouldn't have noticed me before," I said, giving him a sidelong glance. "I blend in when I need to. But tonight? I felt like standing out."

His eyes twinkled with a familiar mix of intrigue and arrogance, I saw it on every other fucker I picked up. "Well, I for one am very glad you decided to stand out. You've brightened up my evening."

"You certainly know how to flatter a girl." I laughed, twirling a lock of golden hair between my fingertips. "So, Richard, how about you? What brings you here? Another tax write-off, or do you actually care about the cause?"

He laughed. "Guilty." He smiled, not even bothering to deny it. "But really, who could say no to a good glass of scotch and a chance to meet someone like you?"

I smiled, a slow, knowing grin. "I bet you say that to all the women you meet at these things."

"Not all of them," he said with a wink. "Just the interesting ones."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "You really are laying it on thick tonight."

He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping. "Maybe. But when you meet someone worth laying it on thick for, why hold back?"

God, men like him were so predictable. But that was half the fun. They thought they were calling the shots. The truth? He was wrapped around my little finger, and he didn't even know that himself.

"Well, Richard," I said, leaning back and crossing my legs with a slight smirk, "if you keep talking like that, I might start to think you're after something."

His eyes flicked down to my legs for a split-second before meeting mine again. "And what would that be?"

I let out a light laugh. "I'm sure you'd love to know."

The game was on, and Richard was already playing it exactly how I wanted. A little more conversation, a few more drinks, and he'd be offering me the world. Men like him always did. It was obvious that he thought he'd found someone real in a world of fakes, and that made him feel special. Little did he know, I was the best fake in the room.