Chapter 11
Eleven
Aubrey
“So Jack looked . . . upset the other night when we came home,” I say, trying to tread lightly.
“To say the least,” Ellie replies, as she swipes on her phone.
“Are you guys okay?” I ask.
“We’re just going through a rough time,” Ellie says, attention still distracted by her phone.
“Do you think he’s the one?” I ask the question that’s been on my mind for a while now.
“The one?” she laughs, then shrugs. “Is anyone? I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if I’m meant to be married at all.”
“Really?” I’ve been curious about the same thing about both Ellie and Jack based on some comments Jack has made, but I’m not
about to say it.
“Oh my gosh!” Ellie’s dark eyes turn on me. “The Columbia prof just texted me!”
“Really?” I’m instantly dialed into her.
“Yep.” Ellie’s eyes dart across her screen. “He wants to go out Thursday night.”
“Are you going to?” I glance over Ellie’s shoulder in an effort to read the text.
“Yeah. I mean, I have to, right?” Ellie frowns.
“I guess if you’re going to be a part of The Society you do.”
She nods, working her lips back and forth nervously. “What should I say?”
“That you’re looking forward to it would be a good start.” I chuckle.
Ellie’s fingers move swiftly across the screen before I watch her hit send on the text reply. “There.” She smiles over at
me. “I feel like a brand-new woman—I kind of like the challenge of getting this guy to trust me enough to bring him to justice.”
I laugh. “We’ve only known each other a few months but I see a sparkle in your eyes that wasn’t there before. You’ve turned
over a new leaf and it looks good on you.”
“Why thanks.” Ellie’s still smiling and I can’t help but smile along with her. “Now, what am I going to wear?”
“You can borrow something of mine,” I offer quickly.
“I might have to—my wardrobe is so boring compared to yours.”
“Maybe The Society will send you something again,” I say.
“Yeah . . . do you think I should tell them?” Ellie asks, setting her phone down on the kitchen counter and pursing her lips
in thought.
“Probably,” I reply.
“Okay, I’ll send them an email.” She picks up her phone again, navigating to her email app, when a new notification pops up.
“Is that him? He’s eager,” I say.
Her smile flickers to a frown. “It’s Kat . . . or someone at The Society,” she says, opening the new message.
Sending something from Bergdorf’s for you to wear to your next meeting with Matthew. Do whatever it takes to gather information from the target. Play to his baser instincts if you must. Report back immediately.
“Wow, they’re treating this assignment like a military mission.” I glance over Ellie’s shoulder and scan the text. It’s from
an anonymous number. Convenient.
“Yeah . . .” she frowns.
I only shrug. “Has your stalker been in touch lately?”
Ellie sets her phone back on the counter and turns to me. “Nope. Maybe it was a wrong number.”
“They mentioned the dress you were wearing at the Columbia cocktail party,” I remind her.
“Right.” A scowl twists Ellie’s face before she turns to the fridge and pulls out an opened bottle of wine. “Well, maybe it
was just a cruel joke. Hopefully it’s all over now. And if it’s not, I’ll change my number I guess. Want some pinot?”
“You read my mind,” I grin, pulling two glasses down from the wine rack that hangs above the kitchen counter. “All of your
drama gives me whiplash. Fill me up.”
“Same, girl. Same.” Ellie grins, uncorking the bottle and pouring generously.
“Did you tell Jack about the stalker messages?” I ask, then lift my glass to hers for a cheers.
“And give him something else to nag me about? No way.” We toast and then take our first sips of the chilled wine.