“What can I do for you, Mr. Johnson?” I ask, my voice tremoring slightly.
“Well,” he says, “as you’ll recall, the dean over at UGA is joining our threesome for golf in a week.”
I stop in my tracks and involuntarily lean against the cold concrete wall.
“And I thought we might reserve the Ivy Room for brunch after the round,” he says, his tone still light and jovial. “You know, make it a special, private event, since it looks like I might have some sensitive information to share with him.”
By “sensitive information,” he means the legal investigation he’s planning to open on my son, and the criminal felony conviction that will no doubt ensue. I suddenly feel nauseous. Exactly what kind of man asks a woman to plan the celebration of her own demise? The kind of man who’s striding confidently toward me, coming too close.
“Unless,” he says, so near to me that his voice is a whisper. Letting the word linger in the still air between us, he uses one arm to trap me against the wall, then lifts a hand slowly to my upper lip. I’m frozen in place, my heart hammering in my chest, my brain willing my knee to find his ball sack. But I can’t seem to move. Instead, I’m forced to feel his fingertip drag along my lip, my chin, my neck. “Unless I cancel with the dean and take you out instead.” His hand has somehow made its way to my chest, and his finger skirts along the open edge of my shirt. “For a business lunch, of course.”
“Stop,” I croak. “Stop now.”
“Just relax, Holly. All you have to do is quit playing this ‘hard to get’ game.” His finger grazes my left breast, and I feel it, cold and menacing, piercing through the fabric of my bra and button-down shirt.
Suddenly, as if I’ve woken from some terrible nightmare, I find the will to move. I place my hand firmly on his chest and push him away so that he stumbles backward into the wall opposite us. Seeing him falter brings me just enough confidence to do what I know must be done—consequences be damned.
“I’m going to say this nice and loud, to be sure you hear me,” I tell him, planting my feet in a wide stance. “And I’m only going to say it once, so pay attention.”
He stands upright, too, his stupid fucking Captain America costume sagging around his narrow hips, and then he pastes a bored look across his face.
“I’m notplayinghard to get,” I tell him. “I am—for you—permanently and foreverimpossibleto get.” I prop both hands on my hips, hoping that the stance will elicit courage. I need to finish this—to end the sick game I never agreed to play—once and for all. “You might get me fired from my job, you might get my son kicked out of school, but let me assure you—you will never, ever touch my body again.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” he sneers, giving me a sick little salute. “But just so you know, this is when the game really starts to get fun.”
He walks away and I watch, using sheer force of will to stay on my feet, not to collapse into a pile. I stare at his back, hoping he feels my stern gaze through the red, white, and blue of his stupid spandex bodysuit. I hope he feels weak, emasculated, and rejected. I hope he feels like the small, idiotic man that he is. But I also know, with absolute clarity, that Griggs Caldecott Johnson III won’t stop until he wins—or gets sent directly to jail, without passing Go.
He opens a service door and exits to the courtyard, where I see Judge Thacker and Jim Wade standing expectantly, as if they’ve been waiting for him. As the door slams shut behind him, I feel a wave of relief.
This is almost over, I tell myself.We are so close to ending this nightmare forever.It’s Eli’s turn to roll the dice, and my bet’s on him.
CHAPTER 33Luisa
Jade Jackal on the move,” I whisper into our radio’s private channel. “Eyes on the target.” Tripp, Griggs, and his cronies step onto the club’s vast lawn, where cocktail tables and plush patio furniture have been arranged for private conversations. Metal floor lanterns line the steps down from the ballroom and strings of light run the length of the garden, casting a warm glow over the guests.
“Roger that,” Holly responds, as I pretend to clear out glassware and plates. “We’re getting really good at this,” she adds, more animated. “Maybe we should start a PI agency after this is all over.”
“Over and out, Honey Badger,” I deadpan, unable to stop myself from smiling at her shenanigans.
The men move down a second set of stone steps toward a secluded courtyard, away from the other guests. I watch from the terrace above, as musty-scented cigar smoke bellows into a clear summer sky. They make for a bizarre menagerie of characters: Captain America, Ol’ Mags the banker as Jumaji’s murderous big-game hunter, Judge Thacker as an exact double of Colonel Sanders, and Jim Wade in a…Is that a Godzilla cosplay suit?
The deal is about to go down and Tripp is perfectly situated to record the whole thing, ask the right questions, make sure Griggs and the others incriminate themselves. A thrill of excitement coils through my body in anticipation of our big payoff.
“Back at the house, you asked me if I knew of any solid investment opportunities,” Griggs says, gently tapping his cigar.
Tripp nods but doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to look eager.
Everything is unfolding exactly as we planned. Griggs has taken the bait. Holly was right, this man would never be able to resist a gullible young angel investor with a trust fund to burn.
“I’m working on this development down in Westlake,” Griggs continues. “High-end luxury homes, restaurants, golf course”—he motions forward with the hand holding a cigar—“that kinda thing.”
“It’s gonna be one helluva course,” Ol’ Mags remarks, puffing on his cigar.
“More than one course,” the judge says. “Three. Heck, maybe we’ll play a round on all of ’em, and I just might have a chance at winnin’ back my money.” He nudges Tripp, and they all laugh.
“You set up the tee times, and I’ll be there,” Tripp replies cheekily. “Hard to resist a winning streak.” They chuckle at his brashness, and once again I’m awed by Eli’s sagacity when it comes to telling these people what they want to hear.
“We’re closed to outside investors,” Griggs offers, gesturing to the other men, in a confidential tone. “But we agreed that you’re just the sort of man we want to be in business with.” He drops one hand on Tripp’s shoulder, and I lean closer to the railing, careful not to be seen. “You in?”
