"Hello--" I said softly, trying to add a hint of seduction to my voice, just like the old days.
My eyes zoning in on the boys adam's apple, which now bobbed nervously with every swallow. His doe eyes stared at me in surprise, like he didn't expect me. Well- he probably expected someone with more clothing on, but this was all part of the con.
The beautiful art of distraction. My favorite game to play.
"Delivery for a Betty Draper," he said nervously, obviously trying to keep his eyes off my tits. His fingers shook like crazy as he tried to hang onto a long white box in his hands.
"That's me," I flashed my best smile, leaning over a little, basically shoving my tits in his eyesight.
Yes, little fake delivery boy, look at them. Look at my boobs and stare hard.
Hook, line, and sinker.........
He couldn't help himself now, his eye sunk to them and he couldn't keep his eyes off them. Staring at them like they were the most beautifully wrapped presents on the planet and he wanted his prize. Now was my time to play eye spy and catch a glimpse of what I was up against.
The man in the unmarked van; gone. New man climbing the telephone pole, check. He was setting something up, probably enabling them to tap my shit, listen to whoever I called or installing cameras for better surveillance. I couldn't tell, but I knew it was bad.
Fuck.
Double fuck.
"Here," he swallowed hard, trying to hand a large white box to me through the screen door.
"And, Mr...." I leaned forward again, he actually had a name tag. Either they were covering their bases or he was a legit delivery boy.
"Phillip, what's in the box?" I felt like Brad Pitt in Se7en. I wanted to repeat myself again and again, but Mr. Phillip was hooked on my vivacious drug and I couldn't spare a fuck up even for the sake of comedy.
"Flowers," He gulped, but it wasn't a statement, it was a question. His voice slipping up an octave, making him even more suspicious to me.
"And who are they from, Phillip. Are they from you?" His cheeks toasted over red, looking away for a minute to collect himself, giving my eyes another second to scan the area.
Almost everything was back to what it was, the man was back in the van, but a new man with a sweater vest appeared near my car in the driveway. Walking a white poofy dog of all things, trying to not look suspicious. He bent down, presumably to pick up dog shit, but my guess? GPS tracker on my car. What in the hell did Bastien do to compromise me like this?
"A...a... Roger Sterling?" He swallowed hard, voice slipping again.
If he watched Mad Men, he'd be confused as fuck right now.
I smirked sincerely, my boss, Dr. White used that name with me. God did Dr. White love this game. He knew how much I loved my role-playing and he so loved my cover name, Betty.
But did my fuck buddy actually send these to my house? No, probably not. It wasn't in his character to go out of his way for the sake of romance. They were covering their bases again, making sure I took them inside. Trying really hard to trap me with my annoying ex who had shown up out of the blue. Because where would a conman on the run go to? His ex's house, that's where.
"I need you to sign for it, Ms. Draper." The pen shook frantically in his hand, barely able to hold onto it. He was trying so hard to do the job he was hired to do, but in my eyes, he was giving them away.
Bless his nervous little heart.
I gripped the door handle hard. There was no way in hell I wad taking their pen and signing my signature. They could lift my fingerprints or possible gather DNA from the moisture on my palms.
"Well, Phillip, you can take those flowers back and tell Mr. Sterling to shove them up his ass." I ran a finger over the top of my exposed thigh, digging my nail into my flesh. His eyes, of course, falling for it, watching me make small circles on my goose-bumped skin like a dog in heat. If I went any further with this, he would try to hump my leg right then and there.
"No-no, you have to sign. You have to." He sounded desperate now, begging me to comply with his demands.
My fingers got dangerously close to the line of my red lacy panties. Close to what I guessed Phillip wanted to see, by the look of lust spiking in his dilated eyes and the growing bulge in his pants.
"But I'm not going to," I cooed with a sweet smile, presenting my leg more to him.
"Then-then here." He said in defeat placing it on the edge of my cement front porch. And he scurried away, adjusting himself while frantically running back to the white van.
I gave an eye roll, watching his goofy run. He must have been a real delivery boy caught up in some very grown-up drama.
My neck hairs stood on end watching the boy climb into the van, which didn't move an inch after he climbed aboard. Dropping my eyes I looked at the flower box: long and white. Probably had some sort of roses in it.
How cliche of whoever had sent the box. Presumably implanting a listening device into some flowers, delivering them to a 20 something girl, probably seemed logical in their eyes, but I was smarter than them. Way smarter than them, I had been conning men and women alike, for longer than 12 years. And Phillip? He was a piece of cake.
I shut the door and stifled a squeak when my eyes settled on him. There he was, bleeding still, getting his DNA further embedded into my house; gun drawn, pointing it towards the door. Eyes boring into me with lust dripping from his ocean eyes. He always did like to watch me work my cons, especially when I wore red. Red panties and my tight little red dress, the one he had insisted we steal right before he dropped to his knees. Always got his engine going.
I shook my head frantically, pointing to my ears.
'They are listening', I mouthed to him and pointed outside. He put his gun back, not daring to peek outside. And I quickly escorted him back down the stairs.
Honestly--I wanted to throw him, face-first down the stairs, maybe draw a little more blood from his face. But that'd be more evidence the police could collect later, so I refrained. Which was very hard to do with how much he was pissing me off.
He looked slightly unnerved when I walked past the basement door with a hammer in one hand and matches and lighter fluid in the other. He quirked a brow, reaching to stop me, but I pushed him away.
I may have been out of practice, but I knew how to make an angry scene. Plus, I needed to get a better look at any other people wanting a piece of me tonight.
"Fuck you, Roger Sterling!!!" I shouted angrily on my porch pounding the hammer into the cardboard white box, sending red rose petals spiraling into the air around it.
I had to make this as dramatic as possible while crushing and burning any potential listening devices snuck in there. There was no way I would risk bringing it into the house. Not with Bastien there. Even though I wanted to take the hammer to his head instead of the box, he came to me for a reason.
I was the only person who knew who he truly was. His true name and true nature. We loved each other once---still--- a long, long, time ago. I was the only person he could trust right now and forever.
I lit the match and dropped it onto the very dented box, soaked in lighter fluid. Watching the thick golden flames lick the wilting flowers was quite satisfying. They curled and wilted into black ashes, hissing from the heat. Blowing in the soft wind sweeping through. I even heard the soft static of a recording device kissing its sweet, sweet death.
Mission 1 was accomplished. Now onto my more difficult mission, Bastian.
"Hey, Mrs. Trumbol!!" I gave a small wave to the old lady across the street who was staring at my now with concern lacing her old wrinkly face.
Who by now knew that I, in fact, was a nut job. Because who in their right mind burned flowers on their porch? Me. Only me. Oh, and I was still in my underwear too, sorry Mrs. Trumbol!
I looked back at the white van, hearing the engine roar to life. Gears were put into place and it left, which didn't fool me. They were probably pulling around the corner for surveillance or taking care of poor Phillips soiled underwear.
I stepped back inside after the fire destroyed everything I wanted it to and walked into the basement.
"My, my, my, you have been a busy girl!" Bastien said wincing as he sat in an old computer chair, eyeing my computers.
I shut the door behind me and let out the breath I had been apparently holding the whole time.
"Sebastian Nathaniel Greene, you've got a shit-ton of explaining to do!!!" I shouted, knowing the room we stood in was the safest, most soundproof room in the house.
He held up his hands, "I will, I promise. But, Lexie, can you fix me?" Ugh.
"Take off your shirt and don't you dare give me some cute remark about how you'd love to." I scolded as he mocked me with his face.
Fuck you, Bastien Greene.
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Another update is coming tomorrow.
Happy Friday :)