“Thanks,” I say halfheartedly.
“You should send a sexy selfie to Jack,” she says.
“No way—he doesn't know anything about this.”
“Would he be mad?” she asks as we walk out of the salon and head north on Broadway.
“No, not at all.”
“So why not tell him?” she asks as we walk shoulder to shoulder down the busy sidewalk.
“I don’t really know how to explain that I’m going to a cocktail party in the hopes of making conversation with a rapist. Doesn’t really land well, ya know?”
“Yeah, I guess not.” We walk the remaining two blocks to campus in silence, before moving to the west in the direction of the alumni building. “This looks like it.”
We watch as elegant men and women shuffle into a glass-walled atrium that leads to the law library.
“God, this looks so fancy, is it too late to turn around?” I utter.
“Absolutely,” she laughs.
I clutch my small designer bag, gathering all the courage I have before my phone chimes to life. I pause, pulling it out of my bag looking for any excuse to delay the inevitable next few hours.
My heart stops when I glance down at the screen.
Black dress today. I like it. But green would really bring out your eyes.
Nine
Ellie
My mind is still buzzing with the second text message about the green dress as we linger at the entrance of the library. Someone is watching. Right now. Someone knows... something.
“I just got a weird text. It says they like my dress...” I glance from my phone screen to Aubrey’s concerned eyes.
Her face falls. “Who do you think it is?”
My brain is flitting back through all of the possible acquaintances I have that might be responsible. Who could have seen me walking over here? Or worse—is it someone in the library with me right now? “I'm not sure.”
She frowns. “Well, we can’t think about it right now.” She rubs my back, then returns her attention to the room.
“That’s him.” Aubrey whispers, interrupting my spiraling anxiety. She’s standing at my side, champagne flute in one hand and her phone in the other. “It looks like him, right?”
I squint, glancing from the screen back to the man she’s looking at across the room. He’s standing at the bar, hip cocked and a whiskey tumbler in hand as he talks to who I assume is a colleague. “Maybe.”
“It is. The hair is different but look at the strong Roman nose. It’s definitely him.” She shakes her head. “Professor Matthew Ruehlman. What an asshole.” She finishes her drink and sets it on the tray of a passing waiter. “Well, go get ’em, Tiger. I’ll be here if you need me.”
“God, I wish you could go in my place. You’re such a natural at this charm thing.”
“Nah, you’re just a little rusty.” She smooths a piece of hair at my temple and then taps my cheek with one crimson-painted nail. “You got this.”
“No, I don’tgotanything,” I spit back, suddenly annoyed that I brought her at all. I know she’s here for moral support and she’s only doing the job I asked of her, but I’m so tightly wound after the anonymous text messages I can’t think straight. “Do you think they’d kick me out of The Society if I rescheduled?”
“Yes. Yes they would. I don’t think there are a lot of opportunities like this one. You’re only here because you’re an alum, and it’s not like they do these cocktail parties more than once or twice a year. You committed to this; you should follow through. Can you imagine the wrath of Kat if you didn’t?”
“No, I guess I can’t.” I square my shoulders.
“Wait!” She puts a palm on my forearm. “Take off your wedding ring.”
