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Now, I need to prepare for this undercover work. The last thing I’m going to do is let my club down.
TWO
Rebellion
“Are you seriously breaking up with me?”
I stare at James from across the table. He’s brought me to Horizon House, one of the nicest restaurants in Atlanta. I assumed it was for a late Valentine’s Day celebration because he was too busy with work on the fourteenth to do anything together.
Or so he said.
At the time, I believed him.
Now I think it might have been a lie.
“The thing is,” James says, pulling his napkin off his lap and wiping his mouth, “I’m finally starting to get somewhere with my career. Just yesterday, my supervisor came in to talk to me about taking on more responsibilities, maybe even moving up in the firm.”
He looks at me expectantly as if this is supposed to explain something.
“Are you saying that you don’t have time for me because of your work?”
A pained expression crosses his face, and his mouth twists. “It’s not that, exactly.” He glances around as if someone else in the restaurant might have the words he needs to explain himself. “Look, I’ll be honest with you.”
I’m beginning to think that might be a first.
“It’s more that you just don’t fit in with my image. I mean, you’re definitely beautiful enough.” He says that like it should make me feel better. “But it really doesn’t matter how I dress you up. You’re still just not . . . well,refinedenough for my goals.”
He gestures at the Dolce & Gabbana dress I’ve worn today—the one I scrimped and saved to buy at the Nordstrom outlet store so I would have something nice to wear to my art school interview.
When he first started talking, my stomach clenched, and I had to blink back tears.
But as his words sink in, the sadness I feel congeals in my chest, turning into something much colder and harder.
“You’re breaking up with me because I don’t fit yourimage?” I speak carefully, precisely, making sure I understand exactly what he’s saying to me before I do something rash.
James’s expression turns to relief, and he leans back in his chair, his suit jacket falling open. “Yes, that’s it exactly. I’m so glad you understand.”
I tilt my head to one side and stare at him for a long, silent moment. “Oh, I understand all right.” I pull my own napkin off my lap, wipe my mouth, fold the napkin, and place it carefully beside my plate of half-eaten lobster risotto. I stand, lift my water glass, and take a sip.
James is blinking at me, confused. “Aren’t you going to finish lunch?”
I feel my nostrils flare, and my jaw tightens. “I think I am finished,” I grit out. “I’m leaving now.”
James shakes his head as if he’s disappointed. “I really thought we could be mature adults about this.”
Mature adult. I’m pretty sure that’s code fordon’t make a scene. That’s why he’s brought me to the fancy restaurant, I realize, not as a treat but as a safety measure.
He thinks I won’t cause a scene here.
He really hasn’t figured out who I am.
I lean forward, halfway across the table. “What I understand is this. You, James Delmonico, are a total ass.” I stand straight and tall and toss the remaining contents of my water glass straight into his face.
A quiet gasp goes up among the diners near us, but I ignore them.
James is still spluttering as I spin on my three-inch Louboutin heels—second-hand, of course—and stalk out of the restaurant.
By the time I get to my car, my hands are shaking, but I don’t regret what I’ve done.
