“Everything’s for sale,” Kane countered, a philosophy that had yet to fail him. “There must be something you want, something only I can get for you.”
“Actually …” C chewed the corner of his lip. “There may be something—but you’re not going to like it.”
C spit it out—and under other circumstances, Kane might have laughed in his face and walked away. But today was C’s lucky day.
“It just so happens that you’ve named the one thing I’m able to deliver,” Kane said triumphantly. He could already see all the details falling into place. It was amoral, it was underhanded, and it was going to make someone very unhappy, but it would get Kane what he needed.
And in the end, what else mattered?
chapter
10
“Do you know what time it is?” Harper asked groggily, slumping back against her pillow.
“Did I wake you, princess?” Even through the phone, Harper could hear the false note in Kane’s syrupy sympathetic voice. And after the week she’d been having, she wasn’t in the mood.
“Yes.”
“Good—because you’ve got to get going or you’ll be late.”
“Late for what?” Harper was on the verge of hanging up. It was way too early in the morning for one of Kane’s mind games.
“You’ve got a date.”
“Trust me, I don’t.” Not that she wanted to think about that. She hadn’t heard from Adam since he’d run off from her ill-conceived winter extravaganza.
“You do now. His name is C. And you’re going to love him.” Kane laughed. “Actually, you’re going to hate him—but you’re going, anyway.”
“I’m hanging up now,” Harper warned him impatiently.
“Look, he graduated a couple years ago from Haven and apparently he had a huge crush on you. God knows why.”
“I’ll ignore that,” Harper snapped.
“You blew him off.”
“Imagine that.”
“But for some reason, he’s been longing for you ever since … kind of sweet, when you think about it. You know, in a crazed-stalker kind of way.”
“Charming,” Harper drawled—a bit intrigued, in spite of herself.
“Since the poor guy’s been pining away for you so pitifully, I told him you’d drive up there and have lunch with him today.”
Harper almost dropped the phone. “You did what? Why would I possibly do that?”
“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Kane suggested.
“Funny, I seem to have misplaced that.”
“Then need I remind you of the favor you owe me?” Harper gripped the phone tightly—she should have known that nothing from Kane came without strings attached. “I’m calling it in.”
“Kane, lending me money doesn’t give you the right to pimp me out to your deadbeat friends,” she pointed out.
“Oh, get off it, Grace, it’s lunch, not an afternoon rendezvous at the Whore Hotel. All you need to do is drive up there, let the guy buy you lunch and pay you a few compliments, then drive home again. And, oh yeah,” he added, affecting a casual tone, “he has something for me, a package, so if you can bring it back with you, that’d be great.”
“And if I say no?” Harper asked.
“Have you cashed the check yet?”
Damn.
No.
“I can always stop payment.”
Harper wanted to throw the phone across the room. He could be such an asshole sometimes. All the time.
“But hey, I wouldn’t do that to a friend,” he smarmed. “I’m more than happy to do you a favor, because that’s what friends do for each other. Right?”
“His name is ‘C’?” Harper asked. “What’s it stand for?”
“Nothing—just C.”
Of course.
“And he’s in college with your brother?”
“He was …,” Kane clarified.
“He graduated already?” she asked—a prodigy wouldn’t be too bad.
“He … moved on.”
No name and no future—this just kept getting better and better. Still … he was an older guy, and he found her desirable, which was more than she could say for the other man in her life. And it’s not like it would be a real date or anything, so Adam would have nothing to complain about. (Not that he would ever find out.)
“And you won’t have to pay interest on the loan,” Kane added hopefully.
Free lunch and an interest-free loan, all for spending a few hours letting some guy tell her how beautiful she was?
“Gotta go, Kane—looks like I’ve got myself a date.”
“I have a proposition for you, mon chérie,” Powell said, dipping his Oreo in a glass of milk and taking a bite. Their first night together, they had dined on fine wine and imported cheeses, Kaia remembered with a sweet pang of nostalgia. Now they’d been reduced to early morning milk and cookies. When did things go from scandalous to seedy to suburban?
“I’m listening.”
“What are you up to on New Year’s Eve?” he asked.
Kaia maintained a neutral expression, but inside, she was beaming. He wanted to spend New Year’s with her? It looked like her little power play was already taking off.
“I’ve got this party to go to,” he began, and she looked at him in surprise. A couple weeks ago he’d chastised her for smiling at him in the high school hallway. Now he wanted to take her out in public?
“I can’t get out of it,” he complained, “but I should be home by one or two, and I thought—”
“What?” she snapped, comprehension dawning. “That I’d have nothing better to do on New Year’s Eve than sit around and wait for your booty call? Just how pathetic do you think I am?”
“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it tonight,” he pointed out, “or any other night, that I can recall.”
“Well, it just so happens that on that night, I’ve got something else to do.”
Powell sat up in bed and looked at her suspiciously. “Something else—or someone else?”
His jealous tone was confirmation enough that her little show with Reed had done the trick. But it looked like he hadn’t quite learned his lesson—not if he still expected her to be sitting by the phone at all hours, waiting for his call. She’d stay faithful to their pact—but that didn’t mean he owned her.
