VERA

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HE'S A SIREN, THAT'S WHAT HE IS.

An unrealistic image of perfection with the ability to draw me in with only the sound of his voice, but he chooses to use it blindly. Like it's unintentional. A simple slip of the tongue, and yet he makes me feel like there's hope when there's not.

Timothée's a siren, and he wants to see me drown.

It only took a momentary glance over the top of my laptop, and I was graced with the sight of him sprawled out on his bed, his head hanging off the mattress limply as he fiddled with the glass shard on his necklace. It was barely afternoon. The top buttons of his shirt were cast off to the side, displaying the pale skin of his chest, and his hair was tousled over his eyes as he mumbled spiritless words under his breath.

It was Saturday.

The day of The Scam, which was what Sam called it, and I decided I'd call it that too.

Yesterday night, Toni dragged me out to this underground club her girlfriend found—yes, girlfriend, Lizzy popped the label question while they were sharing a croissant—and I spent the entire morning trying to wash the smell of paint, sweat, and humid heat out of my hair. I wasn't going to be going clubbing again anytime soon.

"Timothée," I said, snapping my laptop closed.

His eyes fluttered over towards me, still hanging upside down on the bed. Sliding the glass shard between his teeth, he gave me a muffled, "hmph?"

"What time is it?"

"Not sure."

"Shouldn't we be meeting Avery and Sam soon?" I mumbled, tapping my fingers against his desk, "I thought we agreed to meet them at noon, and it's nearly two."

As soon as those words left my mouth, Timothée opened his mouth with a shocked gasp, nearly choking on the shard of his necklace as it slipped past his lips and down his throat. Coughing himself back to reality, his cheeks were flustered red as he sat up to look at me.

"They're going to kill me," he said sharply, although it seemed like he was stating a well known fact, "I lost track of time."

I smirked, beginning to shove my stuff into my bag. "That's very professional of you."

"Sarcasm isn't needed, Vera."

"But I'll still use it."

Giving him a snarky look, I swung the straps of my backpack onto my shoulders preparing to make my way to the door. I'd have to run over to my apartment to fix up my appearance before heading out for The Scam. I was supposed to seduce a rich man, obviously, and my current yellow romper certainly wouldn't do the trick. But Timothée grabbed my wrist before I made it through the doorway.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked.

"Home," I said.

"Why?"

"I have to get ready for the plan, remember?"

"We've got no time for that," he huffed, tugging me back into the room. Nodding towards the bed, he went to shuffle around in his dresser. Some of the drawers hadn't been touched throughout my entire consistency of visits, yet now I was seeing him shuffling through them like it was my business entirely. He mumbled some off-handed words to me. "I'll take care of it."

Exactly what he was going to take care of was unbeknownst to me, but all questions protruded out of my mind as soon as I saw him return to the bed with a small mahogany box. Sitting down across from me, he unclasped the locks and popped it open, revealing a neatly packed container of...

...makeup.

"Sit still," he said, gently turning my head with his thumb to inspect my cheek, "you're already wearing foundation?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Good."

Picking up a circular, black box, he pushed it apart to reveal a rosy compact and a mirror. Blush. A pretty shade of blush, and I couldn't help but freeze up nervously as he reached into the mahogany tub to grab a brush.

"I didn't know you knew how to do make up," I remarked, flinching when he began to dust the powder along my cheekbones.

"Well, Bella taught me everything I know," he smiled to himself, "before she had enough to buy the bakery, she needed help getting ready for job interviews. I coined a few tricks in the process."

I didn't say a word, shut up by the fact that he had dropped the brush and decided to outline my lips instead. He chose a dark liner to run over the cupid's bow, the top of his wrist pressing against my cheek, and his other hand tilting my chin back as he narrowed his eyes at his handiwork. He looked almost adorable by the way he was focused intently on this. No, he did look adorable, but I prayed he couldn't notice the increase in heartbeat happening at the present moment.

"You have a birthmark on your lip," he remarked, chuckling under his breath, "it's cute."

Help. Me.

"Thanks," I said instead.

I understood his flirtatious nature was unintentional—our confrontation a few days ago made that clear—but it still bothered me. He didn't know he was leading me on. Or, maybe he did, but didn't know how much it hurt me.

I decided to focus on the makeup instead, paying attention to the details he was putting on my face. Next was a creamy, red lipstick, then a dash of highlighter, followed by a thin wing of eyeliner, and a few swipes of mascara. He was done a few minutes later.

"La belle du bal," he smiled softly, clicking his box closed, "I think you're ready."

"I don't feel ready," I sighed.

"You will," he said, "once you're in the moment, you'll find a calm. You just have to wait for it."

I nodded my head, watching him return to his dresser to put the items away. While his back was turned, I took the chance to look in one of the mirrors on the wall of his room, shocked when I saw my face done up so meticulously. I felt pretty.

Not perfect, but pretty.

And somehow, in some strange way, that felt enough for me.

➢

"TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH," Sam whined, dropping his head onto the dashboard of Avery's car, "we've been waiting for an hour!"

Climbing into the back of a dark blue Renault was significantly harder to do, considering the two boys had their chairs pushed back nearly all the way, and I was trying not to step on Timmy's toes as I plopped into my seat.

After the makeup incident, I was dragged to a parking lot by the University, given a dress to change into, and then promptly shoved back into the car to head to the restaurant for The Scam. The dress was composed of a silky blue fabric, which seemed expensive, so I tried not to dwell on the idea of how Avery got his hands on it. (Thieves? Or just people with connections?).

