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Hanna’s insides melted. “I used to be a loser, too,” she whispered. “I used to be so ugly I couldn’t stand to look at myself in the mirror.”
Patrick cupped her face with his hands. “I doubt you were ever ugly.”
Then, he leaned forward and kissed her. Hanna leaned in, too, giddy with anticipation. But as their lips touched, something felt . . . wrong. The kiss was slimy and frantic. Patrick tasted like wheatgrass, and his hands felt like heavy paws on her body, not gentle and sweet like Mike’s had always been. As he eased her down on the couch, an image of Mike flashed in Hanna’s mind, and she felt a twinge of longing.
She pushed against Patrick’s chest. “Uh, can we look through the shots right now? I’m dying to see your work.”
Patrick chuckled lightly. “Let’s worry about that later,” he said, then buried his face in Hanna’s neck.
A sour feeling welled in Hanna’s stomach. Patrick’s weight pinned her on the couch. “But we can do this later too, right?” she said, still trying to sound light and carefree. “Please can I see the photos? Please?”
Patrick continued to grope her. All at once, Hanna noticed how his lips made smacking noises. His hair looked oily, and there was a smattering of dandruff on his shoulders. A horrible thought struck her: What if Mike was right about him?
She shot off the couch. “Patrick, I want my photos. Now.”
Patrick leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. With a cruel sneer of his lip, he instantly transformed from a lovestruck photographer into something far more sinister. “So you’re nothing but a tease, huh?”
Hanna blinked hard. “I just think we should keep things professional. You asked me to come over to look at my photos. I thought you were going to send them out today.”
“Come on, Hanna.” Patrick rolled his eyes. “Are you really that naïve?”
In a sweeping motion, he leaned down and pulled out a large manila envelope from under the couch. He undid the string fastener and revealed six glossy photos of Hanna. They weren’t the shots of her at the Liberty Bell or City Hall, though, but six almost-identical photos of her at his studio. The wind was in her hair, there was a slutty expression on her face, and her dress had fallen down her chest to reveal most of her lacy, strapless bra.
They weren’t like the provocative, half-naked Annie Leibovitz Vanity Fair photos, either. The lighting was brassy. Certain parts of Hanna were out of focus, and the composition wasn’t artful at all. It looked like bad p**n .
Hanna flinched, suddenly light-headed. “What are these? Where are the others? The good ones?”
“The others don’t matter.” Patrick’s smile grew broader and broader. “These are the gold mine. To me, anyway.”
Hanna backed away, her heart sinking. “W-what do you mean?”
“C’mon, Hanna. Do I really have to spell it out for you? What would Daddy do if he saw these? If his competitor saw these? I have friends in high places. This would make a top story on TMZ. And then . . . poof!” Patrick snapped his fingers. “Bye-bye, Senate campaign!”
Hanna’s body felt swelteringly hot, then frigidly cold. “You wouldn’t!”
“I wouldn’t? You don’t even know me, Hanna.”
Hanna wilted against the island, her hopes and dreams leaking out of her like a punctured balloon. Everything he’d said, all his kind praise, had been a ruse. “Please don’t show those to anyone. I’ll do anything.”
Patrick placed his finger on his chin and cast his eyes to the ceiling, like he was pretending to think. “I won’t if you come up with ten thousand dollars by the end of this weekend. How about that?”
Hanna’s jaw dropped. “I don’t have that kind of money!”
“Of course you do, rich girl.” Patrick’s eyes gleamed. “You just have to be creative about where to look. I want it in cash in a manila envelope. Give it to a guy named Pete who works at the flower stand at Thirtieth Street Station. If you don’t, you’ll be link of the week. Daddy’s little assistant will have to work very hard removing this from the Internet. And I doubt the public will trust a man whose teenage daughter takes off her top for strangers.”
Hanna stared at him. Her gaze fell to the photos again. Suddenly, the whole scenario was hideously clear to her. “Y-you’re not even a real photographer, are you? You don’t have connections in New York. You just said that to set me up! You lied!”
Patrick laughed and held up his palms. “You got me.” Then he lowered his face to Hanna’s. “I guess you’re not the only one who’s good at lying, Ms. Marin.”
Hanna didn’t wait to hear another word. She backed away and ran out the door, slamming it hard. The building seemed even more derelict than it had twenty minutes ago. The couple was still arguing downstairs. The tin ceiling looked like it was about to collapse. Four floors down, Hanna thought she heard the faintest giggle yet again, like someone had heard everything.
“That’s it,” Hanna screamed. Whoever this bitch A was, Hanna was going to tackle him or her to the ground and tell them to shut the hell up. She raced to the bottom of the stairs, her arms pumping hard, her fingers barely grazing the dilapidated railing.
But once she reached the lobby, it was empty. The front door swung on its hinges, the only indication that someone had just been there. A had gotten away again.
Chapter 20
Nothing like that fresh mountain air
The Kahns’ Range Rover, equipped with snow chains and a heavy-duty ski rack, rolled into the circular driveway of the Whippoorwill Lodge on Lenape Mountain. Bellhops and valets in heavy padded jackets rushed to the car and began to remove their baggage from the back. Noel and his two older brothers, Eric and Christopher, jumped out and stretched their legs. Aria followed, nearly wiping out on the icy asphalt. Hello, hadn’t the bellhops ever heard of salt?
