He Will be My Ruin
Page 61
I knew this was coming and yet I’m still somehow not prepared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, my wobbly voice traitorous.
“Oh no?” The first smile tonight stretches across his lips, but it’s in no way pleasant. “I always wondered if I really needed a security camera. Now I guess I know that I do.”
Knowing he has my attention, Jace slides his hand down into mine, weaving our fingers together in a tight knot that I so desperately want to shake off. He guides me to a semiprivate seating area with two beige armchairs and a screen of plants.
“So, was I ever supposed to wake up?”
I bite my tongue, deciding whether I should admit to anything. But then I remember that he’s not the only one with video evidence. “It was just a bit of Ambien.”
He snorts softly. “No wonder I felt so groggy when I came to.” He levels me with a glare that I know is meant to disarm me.
I ease back into my chair and cross my legs, letting the slit break apart, feigning calm.
Jace’s eyes wander along my exposed thigh. “You must have been looking for something pretty important, to risk ten years in jail. Because that’s what you could get if I press charges.”
“Why haven’t you yet?”
His lips twist with disdain. “Give me back the jump drive that you took and we’ll be square.”
“What jump drive?”
“Quit playing games, Maggie. It’s unbecoming,” he snaps. His eyes narrow. “The one that you stole from the box in my desk, when you searched my office.”
“Oh . . .” I lean forward and, in a mock whisper, say, “You mean the one where the governor of Illinois’s son pays for sex with a girl who ends up dead a month later? That one?”
He pales slightly.
It’s my turn to smile now, though it’s with bitter satisfaction.
It takes him a moment to compose himself. “Who else saw it?”
I decide not to answer that yet. “Good job, pretending not to know Celine. You actually had me second-guessing myself.” I take a long sip of my drink, finally feeling like I have the upper hand here. “But you not only knew her, you’ve even been to her apartment. All this time, you’ve been pretending. Why?”
Jace waves a passing server down and orders a Glenlivet, his eyes glued to her shoes as she makes her way to the bar. I can tell he’s weighing his options. Give me the truth, or keep lying.
The question is, will I know what I’m getting?
CHAPTER 27
Celine
July 16, 2015
“What do you mean, you can’t come? You have to come.” Hans jerks his pencil tie straight while flashing a client a tight-lipped smile in attempt to hide his irritation. “I’ve been working on this auction for eighteen months! It’s Hollingsworth’s pièce de résistance, I’m telling you, people will be waving their blue paddles like zealots. They’ll be talking about the Fabergé pieces for years.”
I truly do feel bad for missing my friend’s shining moment at the coming Russian Works auction—even if every moment seems to be a big shining moment for Hans—but the few vacation days I have left are going to be needed for traveling back and forth to San Diego as often as I can, until I can move. “I’m sorry, I want to, but I can’t just take a Thursday morning off of work. My boss isn’t flexible like that. I was lucky to get this morning off.” Under the guise of an urgent doctor’s appointment. It’s lunch hour now, and I’ll have to head in to the office shortly.
“Have you not explained how big a deal this is to that slave driver?” Hans, with his hands settled firmly on his slender hips and his wing-tipped shoe tapping at a furious rate, is dead serious.
Just like that, he makes me smile. He’s the only one who shares my exuberant passion for antique treasures—items that many would simply cast away as trash. Of course they wouldn’t if they had any idea what some of this “trash” is worth. “Hey, when you have a chance, can you swing by my place and check out something I picked up at a garage sale? I think it’s a high-quality Fauxbergé.”
“Really . . .” His eyes widen with excitement; he’s temporarily distracted from his distress. “I’ll see when I can fit a house call into my calendar. It’ll have to be after my auction.”
The auction is two-and-a-half months away, but that’s Hans. He gets so wrapped up in his work that we can go weeks at a time without talking. “If there’s any way you can work me in before then, I’d appreciate it. I want to get as much as I can for it.”
He gasps, pulling me away from the celadon jade libation cup that I was studying intently and into the corner. “No . . . No, no, no, Celine. We agreed that you are building your collection for your future. You do not sell valuable pieces like that!”
“I am.” The admission guts me. “I have to sell a few of them, actually.” I may end up selling most of my collection, eventually.
Finally, the self-absorbed fog Hans normally dwells in dissipates, and his brow furrows deeply with concern. “What’s going on with you?”
I’m not about to stand here, in the middle of a private pre-auction exhibit in Hollingsworth, and tell him that my mother’s cancer has spread to her bones. That she’s dying. I just found out on Monday, and I’m still processing the news. I actually have yet to say it out loud to anyone. Just the thought makes my eyes water. “I just need the money.”
“Is this about tuition? I thought you had enough.”
“No. I need it for something else.” I had a meeting with the school administration office this morning. Under the circumstances, they’re allowing me to delay my enrollment until next September. It’s hard to say where I’ll be by then—still with Mom in San Diego.
Or back in New York . . . without her.
I have so much to figure out. Like, how I’m going to keep my apartment so I have something to come back to. My lease expires at the end of January and I want to renew it, but I may not be able to pay the rent. I’ll probably ask Dani if she and her fiancé want to sublet from me while they wait for the builders to finish their condo. She mentioned that she’s trying to persuade her boyfriend to move out of his parents’ place, where they live right now for free. I don’t wish ill for Dani, but I’m so happy that her future mother-in-law drives her insane.
