Aspen’s shoulders visibly relax, until the song starts again. She turns to me. “Why is it playing again?”
“I like to listen to the same song on repeat.”
“No, you don’t,” she says.
“How would you know?”
“You never did.”
“People change.”People like you and me. “Or maybe you didn’t know me as well as you thought.”Just like I never knewyouthat well. I still don’t.
I can feel her gaze on my cheek. Finally, she lets out a resigned sigh. “You’re right.” For some reason, her agreement sounds like she’s saying, “You weren’t the person I thought.”
I unclench then clench my hand around the steering wheel. “You have no right to say that.”
“Say what? That you’re right?”
“I was an open book with you. What you saw was what you got.”
“Oh, right. I’m sure the CIA thinks the same when they show you those documents with ninety percent of the content blacked out.”
“I didn’t hide anything from you.”
“No, of course not. If you had, I never would have figured everything out.”
Figured everything out?“What the hell does that mean?”
Aspen doesn’t elaborate.
“Aspen—”
“You need to go into that garage over there.” She points at a building to the right, behind Lola’s place. “Lola said there’s some construction that’s blocking the parking lot in front of her boutique.”
There is indeed some work going on that’s blocking the entrance to the lot. It’s obnoxiously loud, and I can see why Lola offered to send things when Aspen called. I want to continue the conversation, but there’s no reason Aspen should have to walk all the way from the garage. We can talk later, on our way back to the office.
I pull over. “Go inside and wait for me.” She gets out, and I go and park, then make my way to Lola’s boutique.
I’ve only come here once or twice before, for urgent purchases, but Lola should have something Aspen can take. I’ll buy her two purses. Griffin’s mom said every woman needs at least two, although ideally she’d have a purse to go with every outfit. But she’s a model, and Aspen’s not. Two should be plenty—
But wait.If I buy her two, she’ll be able to auction one off like the other things I gave her.
Just one, then.
I step into Lola’s boutique, into the elegant Mozart and a pleasant wood and floral scent over shining marble and glittering mirrors.
“I’m so sorry, but we don’t allow loitering,” comes Lola’s voice. Underneath the polished politeness is a hint of who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are mockery.
I walk into the main section of the lobby. Aspen’s standing there, her face bright red. A couple of Lola’s people stand in the corner, watching and whispering. They sweep their eyes over Aspen’s length, judging and pricing everything on her, even her haircut—assuming she’s cut her hair in the last year.
I don’t need to be able to read minds to know what’s going on. They’re looking at Aspen’s clothes and realizing that the sum of everything she has on wouldn’t even equal their underwear. People who come to places like this may appear to dress sloppily, but if you know what to look for, you can tell that the ostensibly grungy clothes are made with fancy hand-woven fabric from Europe and worth thousands of dollars.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Lola adds.
“That’s unfortunate,” I say coldly.
Aspen lets out a soft sigh, but she doesn’t look at me.
Lola turns to me. “Grant.” She smiles. “Sorry about this…unpleasant situation. I’ll have Gillian handle it and—”
