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Hell, I sounded belligerent and desperate—and I hated it. I wanted to mean something to someone who only valued money and information as a form of currency. Sure, I had a quasi-relationship with the don of the New York Mafia, but that wouldn’t get me anywhere with the leader of the Irish mob.
Because I knew nothing about Don Luca, apart from his love of billiards and his sadistic streak. He’d murdered his own daughter, but I didn’t have any proof. I wasn’t even sure where the man lived. I had no way to pin him down. And it was wreaking havoc on my nerves.
I had no business being in this world. I was a shy schoolgirl who was better at shoving her nose in a book than up someone’s ass. I dealt in CliffsNotes and excavated lives, not underground armies and sliced throats. I’d never felt more out of place than I did now.
My phone dinged with a text from Jamie. It was a QR code, followed by a short message telling me to wear a swimsuit. I bit the inside of my cheek, the forced air in the locker room shifting my ponytail. If Jack didn’t want me to be a part of his world, why was I attempting to force my way in?
I quirked my lips upward, thinking of how Jack responded to Jamie that night in the steakhouse. He wants to jump your bones. Whether Jamie was attracted to me didn’t matter, but Jack’s reaction to him did.
Damn it, I knew I was being a brat, but I couldn’t help myself. After weeks spent waiting for the other shoe to drop, I wanted to let loose, to stage my own quiet rebellion. I would go to this stupid pool party and I would meet with Jamie, if only for a minute.
Besides, Jack would be too distracted to notice my absence.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma
“Holy shit, I can’t believe you came!”
It was hard to hear much over the music, but I could make out Jamie’s voice, seeing as he was yelling right in my ear.
The roof of Syndicate Tower was, indeed, a sight to behold. The pool itself was small and intimate but filled to the brim with bodies trying to beat the heat. Cream-colored loungers and cabanas dotted the edge of the terrace. Atop a glass stage, a reputable DJ was blasting a popular hip-hop song and there were two fully stocked bars, one of which was submerged in the water. People queued in front of the DJ and the bartenders, requesting drinks and tracks.
“Yeah, I’m, um…” I trailed off, thankful that I didn’t have to finish the sentence when another girl spoke up. Jamie was still waiting for me to continue talking, but I kept my gaze focused on the woman.
She was Latina and curvy as sin, her breasts on the verge of spilling from her turquoise top. I didn’t understand why Jamie wasn’t staring at her, like the three other men in our posse. I didn’t recognize her, but I assumed she was the same major as me by what spilled out of her mouth.
“How can we not talk about agricultural erosion when Callahan mentions Karahantepe?”
The small group surrounding the glass table erupted in laughter, but I was elsewhere. Graphic memories hijacked my brain at the mention of dear old Professor Callahan—namely, being pinned to his desk with Jack thrusting between my legs.
Jamie placed his hand at the small of my back. “You okay?”
I flinched at the foreign contact. His hands were too soft. They hadn’t known an honest day’s work in his life. I rubbed my thumbs across my own silky palms. Just like mine.
“Yeah, good,” I replied, giving him a friendly smile. Friendly being the operative word here. I hated to admit that Jack had been right about him. He wanted to be more than just classmates. I began to wonder if one of the reasons Jamie had let me borrow his notes last year was so I’d feel obligated to return a favor.
Jamie’s desires were written, clear as day, on his boyish face—the way his eyes had feasted on me when I first approached the group. I was scantily clad in a pale pink bikini, a chemise wrap and white espadrilles. In the mirror in my apartment, I had looked fantastic. Standing among seventy of my peers and partygoers, I was self-conscious. How was it I could strip for a room full of men, but a pool party made me feel exposed? Maybe I didn’t belong here, after all.
“Did you guys hear about Emily Schaffer?” A guy in board shorts and a Ralph Lauren polo looked around the group, grinning with excitement. “She got a transfer to Dartmouth after her dig in Venezuela, but everyone knows it’s because she’s fucking Professor Blanch.”
Ah, hell. I blanched while taking a reluctant sip of my Long Island Iced Tea. No, that wasn’t enough. I tilted the glass and poured the rest down my throat, setting it on the table. No one noticed, apart from Jamie, who signaled to one of the waitresses that I needed another.
He was trying to get me drunk, but I couldn’t care less. I wanted to be drunk for this conversation. Gossip and upper-class Ivy League bullshit. Would this be my life if I’d never met Jack? No, I’d still be with Nate. And he wouldn’t have been caught dead at a party like this. A shiver ran down my spine.
Poor choice of words, Em.
Jamie slipped another chilled highball into my hand. I nursed it, pondering my predicament. Coming here had been a terrible decision. But if I felt out of place everywhere I went, where did I belong?
“Emma?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, my cheeks warm. I’d zoned out, watching the condensation on my empty glass drip onto the table. It pooled there, creating a ring before I lifted it to my lips and chomped on a piece of ice.
“You all right?” Jamie asked, concerned. He was handsome, I supposed. In a well-groomed, proprietary way—with white teeth and light eyes. His coiffed hairdo was made to look like he didn’t give a shit, but he did. He most definitely did.
Five pairs of eyes were on me. I widened my grin to compensate for the awkwardness. “Sorry, I just got off a long shift,” I lied.
“You work at that swanky place on the Upper East Side, right?” the beautiful Latina woman asked.
