Chapter 12
Twelve
Ellie
“He’s the monster, Ellie—not me!”
I wake, gasping for breath as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.
“Fuck.” I push my hands through my damp hair, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm myself. Maybe Jack is right—maybe I
should try sleeping medication. How long can I really go on with these nightmares? My mind is torturing me every night, leaving
me a walking zombie all day long.
I glance across the bed to where Jack should be. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 3:33am. I pick up my phone and
start to scroll, looking for any distraction. I soon find myself doing an internet search for the name “Savannah” and “Columbia University.” Within moments I’ve found the poor girl’s obituary. While it mentions nothing specifically about Savannah’s troubles at Columbia,
it does allude to a “difficult and ongoing struggle” that ended in a “peaceful passing.”
My heart breaks as I read the words again, trying to make peace with the fact that the charismatic professor who flirted with me at the cocktail party is the same man who effectively took this young woman’s life.
My heart tightens behind my ribcage as I think of the way he came on so strong—did he say the same things to Savannah?
Or did he just take what he wanted when he had the opportunity and then discarded her when he was finished?
It occurs to me then that men like him never target women their own age—women who are confident and outspoken enough to take them on as an equal.
Men like Matthew Ruehlman look for easy victims—young and na?ve women he can overpower both physically and psychologically.
Savannah was just starting to make her mark in the world before her potential was snuffed out by a predator.
Fire burns in my belly as I think about his irresistible half-smile and imagine him leaning against her, his dominant hands
taking what was never his to take.
I then do a quick search for Professor Matthew Ruehlman at Columbia and find a treasure trove of accolades and articles. He’s
been teaching at Columbia for the better part of a decade; his staff photo is splashed across the internet, that same half-smile
and intensely dark gaze just as powerful through a screen. I blink away the memory of his hand at my elbow, begging for my
contact information. I begin to think of ways to retaliate, small comments and innuendos I can use to make him comfortable
enough with me to reveal something—anything—that might help implicate him. I suddenly wish I could spend more time with the
women in The Society, like a bad girl’s bootcamp, to help me extract what I need before this date.
By the time my search is over it’s nearly six am—time to get ready for work before I spend all day angsting over my date tonight.
And then, like he can hear my thoughts, a text message pops up on my screen from the man of the hour.
How does Chez Daniel at 8pm tonight sound? Hope you don’t mind the East Side.
I smile, texting Matt back quickly that the location sounds perfect. I even tell him I’m excited to see him and add a few
exclamation points for good measure.
He replies instantly that he’s excited to see me too and that he’s going to spend the next 14 hours trying not to think of
my pretty smile. Always so charming, as if men like him can’t turn it off. I toss my phone on the bed and then get ready for
the day. I don’t plan to answer his last text—letting him hang is the best option. I’m slowly learning how to play the game,
thanks to Aubrey: whet the appetite and leave them wanting more.
I smile as I get ready for work, thinking how nice it is to have plans for later. Even if my date is a criminal, at least
he’s an alluring one. After I’m finished washing my face and getting dressed, I add a swipe of red lipstick and smile in the
mirror. I feel like a femme fatale, and maybe I am. Maybe it’s just the kind of distraction I need right now.
Matthew Ruehlman is in for a surprise tonight, and maybe I am too.
By the time I walk into Chez Daniel on East 65th that evening, my feet are hurting and my eyes are aching with exhaustion from staring at a screen all day.
I force a smile as the waiter informs me my companion has already arrived and requested a private table in the corner.
My smile widens when I reach Matthew. He stands, placing a hand at my elbow and murmuring in my ear how beautiful I look tonight.
I thank him for his thoughtfulness as I smooth the shiny black body-hugging dress over my hips.
The box from Bergdorf’s arrived at my office this afternoon, and I nearly choked on my own tongue when I realized how little it leaves to the imagination.
Every dip and curve of my body is revealed, but then, I suppose that’s the point.
To whet Professor Matthew Ruehlman’s appetite without ever uttering a word.
“So how was your day?” he asks as we settle into the corner booth, side by side.
“It was great, outside of the nerves that kept me distracted all day.”
“Oh?” He grins and slides closer. “Nerves about what?”
“This moment. Seeing you. You’re quite distracting.”
“Is that so?” He gives me that half-smile I’ve come to both love and hate.
“It is.” I don’t say anything else. I’m trying to play demure, like a na?ve little girl he can easily control—as if his powers
of seduction are already melting my defenses. My plan is to say little, smile often, and let my body language do the talking
for me. I’m no expert at this, but I do know that the art of seduction requires mystery and illusion, and it’s a game I’m
more than happy to play if it means taking everything from this man and leaving him jobless and destitute. Justice isn’t pretty,
but I know my role, and while I did spend all day fighting my nerves in anticipation of this moment, it wasn’t because I’ve
succumbed to his charms, it’s because I have a lot to accomplish tonight. Taking down a powerful man won’t be easy, but nothing
worth doing is, and it will be all the more satisfying when his life unravels before his eyes.
Professor Matthew Ruehlman has no idea what’s about to hit him. He may think himself a clever Casanova, but I’m the black
widow waiting in the wings.