“I’m having a party of my own,” she explained, deciding in that instant to make it true. “But if I get bored, later, maybe I’ll call you. But don’t count on it—my parties aren’t often boring.”
“Well then, all the more reason to get my fill of you while I can,” he said, tugging her close.
“I’m leaving now,” she informed him. Time to make him beg.
“Now, now, don’t go away mad. J’ai besoin de toi, mon amoureuse. Reste avec moi—je t’implore.”
I need you, lover. Stay with me—I beg of you.
He knew she couldn’t resist him when he spoke to her in French, his British accent submerged in the soft syllables of longing.
The language of love, they called it. But there was nothing pure and nothing loving in his tone—only naked desire. Need.
And nothing appealed to Kaia more than that.
“Je suis ici,” she whispered, falling into his arms. “Et je suis tout tiens.”
I’m here.
And I’m all yours.
Forty miles was a long way to drive for lunch. She made a mental note to have Kane repay her for the gas.
Harper had a lot of time to make mental to do lists, since it’s not like she was listening to “C” prattle on about his collection of Jay-Z MP3s or the garage band he and his friends were planning to start … any day now. (C had a lot of plans, apparently—and not a whole lot to show for them except a few tattoos and a thriving business in supplying illegal substances to desperate high school kids.)
She remembered him now. Back in Grace, C had been Charles Dallas, aka “Chuckie D,” who’d bounced around from group to group looking for his niche
. He’d dropped his junior high Dungeons and Dragons clan, washed out of the rapper wannabes, and finally settled in with a bunch of deadbeat dealers who spent most of high school in the parking lot, swapping stories about what they’d do when they escaped from Grace. Most of them never had.
“You want dessert?” C asked, appearing not to notice the fact that Harper’s plate—piled high with a rancid “buffalo” burger and stale chips—was untouched. She wasn’t about to eat anything in this dive, a dingy roadside diner decorated with old license plates and populated by a few locals who were drinking their lunch before heading home to watch the game and work on their trucks. They’d agreed to meet here, halfway between their two towns, but Harper realized now that she should have sucked it up and driven the full eighty miles—at least C lived in a college town, with other people, other buildings, anything other than the dusty gray emptiness that surrounded them on all sides.
“Thanks, anyway,” she said, in the same monotonous tone she’d been using the whole meal. “I’m full.”
“I had in mind a little something off the menu,” C said, tapping his jacket pocket and giving her a toothy grin. Harper so did not want to know what was in there.
“Raincheck?” she requested wearily. “I’m good. Really.”
“You sure are,” he agreed, looking her up and down with appreciation. “I still can’t believe I’m here with you. I mean, it’s fucking Harper Grace! In a dump like this, with a loser like me. I must be dreaming.”
Harper allowed herself a small smile. A compliment was a compliment, no matter who delivered it.
“The guys are never going to believe this,” he crowed, tossing a wad of cash down on the table.
“The guys?” Harper asked as C pulled out her chair and helped her up—so chivalrous for a deadbeat.
“Oh, yeah. There’s a bunch of us up there from Haven, and we all remember you. I mean, dude, you’re Harper Grace.”
Harper pushed a stray hair out of her eyes, preening under his longing gaze. So she had a little fan club up there, did she? Feeling a sudden burst of goodwill for C, she laced her arm through his as they strolled the gravelly path toward the parking lot. “So, C,” she said sweetly, “what is it, exactly, that makes me so memorable?”
As C began rhapsodizing—in his admittedly limited vocabulary—about her many divine attributes, Harper’s mood lifted. So this is what it felt like to be worshipped. She’d almost forgotten.
“… and, you know, you’re just totally sexy. I mean, hot.”
“My boyfriend doesn’t seem to think so,” Harper muttered—then stopped walking, appalled she had said it aloud.
“Any guy who doesn’t think you’re the hottest thing he’s ever seen is fucking crazy,” C exclaimed.
Harper turned to look at C, really look at him. He wasn’t so bad looking, if you ignored the crooked smile and the way one eye seemed to wander off when he tried to meet your gaze. And the bad skin. And the greasy hair.
Okay, he was a dog. But he was looking at her like a hungry puppy who’d just spotted a Salisbury steak. And Harper decided to put him out of his misery.
“You think ‘the guys’ won’t believe we had lunch together?” Harper asked, putting a hand on each of his shoulders and pulling him toward her. “Wait until they hear about this.”
It was a wet, sloppy kiss, short on romance, overly long on bad breath and C’s thrusting tongue. But as he pressed himself against her and Hoovered his way across her face, sucking and slobbering like an animal, Harper could feel just how much he wanted her. At least someone did.
Adam skimmed through the online photo gallery without paying much attention. He’d almost deleted the e-mail without opening it. Some guy on the team was dating a girl who was obsessed with photographically documenting every moment of their senior year, which meant periodic mass e-mails filled with memories Adam would just as soon forget. And the ski trip was at the top of the list.
