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“Emelia, how are you?” he asks.
My smile is genuine for the first time all week.
“I’m okay. Busy with work.”
“That makes two of us. Are they giving you enough time off over there? You know I could talk to your boss…”
I don’t want to be reminded of Professor Barclay. I’m reminded of him enough as it is.
“No, it’s fine. I leave the office by six most days, it’s really not bad.”
“Good. Well, I’m calling because I’m having a small dinner party tomorrow, and I’d love for you to come. I know it’s last minute. I just threw it together, but if you’re free, it’d be a good way for you to meet some of my friends, away from the public eye, and Emmett will be there as well.”
He throws in that last detail like it’s an afterthought, but my heart races at the possibility of meeting Emmett.
I don’t hesitate. “Of course. Yes!”
There’s a smile in his voice when he replies, “Good. I’ll have a driver come get you. Are you living near the Banks and Barclay offices?”
I don’t think it’s necessary for Alexander to know the state of where I’m currently living. “Umm…you know what? No need. I can get there easily enough on my own. Just send me the address and the details for the dinner.”
“Okay. I’ll text you after we hang up. Let me know if you change your mind about the driver.”
“I will. See you tomorrow.”
I hang up and feel exhilarated until the elevator doors open, drawing my attention to a gorgeous blonde woman stepping out with Professor Barclay’s secretary, Candace.
It takes me half a second to recognize the mystery blonde in person. She’s one of those rare people who looks just like she does in photographs, maybe evenbetter. She’s laughing and chatting with Candace as they walk past, and suddenly I’m so sick I can barely breathe. I stand frozen in shock as they pass me by, heading straight toward Professor Barclay’s office at the end of the hall.
I overhear Candace say her name.
Miranda.
Mystery solved.
Everything about her is catalogued in my mind as swiftly as a blow from an axe. Designer dress, immaculate hair, delicate jewelry—she’s a walking embodiment of the kind of woman Professor Barclay could andshouldbe with. My TJ Maxx dress feels ridiculously silly by comparison. My nude heels seem to have twice as many scuff marks as they did only a moment ago. I think of the extra care and attention I’ve been giving my hair and makeup this week, and then I think of Professor Barclay behind closed doors all the while, phoning Miranda, speaking dirty words and charming words and loving words to her, and I’m in the bathroom before I know it, hunched over the toilet, ridding myself of my late lunch salad.
“Emelia? Are you okay?” Meera asks from the other side of the stall door.
Embarrassed, I flush and grab a wad of toilet paper to wipe my mouth. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“Can I get you some water or something?”
“No, no. I’m better now, I promise. I think I just had a bad lunch.”
“Are you sure?”
I don’t reply.
She sighs. “Listen, why don’t I go get your stuff for you? It’s almost quitting time anyway. Lewis will understand.”
I hate to duck out early, but she’s right; it’s already four. Most people will be leaving in the next hour anyway, and it’s better like this.
She gathers my things as I rinse my mouth and wash my hands in the sink, carefully avoiding my reflection in the mirror. Then I leave the building without ever having to go back to my desk and see for myself whether Miranda went into Professor Barclay’s office and locked the door behind her. Sure, I imagine it. Of course I imagine it, wounding myself deeper and deeper with each terrible scenario.
Are they still together?
Have they been together this whole time?