"Stuff it, Brontté," Timothée scowled, kicking the back of the blond's chair, "just drive."

As the Renault began to pull out of the shadowy corner of the parking space, I sunk into my chair as I watched the lights begin to shine through the window. This was really happening. I was about to be a part of a heist, and I was in charge of eavesdropping onto some wealthy man's conversation while seducing him into thinking I wasn't a threat. Yikes.

During the drive, Avery and Sam kept up a lively conversation, occasionally arguing about the radio station, but then reverting back to book reviews and snide remarks. Timothée focused himself on the rearview mirror, clearly busy thinking.

"Are you okay?" I asked, turning to look at him.

He glanced my way. "Maybe."

"Are you nervous?"

"No, I've done a scam before," he said, "something to do with handling Bella's maniac ex-boyfriend, nothing special."

"Then why do you look nervous?"

He paused, glancing back to his reflection in the rearview mirror. "I'm not."

Sam and Avery had stopped talking, intently listening into our conversation with as much subtly as an elephant on ice. They seemed to know what was bothering him, and even though I didn't want to press, I was curious. Thankfully, Avery answered.

"It's the Uncle," the brunet sighed, "always makes Timothée bothered."

"I have perfect reason to be," Timmy shot back.

"I never said you didn't."

"But you implied it," the boy frowned, reaching under his chair to pull out a large black bag. Unzipping it swiftly, he pulled out two white jackets, tossing one into Sam's lap. I recognized them as chef coats—the boy's disguises.

"Get changed when we pull up," Timothée said sharply to the blond, "we'll make a quick switch with Avery, and sneak in through the back door. Vera will enter through the front."

"Sounds like a plan," I nodded.

"Care for a rundown?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

Already starting to pull the chef coat over his button-down, Timothée nimbly attached the buttons on the left side as he began to list off the marks for The Scam. We devised this plan a few days earlier, but a fresh reminder couldn't hurt.

"Avery, where will you be?" Timothée said, dusting off the jacket shoulders.

The brunet slapped a hand to the dashboard. "Out back with the car."

"Vera?"

"At the table, gathering intel," I answered, "and looking inconspicuous."

"And Sam?"

"In the kitchen, making sure no one gets in any trouble," the blond said.

We made a sharp turn somewhere in the middle of a busy road, and I felt the wind get knocked out of my lungs as I flung over to the left side of the car. Timothée chuckled, catching me by my shoulders and sitting me back upright. Embarrassing. Clearing my throat, I searched for a change in conversation so that I wouldn't risk my reputation flying out the window too.

"What happens if they catch on?" I said, tugging at the hem of my dress, "what if the Uncle sees through the plan and knows we're spying?"

Sam chuckled, taking his eyes off the road to send me a devilish grin. "That's when things get messy."

I widened my eyes.

Messy? There was a hidden meaning behind those words, and accompanied by the suspicious smirk I was being sent, it frightened me a little. Thriller logic 101: when things get messy, it means 'stuff's going down', or 'someone's going to die'.

I furrowed my brows in panic. "I thought you were just a diversion?"

"I am a diversion," Sam said, cocking a brow.

"Just try not to hurt anyone, okay?"

All three boys went silent when they heard my words, mulling it over as if they didn't understand. I was the one who didn't understand. Even though we had a fair two weeks of prep by now, I didn't realize how dangerous the pool we were dipping our chances into involved brutal things. Or maybe not. The look on Sam's face made it clear I misinterpreted something.

"I'm going to knock a pot of soup over, that's what I mean by diversion," he said, keeping his left hand on the wheel as he face palmed with the other, "did you think I was going to murder everybody? I'm gay, not in the mafia."

"Gay people can be in the mafia," Avery called out from the passenger seat.

"Not this gay."

"Alright, attention back to the plan, everyone," Timothee muttered, a slight smile on his lips, "are we all set?"

Everyone nodded their heads in agreement, turning their heads to look out the window for relative reference. We were passing through a small district, people milling about all dressed in fancy attire. This was clearly where the wealthier people went to dine—so I really shouldn't even be here.

But when Sam pulled to a stop in front of a large restaurant called Corn D'Abondance, I felt a rise in my stomach. We were here.

"You've got this, Vera," Timothée said, taking my hand and squeezing it, "I trust you."

I smiled weakly. "I'm just a little scared."

"Focus on the mission, not your feelings."

I sent him a pointed look. "Thanks."

"Now, one last thing," he mentioned, reaching down to dig through the black bag again. He pulled out a small box, twisting it open to show two pairs of black earbuds sitting neatly inside. "I'll be talking to you through this earpiece in case you need help, is that okay?"

He held one out to me.

"It's okay," I nodded, putting it into my ear.

Soon Avery was popping open the car door, helping me out of it and onto my feet as he pretended to be my personal chauffeur. Sam waved through the glass. Timothée gave me a smile. Then they were off.

I let out an exasperated sigh, watching the car drive down the street and disappear into another block. I was officially on my own. As soon as I walked through those doors, I was subjecting myself to the unknown, and everything could go wrong if I made a misstep. But Timothée trusted me. They all did. I couldn't feel sorry for myself, because this was something I was determined to make work, and I owed it to the boy for helping me with my book. I'd already written more in the span of two weeks than I have in a long time.

So now, I've got a scam to do.

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ahhhh! so sorry this update took so long, I had writers block :(