8. Hailey
“It’s been two weeks since the donation heard ’round the world, and you still don’t know the identity of the mystery philanthropist?” Nat asks without opening an eye.
“Two weeks and one day,” I counter, shoving from the gloriously steamy water with fully disengaged muscles and a fuzzy head. “And no. Though, it’s not from lack of trying.” I’d circuitously questioned every acquaintance and years-long client with a healthy bank account and a giving heart.
“Where do you think you’re going?” My aunt still hasn’t moved a muscle from the stone recliner she’s draped across in the hot bath.
“I’m going to get dressed and head to the residence.” I don’t bother looking for a clock in the spa. I won’t find one. My raisin-like fingertips are all the evidence I need to know it’s time to go. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll miss dinner. They start serving at five, and Daniel is expecting me.”
“Daniel?” That widens her eyelids and turns her head. Her smile is Cheshire-ish. “Who’s Daniel?”
“Don’t get excited. He’s married and has been for the last three decades to a lovely woman named Emily.” Her smile dies. “They’re very happy together.” It doesn’t revive her grin.
“Then why do we care about Daniel?”
“He’s the director of the residence and my only link to finding out who donated that money.”
“Fine.” She gives a dramatic sigh and peels herself off the rock lounge. “Next time, we’re volunteering and then going to the spa. We did this so backward.”
Only because she was hoping I’d forgo this next part. Perhaps I would have if I focused on Matt’s absence. Curiosity about this million dollars and where it came from has kept my mind busy for days. I have many wealthy clients, but none are so generous or invested in my charity cases. Getting them to attend my annual domestic violence fundraiser is a feat unto itself.
If I’m focused on this mystery, I won’t have to face my newest loss. And I can continue ignoring the old ones.
We head to the dressing room and pull our pampered selves back together.
Astor says I’m obsessed because it’s a distraction, safe from the emotions of losing Matt. She’s right, obviously. I don’t care. She’s obsessed too, texting me about it practically nonstop. It’s a nice distraction, a fun mystery. Better than Crave, in her eyes.
I’ve been itching to go back, but I’m about to start pushing Mr. Judge in therapy, and I’d feel like a farce of a therapist not to stretch my discomfort as he’ll soon have to. Unless he leaves.
Nat and I bid the staff farewell, climb into the Town Car, and head for the Queens Midtown Tunnel.
“Traffic sucks.” Nat huffs.
“It’s two o’clock traffic.” I wave her off and pull my laptop from my bag to catch up on notes I’ve neglected for too long. “Just wait until we head back.”
“Did I mention I hate going to Long Island?”
“Once or twice.” I open my computer.
Nat huffs again.
“What?” I input my passcode.
“You’re working? It’s Saturday.”
“It’s going to take us an hour and a half minimum to get there.” I grin at her. “Would you rather I spend my time examining your current relationship?”
“Not a chance.” She flicks a dainty hand in my direction as though brushing me off. “Work away.”
“I mean, you have seen each other every month for the past four months.” I look at her through my newly stained and curled lashes.
“Five,” she corrects.
“Should I be excited for a new uncle?”
Her cheeks blush. I know it’s not just the manual exfoliation and light chemical peel she had done.
“What’s that look?”
Again, she waves me away, but I’m keyed in. I’m a shark, and I smell blood. My head cocks and brow hikes.
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing doesn’t make you rub your sweaty palms on your wool trousers and blush like a virgin at seeing her first penis. Spill.”
Her pretty mouth opens and closes several times. “Laurent asked me if I would consider moving in with him.”
“In with him…in his house here?” I can’t help the way my voice goes up on the last word. A juvenile panic razzes the edge of my chest. I know the answer already. Nat wouldn’t hesitate to move into his apartment here. She’s lived with several men through the years. All in Manhattan's Upper East Side.
“In his family’s vineyard in the South of France.”
That’s what I figured. A little worse really. It’s more than a long plane ride. It’s a plane and a train and a car ride away from me.
My throat closes up. It’s all for the best. I don’t need to say any of the things I’m thinking. She doesn’t need to deal with my hang-ups any more than she already does.
