Another photo appears on the screen.
McCarthy:Truman says he wants a new daddy.
“Okay, we’re done here.”
“Fuck that,” Granny says. “You need this man. Worship this man. Make him all the sandwiches.”
Hannah letsme change in her apartment.
“My roommate and her boyfriend went camping. They’re either going to get engaged or break up.”
“I’d break up with any man that took me camping.”
“Even McCarthy?” Hannah has his photos up on the cracked screen of the TV, which is perched precariously on a laundry basket.
My stomach churns as I look at McCarthy’s handsome face with my dog. I chew my lip.
My friend is washing the kale in a bucket in the tiny bathroom.
“What if he’s serious?” I call.
“He’s not.”
I’m unsure.
“Is it totally outside of the realm of possibility that he is actually falling in love with me?”
“When people tell you who they are, believe them. McCarthy is telling you he’s wealthy, hot, and mentally unstable.”
“Maybe…” I chew on my lips, look at McCarthy smiling, his eyes a little crinkled from the sunlight in the photo. “Maybe he is serious?”
Hannah rushes out of the bathroom, dripping leaves of kale in hand.
“You’re not falling for him. You’re just horny,” she scolds. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re confusing resentment, anger, and disdain for real feelings. It’s because you’re addicted to drama in relationships.”
“He wants me to make him the center of my universe.”
“He’s manipulative enough to know that you’ll happily jump off that particular cliff for him.” Hannah hands me the kale leaves then puts her hands on my shoulders.
“McCarthy knows you’ll take any man who shows you any sort of affection, even if in McCarthy’s case it’s borderline psychotic. You said he’s obsessed with your exes, right? He’s probably got a whole psychological profile on you. He knows exactly what buttons to push.”
“You’re right.” I gasp. “This is beyond cruel. It’s mean and evil.”
The longer I think about it, the angrier I get.
“McCarthy doesn’t see me as a person. I’m just a cheap trinket to win, or a chess piece in a game to sacrifice.”
The charity ball is tonight.It’s now or never.
McCarthy’s not sacrificing me or my career in his unhinged games.
Gut twisting, hands clenched, I step into the dim penthouse study.
He stands there, ignoring me.
Truman is standing on his desk, barking at a bird outside the window.
“You give up already? You didn’t even last the day. I knew you’d give in to me. Not surprising.” McCarthy turns, and his gray eyes sweep down my outfit—nice and conservative to blend into the background at the charity ball.
