Chapter 9
Nine
Ellie
My mind is still buzzing with the second text message about the green dress as we linger at the entrance of the library. Someone
is watching. Right now. Someone knows . . . something.
“I just got a weird text. It says they like my dress . . .” I glance from my phone screen to Aubrey’s concerned eyes.
Her face falls. “Who do you think it is?”
My brain is flitting back through all of the possible acquaintances I have that might be responsible. Who could have seen
me walking over here? Or worse—is it someone in the library with me right now? “I'm not sure.”
She frowns. “Well, we can’t think about it right now.” She rubs my back, then returns her attention to the room.
“That’s him.” Aubrey whispers, interrupting my spiraling anxiety. She’s standing at my side, champagne flute in one hand and
her phone in the other. “It looks like him, right?”
I squint, glancing from the screen back to the man she’s looking at across the room. He’s standing at the bar, hip cocked
and a whiskey tumbler in hand as he talks to who I assume is a colleague. “Maybe.”
“It is. The hair is different but look at the strong Roman nose. It’s definitely him.” She shakes her head. “Professor Matthew Ruehlman. What an asshole.” She finishes her drink and sets it on the tray of a passing waiter. “Well, go get ’em, Tiger. I’ll be here if you need me.”
“God, I wish you could go in my place. You’re such a natural at this charm thing.”
“Nah, you’re just a little rusty.” She smooths a piece of hair at my temple and then taps my cheek with one crimson-painted
nail. “You got this.”
“No, I don’t got anything,” I spit back, suddenly annoyed that I brought her at all. I know she’s here for moral support and she’s only doing
the job I asked of her, but I’m so tightly wound after the anonymous text messages I can’t think straight. “Do you think they’d
kick me out of The Society if I rescheduled?”
“Yes. Yes they would. I don’t think there are a lot of opportunities like this one. You’re only here because you’re an alum,
and it’s not like they do these cocktail parties more than once or twice a year. You committed to this; you should follow
through. Can you imagine the wrath of Kat if you didn’t?”
“No, I guess I can’t.” I square my shoulders.
“Wait!” She puts a palm on my forearm. “Take off your wedding ring.”
“Oh.” My heart falls as I realize that of course I have to take off my wedding ring. Guilt spikes through me. I’ve never taken
it off—not even in the shower. “Ok, here goes, I guess.” I slide the ring off my finger and tuck it into my bag. I shoot Aubrey
a quick smile and then head off in the direction of law professor Matthew Ruehlman.
My steps falter when the professor seems to sense me coming, his gaze shifting over the shoulder of his companion to land on mine.
One eyebrow arches with interest, and I realize then what all the glam and the fancy strapless dress were about.
My outfit does the talking before I do. I suddenly feel a surge of power course through my veins.
I’ve never been the type that commands a room, but suddenly, I can. A sense of feminine pride wells in me.
I continue in his direction, heart in my throat when I’m finally close enough to meet him. I pause at his shoulder as if I’m
lost.
“Can I get you a drink?”
I cast my eyes up to his—pools of melted dark chocolate. I nearly lose my breath as I take him in, at a loss for words in
the presence of a man like this. Jack is handsome and direct but too busy for things like charm; Matthew Ruehlman commands
attention. He has the look of a predator: unrelenting, hungry. My stomach twists in anticipation of what might happen next.
I suddenly realize why people do this—go out to the bar and meet new people and engage in hookups and one-night stands. I’m
in a world that I’ve never felt like I belong in and somehow I now . . . belong.
“Is something on your mind, beautiful?” His grin lifts at one side and my heart flutters.
“Y-yeah—I’d like a glass of whatever you’re having.”
He chuckles, eyes drifting lazily up and down my curves. I have to control my body’s involuntary reaction to him. He’s a rapist, I remind myself. His actions took a young woman’s life. I will my beating heart to still as I keep this fact in mind while Matthew Ruehlman nods at the bartender.