Don’t leave me.
What would I do without you?
How could you even consider it?
Nat scoots closer until her thigh touches mine. She wraps an arm around me and pulls me to her. “I told him I wouldn’t consider leaving you.”
I lay my head on her shoulder and shove my face against her neck. Guilty relief washes through me. After several minutes like that, I can finally speak.
“You should be able to.” My words are thin and reedy, not unlike Mr. Judge’s. “I’m a thirty-two-year-old woman with a flourishing business. I shouldn’t need you to stay here for me.”
“My love.” She kisses my forehead and rests her cheek on it. “Who said you’re the one who needs me? Clearly, I need you. Codependency.” She shrugs.
I laugh to keep from crying.
“What?” She eases back and looks down at me.
“We’re not codependent. Codependent relationships are earmarked by their one-sided, emotionally destructive, and abusive tendencies.” I finally sit up.
“Oh. Then what are we?”
“I might call you my emotional crutch.” I give a pitiful smirk.
“Then I’ll call you mine.” She winks and bops my nose like she did when I was a little girl with pigtails and buck teeth and not a care in the world.
She pulls the calendar up on my phone and helps me straighten my schedule for the next month. The dreaded holiday month. Well, the first of two. Before we know it, we’re at the residence house, and I’m knocking on Daniel’s office door.
“Come in.” His voice is deep and commanding.
“Oh.” Nat drags out the word with a wicked smile.
“Married,” I remind her as I push inside.
The moment his gaze lands on me, his hands go up. It’s a sign of surrender, but he’s not surrendering. He’s asking me to. “I’ve told you a hundred times in the past week?—”
“Twenty, if that many.” I plop myself into the chair opposite his desk, and Nat does the same next to me, only much more gracefully.
“It feels like a thousand,” he says, eyeing my hot aunt.
“How about a million?” I offer a friendly glare, making him sweat that I might be crazy enough to ask that many times. After all, I’m good with crazy.
Reluctantly, he pulls his gaze from Nat and glares right back at me. “I can’t tell you.”
I tilt my head. “But you know?”
“I don’t know who,” he amends. “All I know is what they put into the database, which is Matt’s name as the honoree and your name as the donor.” He stalls a little at the end.
“And?” I press.
“And… the account number and the name of the bank it transferred from?” His long beard threatens to hit his desk. It pairs nicely with his long hair pulled back in a ponytail. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. “I can’t tell you that information.”
“The donation came from me. Are you telling me I can’t know my account number?” I try.
“If it’s your account number, you’d know it already. Besides, you already said it wasn’t from you.” His gaze slides back to my aunt.
I pivot. “What if it’s from my stalker?”
“Do you have one?” he says, not bothering to look at me.
No.
“I don’t know. But I could find out if you’d tell me what I want to know.” I sit forward. Still, he doesn’t look at me. I’m tempted to remind him that he’s married.
“Where do I know you from?” Daniel asks my aunt.
She smiles a kind smile. The woman loves to get recognized. “ Vogue ? Vanity Fair ? Fashion Week? A guest judge on America’s Next Top Model ?”
He slaps his desk and points at her. “ Maxim . Fire over fifty.” His gaze slides to me, then back to her, and the color blanches from his face. He’s put two and two together, and it equals ejaculation. He saw my aunt in Maxim. He probably jerked off to her pictures. He probably thinks she’s my mother.
Almost as soon as he blanches, his cheeks go beet red. It’s a sight to behold, watching such a burly man blush.
He clears his throat and sits straight. “Are you going to head to the mess hall or interrogate me all night?” His cheeks flush anew. “That didn’t…” He scrunches his lips together. “Please.” He gestures toward the door. “Go."
I stand irritated but also entertained. Nat scurries away without a parting shot, but I can’t help myself. At the door, I stop and look back over my shoulder. “I’m sure you can find the pics online still. Want me to lock and close the door for you on my way out?”
His groan is deep as he buries his face in his hands.
Between screwing with him and saying hello to familiar faces, the night serving hundreds of meals to men and women who gave so much more is enough to take the usual edge off. For a while.