“Oh no?” The first smile tonight stretches across his lips, but it’s in no way pleasant. “I always wondered if I really needed a security camera. Now I guess I know that I do.”
Knowing he has my attention, Jace slides his hand down into mine, weaving our fingers together in a tight knot that I so desperately want to shake off. He guides me to a semiprivate seating area with two beige armchairs and a screen of plants.
“So, was I ever supposed to wake up?”
I bite my tongue, deciding whether I should admit to anything. But then I remember that he’s not the only one with video evidence. “It was just a bit of Ambien.”
He snorts softly. “No wonder I felt so groggy when I came to.” He levels me with a glare that I know is meant to disarm me.
I ease back into my chair and cross my legs, letting the slit break apart, feigning calm.
Jace’s eyes wander along my exposed thigh. “You must have been looking for something pretty important, to risk ten years in jail. Because that’s what you could get if I press charges.”
“Why haven’t you yet?”
His lips twist with disdain. “Give me back the jump drive that you took and we’ll be square.”
“What jump drive?”
“Quit playing games, Maggie. It’s unbecoming,” he snaps. His eyes narrow. “The one that you stole from the box in my desk, when you searched my office.”
“Oh . . .” I lean forward and, in a mock whisper, say, “You mean the one where the governor of Illinois’s son pays for sex with a girl who ends up dead a month later? That one?”
He pales slightly.
It’s my turn to smile now, though it’s with bitter satisfaction.
It takes him a moment to compose himself. “Who else saw it?”
I decide not to answer that yet. “Good job, pretending not to know Celine. You actually had me second-guessing myself.” I take a long sip of my drink, finally feeling like I have the upper hand here. “But you not only knew her, you’ve even been to her apartment. All this time, you’ve been pretending. Why?”
Jace waves a passing server down and orders a Glenlivet, his eyes glued to her shoes as she makes her way to the bar. I can tell he’s weighing his options. Give me the truth, or keep lying.
The question is, will I know what I’m getting?
CHAPTER 27
Celine
July 16, 2015
“What do you mean, you can’t come? You have to come.” Hans jerks his pencil tie straight while flashing a client a tight-lipped smile in attempt to hide his irritation. “I’ve been working on this auction for eighteen months! It’s Hollingsworth’s pièce de résistance, I’m telling you, people will be waving their blue paddles like zealots. They’ll be talking about the Fabergé pieces for years.”
I truly do feel bad for missing my friend’s shining moment at the coming Russian Works auction—even if every moment seems to be a big shining moment for Hans—but the few vacation days I have left are going to be needed for traveling back and forth to San Diego as often as I can, until I can move. “I’m sorry, I want to, but I can’t just take a Thursday morning off of work. My boss isn’t flexible like that. I was lucky to get this morning off.” Under the guise of an urgent doctor’s appointment. It’s lunch hour now, and I’ll have to head in to the office shortly.
“Have you not explained how big a deal this is to that slave driver?” Hans, with his hands settled firmly on his slender hips and his wing-tipped shoe tapping at a furious rate, is dead serious.
Just like that, he makes me smile. He’s the only one who shares my exuberant passion for antique treasures—items that many would simply cast away as trash. Of course they wouldn’t if they had any idea what some of this “trash” is worth. “Hey, when you have a chance, can you swing by my place and check out something I picked up at a garage sale? I think it’s a high-quality Fauxbergé.”
“Really . . .” His eyes widen with excitement; he’s temporarily distracted from his distress. “I’ll see when I can fit a house call into my calendar. It’ll have to be after my auction.”
The auction is two-and-a-half months away, but that’s Hans. He gets so wrapped up in his work that we can go weeks at a time without talking. “If there’s any way you can work me in before then, I’d appreciate it. I want to get as much as I can for it.”
He gasps, pulling me away from the celadon jade libation cup that I was studying intently and into the corner. “No . . . No, no, no, Celine. We agreed that you are building your collection for your future. You do not sell valuable pieces like that!”
“I am.” The admission guts me. “I have to sell a few of them, actually.” I may end up selling most of my collection, eventually.
Finally, the self-absorbed fog Hans normally dwells in dissipates, and his brow furrows deeply with concern. “What’s going on with you?”
I’m not about to stand here, in the middle of a private pre-auction exhibit in Hollingsworth, and tell him that my mother’s cancer has spread to her bones. That she’s dying. I just found out on Monday, and I’m still processing the news. I actually have yet to say it out loud to anyone. Just the thought makes my eyes water. “I just need the money.”
“Is this about tuition? I thought you had enough.”
“No. I need it for something else.” I had a meeting with the school administration office this morning. Under the circumstances, they’re allowing me to delay my enrollment until next September. It’s hard to say where I’ll be by then—still with Mom in San Diego.
Or back in New York . . . without her.
I have so much to figure out. Like, how I’m going to keep my apartment so I have something to come back to. My lease expires at the end of January and I want to renew it, but I may not be able to pay the rent. I’ll probably ask Dani if she and her fiancé want to sublet from me while they wait for the builders to finish their condo. She mentioned that she’s trying to persuade her boyfriend to move out of his parents’ place, where they live right now for free. I don’t wish ill for Dani, but I’m so happy that her future mother-in-law drives her insane.