“Two more,” he says, before finishing his tumbler and sliding it across the polished bartop. “So what brings you here?”
“I’m an alum. Department of Finance.”
“Oh, a numbers lady. I wouldn’t have expected that. Not many of you around.”
“What would you expect?” I step into his space. I’m so close I can smell his cologne. A wave of revulsion washes through me as I think
about what this man did to Savannah. I think about Jack sitting at his oval desk in the Financial District none the wiser
that I am here, attempting to flirt with another man.
“Hmm, pre-law maybe. That’s my department. I wish I’d had you in one of my lectures—you’re a sight for sore eyes. What’s your
name?”
I falter, wondering if I should tell the truth. “You owe me a few more drinks before I give up the details.”
“Is that so?” He grins, leaning in, seemingly even more intrigued as I play hard to get. Is this what flirting is about? Never
revealing the full truth? Verbal innuendo and building mystery and tension? “Well, I guess I’m one drink closer to getting
what I want from the prettiest lady in the room.”
He passes me an old fashioned, giving me a half-smile. The ease with which he goes into seduction mode makes me want to vomit
all over him. Instead, I take the drink offered and smile demurely. This man has game, but I can play games too.
“I’m Matt Ruehlman.” He thrusts a hand out to shake mine. I accept, feeling the way his grip is purposefully firm and lasts
a few beats longer than necessary.
“Nice to meet you.” I avert my eyes from his penetrating stare. He’s making me uncomfortable, and I’d be lying if I said I
wasn’t a little turned on at the same time. I hate my body for betraying my mind. I tell myself that underneath all this charm
is a monster who takes advantage of young students.
I take another sip of my drink, feeling the bite as it goes down my throat. I’m not used to drinking like this—anything more than a glass of champagne or red wine is a lot for me.
He seems to be clued in to my discomfort. “Do you like your drink?”
“Yes—it’s fine. It’s good, I’m just not a big drinker,” I admit.
“Babe!” Aubrey barges in at that moment, swiping my drink from my hand and downing it all in one swallow. “This party is lame,
let’s go to that restaurant opening in the Meatpacking District I told you about—if we catch a cab we can make it just in
time.”
“Let me call a car—I’ll go with you.” Matthew takes a step closer to me, as if to protect his prey from a threat.
Aubrey pauses, staring him down with a cold look all her own, before shaking her head and turning back to me. “Come on—girls’ night—remember?”
I don’t reply because I don’t know what she’s up to, but I’m thankful that she’s rescuing me.
“Wait! At least give me your number.” Matthew’s palm lands on my elbow. Goosebumps erupt across my skin.
Aubrey’s eyes lock on mine before she purses her lips and rolls her green eyes, gripping my elbow to pull me along with her.
“I want to get to know you—please—” Matthew’s palm on my back stops me. “Your number.”
I force a smile and then rattle off my cell number before allowing Aubrey to drag me out of the party.
“What was that about?” I ask once we reach the cool night air.
“You’ve got to keep them on their toes. The art of seduction is all about leaving them wanting more.
Men are hunters—you have to make them work for it.
You’ve just whetted his appetite. Trust me, our job here is done,” she says as we head south on Broadway.
“Are you okay if we walk? It’s such a nice night. ”
“Sure.” I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves as we weave through the throngs of people crowding the sidewalk. “Do
you think he’ll call?”
“Without a doubt, babe. You’ve got him on a string; I could see it in his eyes.” She loops our arms at the elbow and winks
at me.
I spend the next hour walking down Broadway with Aubrey, stopping for hot dogs and lemonade at a food cart, and talking about
the pompous arrogance that overflowed at the Columbia cocktail party. My feet are numb by the time we reach our building at
Columbus Circle, but I’m grateful for the excuse to expend some of my nervous energy.
When I swing the door of my apartment open, I’m shocked to find my husband staring back at me.
“What the fuck, El?”