Page 5 of The Roommate Subtext

Chauvel took it. His hand was smooth and dry in hers, but the touch made her shiver. “Deal.”

She already wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice.

Doubt lingered as she rode the elevator back down to the lobby to collect her cell phone and return her credentials. Outside, though, with the fresh air streaming into her lungs and the familiar sounds of the city all around, the uncertainty faded. She had done what she had to do. She’d talk to her financial team, of course, and run the contract by Wiggins, her family’s lawyer, before she signed anything. But if Chauvel was telling the truth, and there really was a forensic accountant investigating her family’s business history, she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t sitting on the cusp of financial ruin. She needed all the help she could get. Seventy-five hundred dollars was a lot of money for one story, especially if it was only a story. If she could keep their assets unfrozen, she could protect Cora from all of it until the case was resolved.

She checked her voicemail as she walked toward the park. James sounded a touch more high-strung than usual. “Hey, Maggie, hope you’re well. I’ve had some unusual inquiries around your estate lately, love to check in with you. Probably nothing to worry about. I’ll be at the office until about seven. Call me back.”

By the time she got off the phone with James a half hour later, she needed a drink. For a brief moment, she thought about asking Blake, her roommate, to join her. Was that weird? They knew each other, at least somewhat, but their friendship hadn’t progressed to anything outside the apartment yet.

She wasn’t ready for that.

Maggie had a group text with a couple of friends and she scanned through the recent messages, wincing when she had to keep scrolling to get to her last reply. Phoebe, Laura, and Izzy had been carrying on the conversation without her, as always, and she hadn’t commented in days. Moments like this, it was easy to make up whole stories about her own likability (or lack thereof), and she was trying to stop sabotaging herself. Before she could overthink it, she sent a message.

Anybody want to get drinks or dinner this evening? She added, Sorry I’ve been a ghost.

The silence stretched out. One by one, her messages showed up as read.

Izzy was first. No worries! Can’t go tonight, though—but let’s do drinks soon! The exclamation marks felt comforting, not forced. That’s just how Izzy was.

Balls-deep in HW tonight, Laura replied. Sorry—I would go.

Laura was back in school trying to get her doctorate, which Maggie understood. Soon, then. Disappointment settled gently on her shoulders.

Finally, a reply from Phoebe. I’m in! Miss your face. She sent a kiss emoji.

Maggie smiled. Out of the group, Phoebe was her closest friend, and she would be a good sounding board for all of this.

“And I told her, if she ever called me again on my personal line outside of work hours, I’d escalate it to HR.” Phoebe downed the last of her champagne as she finished her story. “Things have been fine since.”

“Yikes, though.” Maggie leaned back in her chair and idly swirled her champagne flute. She had had more to drink than usual, but it was nice to catch up with a friend, and she let herself get a little loose in the emotional aftermath of her day. Phoebe wore a black dress suit from work, and now that she was a few drinks in, she’d untucked her silk blouse and loosened an extra button, a few strands of her dark hair escaping from its low ponytail. While Maggie didn’t miss the drama of working in an actual office, she did miss some of the social connections. Having dinner with Phoebe was a nice reminder to prioritize human contact.

Aside from Blake, who she saw every day.

“Now, tell me about Arnold Chauvel.” Phoebe rested her chin on her hand and leaned across the table. “What does he want you to do? Do you have to gather a sheaf of human skin?”

Maggie laughed and shuddered. “Gross. Gross! He’s creepy but not ‘make a lamp out of you’ creepy. He’s rich guy creepy.”

Phoebe’s face said she was unconvinced. “What’s he want?”

“He wants to pay me a shitload of money to write an exposé on some online Dom.”

Phoebe’s eyebrows flew up. “What?”

Maggie explained about the Pimpernel and Chauvel’s rationale for the article.

“He wants you to write, like, a hit piece?” Phoebe was still frowning. “That doesn’t seem like your brand. The money must be really good.”

“It is.” Maggie played with the edge of the tablecloth, embarrassed about revealing the whole story, even though she wanted Phoebe’s opinion. “But there’s more.” Haltingly, she told Phoebe about the suspected fraud, the forensic accountant, the possibility of money being frozen. “I talked to my finance manager this afternoon and he confirmed that he’d been in contact with a federal investigator, and he expects a subpoena of all our records.”

Phoebe let out a low whistle. “Do you think he’s been cooking the books?”

That surprised a laugh out of Maggie. “Cooking the books? Have you been listening to those Mafia podcasts again?”

“I don’t know what they call it!” Phoebe waved her hand. “I mean, is this guy to blame?”

“James? No, James is a good guy. I hired him after my parents died. Their original business manager retired to the Caymans or something.” As soon as Maggie said it out loud, she winced. “Shit, that sounds bad.”

Phoebe nodded. “That sounds bad.”