Reputation(81)

“I don’t know,” I say. “This gives me the creeps. Maybe we find someone else.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Alexis sounds livid. “I already did all the legwork!”

“Well, then, maybe you find someone else. I’ll help out with the next guy. Surely you have some kind of underground network of skanky girls who’d be into this.”

“But we had a deal!” Her voice is shrill, and I hold the phone away from my ear. “Look. He really wants you. He made that clear—he has a thing for redheads. I’m not sure he’d be up for it if it was me and somebody else.”

I listen to the static on the phone, saying nothing.

“Do this for me, and we’re even,” Alexis says begrudgingly. “You’re off the hook. I won’t expose you, and I won’t make you do anything else.”

I lean against the cool brick of the science building, getting an idea. But I must take this very, very slow. “Okay, then I get a slightly bigger percentage. Sixty-forty.”

“What the fuck?” Alexis spits. “No!”

“And you tell me your real name.”

She snorts. I hear her breathing in like she’s about to speak, but then she changes her mind. Finally: “Why does it matter?”

“Because I want to know.”

Across the campus, the bells in the clock tower strike the half hour. The wind lifts the leaves from the brick-lined streets, blowing them in a circular pattern. There’s a discarded protest sign lying facedown next to some trash cans across the street: NO MORE SILENCE FOR RAPE VICTIMS.

Alexis breathes out. “Fine. Sixty-forty. And it’s Jane.”

“Thank you, Jane. See you soon.”

And then I hang up. A smile stretches on my face. I can still manipulate with the best of them.





31





KIT


FRIDAY, MAY 5, 2017


When Patrick and I finish making love, I roll over and listen to the Aldrich clock tower chime. We are lying in a king-size bed in the Kingsland Arms, an understated, modest hotel near campus. It isn’t the Duquesne Club or the Omni William Penn, which are the hotels a woman of my status would expect—or, rather, where a man like Greg might have taken me, but I’m beginning to feel a little turned off by status symbols. Where did they get me, after all? Wealth certainly didn’t make me much happier.

The blinds are thrown open, exposing a view of the river and the Pittsburgh Point. The sun is beginning to set, turning the room a dusty pink. Patrick leans toward me, and I feel the warmth of his body against mine. “You know that box you carry around containing the meaning of life?” he murmurs.

It takes me a moment before I get the reference—it was a detail from my Philly persona. “Mm-hmm . . .”

“I think whatever’s in there can’t be better than this.”

Just his touch makes me dissolve. I reach for him again. I want to never leave this bed.

Patrick’s phone buzzes. We’re still kissing, but I can feel him pull back. He rolls over, sits up, and reaches for the device. A tired expression comes over his face. It’s Lynn, then. She probably wants to know where he is. I lick my lips. I have every right to hate Lynn Godfrey for drugging me. I have every right to feel justified about doing this with Patrick—though that’s not why I’m doing it.

Patrick drops the phone back on the desk. “I have to go.”

I nod. “I understand.”

“I certainly don’t want to.” He touches my cheek. “I’d rather be flying into hurricanes with you.”

“Hurricanes,” I murmur. Right, right, he was the hurricane pilot. “Or even just lying here. For the rest of our lives.”

“Mmmm.” He leans over, his lips brushing my shoulder. His eyes are pleading and hopeful. “If I left her . . . would that be something you’d want?”

I blink. Do I want that? I barely know Patrick. But isn’t it also true that when you know, you just know? It’s an instinct I had with both Greg and Martin. Or at least I thought I did.

“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “I’d have to think about it.”

“But you wouldn’t rule it out.”

I lick my lips. “No. I wouldn’t rule it out.”

He takes my shoulders in his hands, lightly massaging my muscles. When we kiss, I close my eyes, letting him fill me.

A few minutes later, after he’s disposed of the condom we’ve used and we’ve taken a quick shower and dressed, we’re kissing again at the door. But as I move to walk with him to the elevator, Patrick touches my arm awkwardly. “Actually, I should probably go downstairs first. You wait here, if that’s okay.”

It gives me an oily feeling, but it’s not like I can argue. After enough time, I slip into the hall and shut the door behind me. The corridor is eerily empty. Even the lobby is deserted, the lone attendant at the front desk busy with something on her computer, though as my heels tap across the marble floor, she looks up and gives me a warm smile. After a moment, something in her eyes sharpens. I keep my head down. Can she sense what I’ve done? Or maybe she recognizes me from the news? I think of the lie I told Willa before I left: I’m at a work meeting. I picture what my daughters would think if they found out what I’m really up to.