“Right.” Curiouser and curiouser. “Thanks anyway, Cory. Listen, could you keep looking into Dorien? I’d love to know where all the money is going.”
“Sure thing. But you’re going to have to keep me unblocked on Facebook.” Cory sounded like a hopeful puppy. I’d feel sorry for him if not for the fact I remembered what his unwanted hand felt like cupping my tits.
I sighed. “I suppose so. Bye, Cory.”
“But wait. Shouldn’t we meet up and strategize? Maybe I could take you on a date Friday night—”
I stabbed my finger on the END CALL button and flung the phone on the bed. My skin crawled.I can’t believe I just did that. I tried to steal Dorien’s money.
I can’t believe Dorien doesn’thaveany money.
I turned back to the computer. My hand hovered over the mouse. I’d steeled myself for this revenge plan. I’d justified it with the fact that Dorien was a rich bastard sitting on a big stash. His parents owned that enormous estate, after all. They were old money. They’d never run out.
But $225? Maxed-out credit cards? What was going on with Dorien? Could I really take his last penny?
Grinning, I slid my finger over the trackball, typing out the information to send every last cent of Dorien’s money to the charity.
Dorien had made it his business to learn my secrets and use them to hurt me. But it turned out the biggest Bad Boy of Baroque hid a secret of his own.
Dorien Valencourt was dirt broke.
Chapter Forty-One
Faye
I turned over this new knowledge in my head for the next few days, unsure of what to do with it. The police called to tell me they had identified a man on the security footage, and were chasing down a number of leads to identify him. The detective in charge was interested in hearing about Doctor Nelson’s discovery of the poison and my mother’s herbal teas. I gave her the name of my mother’s old assistant. If anyone could remember the name of that tea company, it would be Natalie.
Dorien hadn’t spoken to me since I got back from the hospital, but his stormy eyes followed my every movement. Unlike with Cory, it didn’t make my skin crawl but instead sent sparks of electricity through my veins. I hated myself every time I felt his gaze sweeping my body and I lapsed into a memory of his lips on mine.
I’m supposed to hate him, not want him.
And he’s not even the only one I want. There’s Titus with the eyes of fire and huge hands. I bet he knows exactly how to use them. And Ivan, who didn’t even come undone when he got caught with those drugs. What would it be like to see him lose control…
I’m sick. I should be in that hospital bed beside Mom.
Mom. Fuck, I wished I could talk to her. She’d know exactly what to do. With her successful business and wild personality, Mom had a constant string of powerful men vying for her affections. Once, she even dated a semi-famous rapper for a few months, and his paparazzi followed us to the dry cleaners. She’d know exactly how to handle Dorien and Titus and Ivan.
But she wasn’t here. I had to deal with all this on my own.
Despite Dorien’s gaze and the looks I was getting from Titus and Ivan, no one else talked to me. Heather glared at me like I’d grown a third head. Tension crackled whenever I walked into a room, and I had this creeping sense of foreboding that soon everything would boil over into a big mess.
When Dorien discovers what I’ve done…
I couldn’t face composition class with the others, so I skipped it and headed to the library to work on my final essay. I’d chosen to write about Paganini – he was this amazing violin virtuoso in the nineteenth century. Paganini had all these stage tricks he liked to play – he’d tamper with his violin strings before a performance so they’d break during the night. By the end of his performance, he’d be playing an entire caprice on one string. Some of his lost compositions were rumored to be so impossible to play that it was said Paganini made a pact with the devil in exchange for his talent. He was the original bad boy of classical music, and so obviously I adored him.
I told you I had a thing for the bad boys.
I shoved my earbuds in my ears and put on my indie rock playlist (a girl can’t live on Paganini alone). My phone beeped with a message from Doctor Nelson. She’d been amazing, updating me every day about the progress with Mom’s illness, offering to text me instead of calling in case I couldn’t handle a phone conversation.
“Hi, Faye. I suspect you’ll get a call from the police soon, as I’ve just got off the phone with them. They have good news and bad news, I’m afraid. The good news is, they caught the guy who assaulted your mother. The bad news is, he’s a homeless man who did it for cash. He doesn’t have a name or description of the person who hired him.”
I’d suspected as much, but seeing it written in black and white made my blood seethe. At first, I assumed someone from the PR world had done it – Mom made a lot of enemies when she clawed her way to the top, and I’d already given the police a long list. But when I’d made the connection between the word LEAVE and the message on my mirror, I knew who did it. I told the police that, too, but they said it would be tough to prove. They didn’t want to go after a powerful family like the Valencourts. Cowards.
I tapped my fingernails against the desk.
When I walked around the mezzanine level to collect a volume on Paganini’s life, I noticed Dorien hunched over a cubby in the corner, frowning at his laptop. He slammed it shut as I walked past, and he glanced up at me, the slash of his smirk lacked its usual venom.
“What’s wrong, Dorien?” I cooed. “Poor baby in trouble again?”