But something had made him save the e-mail. And this afternoon, something had made him open it. Most were pictures of people he barely knew, didn’t care about—he and Harper had done their best to stay away from the crowd, and that meant away from the camera. But there were a few shots that made him pause. Harper, bundled in her thick green coat, leaning against Adam’s shoulder. Adam, tossing a snowball at Harper, grabbing her hand as she tried to escape.
There’d been some good moments, he reminded himself.
And so he was smiling when he clicked open the next photo. When the picture of Beth and Kane, tangled in each other’s arms, exploded across the screen.
Adam slammed his fist down on the keyboard and shut off the monitor. But the image stayed with him, burned into his brain, like those other images, two months earlier. Every time he saw them together, it was as if it were the first time, and he was hit with the same blast of shock, disgust, and fury. And every time, there was only one thought that calmed him down, one person who could remind him that not everything in his life was ugly and twisted. No matter how awkward things were between them, she was still the only one he could talk to. The only one he wanted to talk to.
He dialed her number, and waited.
The phone rang and rang.
He didn’t leave a message.
It was a long drive home, and Harper had plenty of time to think. Too much.
She’d kissed another guy, she realized, the gritty, sour taste of C still in her mouth. No wonder Adam didn’t want her—deep inside, he could tell what kind of person she was. A quitter. A cheater. Adam had no idea what she was really like—but some part of him must sense it, Harper realized, must know that she wasn’t good enough for him.
She’d never felt so low—and then she got home. And things got worse.
“I’m skipping dinner,” Harper mumbled to her mother, blowing by her on the way upstairs to her room.
“Hon, wait a second. Your father and I have something we want to say to you.”
Uh-oh.
In the history of Grace family relations, that had never been good.
Already halfway up the stairs, Harper slunk back down and followed her mother into the parlor. Her father was already there, perched stiffly on an overstuffed blue chair he only used to entertain guests. The whole room was, in fact, used only under special circumstances—the Graces’ large house, left over from boom times, had far more space than their small family could use. Often, Harper felt like the house was mocking her, reminding her of the life she was supposed to have.
“Sit down, Harper,” her father requested sternly.
She did as he said, stomach sinking, mind racing to figure out what it was she might have done.
“Harper, as you know, the family’s been going through some tough times lately,” her father began.
As if she needed a reminder. “And, as you know, we decided that this ski trip stretched our budget too much, and that if you really wanted to go—”
“I’d have to pay for it myself,” Harper finished with him. Old news. Unless—what if they had somehow found out that she’d quit her job?
“We’ve been watching you very carefully these last few weeks, and we want to tell you—”
Here it came.
“We’re so very proud of you, Harper.”
“What?”
“We know how much you hated the idea of having a job, honey,” her mother explained. “And to see you going off to work every day—”
“On your winter vacation, no less!” her father chimed in.
“We just want you to know, sweetie, that we really respect what you’ve shown you can do.”
“Your mother and I have talked it over and we’ve decided that, as a reward, if you make enough to pay us back for half the ski trip, we’ll cover the other half.”
“I-I don’t know what to say,” Harper stuttered, feeling her lies bubbling up inside of her, along with her lunch. “Thank you?”
“You don’t have to thank us, honey.” Her mother came over to offer her a warm hug.
“We’re just so happy to have a daughter who’s not afraid of a little hard work. I always knew that if you really put your mind to something, you’d be able to accomplish anything.”
Harper felt like shit. Lower than shit. Her parents were treating her like a superhero—some hero. What were her special powers: the ability to destroy relationships in a single bound? The power to make her real, lying, cheating self disappear?
Her parents had certainly bought in to her secret identity—and, for the moment, so had Adam. But it was a small town, and she wasn’t invincible. How long would it be, Harper wondered, before the truth came out?
“I can’t wait to see who you really are.”
Miranda couldn’t forget his words, couldn’t stop repeating them to herself. They were so exciting—and terrifying. What if he took one look and ran away in the other direction? What if he was expecting someone totally different: someone tall, skinny, confident? And instead he ended up with Miranda. Who wouldn’t be disappointed? Who wouldn’t feel cheated?
Beneath all the self-deprecation, Miranda still found time to wonder—what was he really like? What kind of guy needed to pick up girls on the Internet? Was there such a thing as a cool, artsy, intelligent, single guy? Or was ReadItAndWeep just a troll—a pale, gawky, weirdo just looking to get laid?
What were the odds that he would be good enough for her—and if he was, that she would be good enough for him?
A million to one seemed a cautious guess.
And yet—sometimes, Miranda reminded herself, you’ve got to take a chance. So she’d made the date. She’d gotten dressed in her best casual—but hopefully hot—outfit: slimming dark jeans, with a lacy, see-through black top; brushed her long, lank hair into something approximating silky sheen; dug out her tallest pair of high heels; and taken one last look in the mirror. Two days on the slopes had failed to tan her pale skin, but in certain lights, she had an arguably healthy glow. Good enough.
She took a deep breath and set off for Bourquin’s Coffee Shop to meet the man of her dreams. Or, at least, of her e-mails.
She’d just left her house when the phone rang. Miranda almost didn’t answer. If it was him, backing out at the last minute, did she really want to know? And then she remembered: They hadn’t exchanged phone numbers. She was safe. Or so she thought.