I smile. If I were truly myself and talked about what I really wanted to talk about, how long would he feign interest? How long would it take for me to scare him off?
“First time at one of Grace’s gatherings?”
“Total virgin,” I say, instantly regretting my choice of words. I’m too sober. Where is Bradley with my drink?
“You’ll get used to it. You’re Grace’s new muse.”
“What?” I’m shocked by the choice of words. Since when was I her muse? And what does it mean to be the muse of a crime writer? “That’s not true. I barely see her.”
“A muse isn’t a companion,” he says, in a tone so condescending I want to punch him. He’s talking like I’m a child who still believes in the tooth fairy. “It’s a source of inspiration and energy. Grace likes what you represent, even if it drives her crazy.” He gives a dramatic pause, and the faux-suspense makesme want to laugh. “Especially because it drives her crazy. It inspires her work. Just like poor Caroline.”
My heart skips a beat. There’s that name again. “What do you mean? Who’s Caroline?”
His smile fades, and he shakes his head. A second ago, I could have sworn he was six drinks deep, but he now looks completely sober.
“No one.”
“Why do you call her poor?”
“She’s not here. That’s why she’s poor.” He takes a final puff of his cigarette, then flicks it into the grass. I picture myself picking that up in the morning and feel annoyed. “Just be careful, right?”
“Careful of what?”
He shakes his head and takes another drink, acting once more like my question is impossibly naive.
“Well,” I say, cursing Bradley. “Excuse me, I'd better say hello to everyone else.”
“Everyone else?”
“Grace said this was a party.”
He laughs, as though this was a great joke. “I’m afraid it’s just us. We’re the guests of honor.” Without letting me respond, he opens the door. “I look forward to your grand entrance.”
A moment later, I hear more laughter from inside the house. Jesse is probably telling them what I said. My cheeks are hot. I feel ridiculous. I dressed up just so I could drink with Grace’s fancy friends, but it turns out the only other guest is her creepy agent.
I decide to go back to the cottage and change. As I walk down the driveway, I try to remember where I’ve seen Jesse. I run through my usual haunts in the city—the university, the coffee shop, my apartment building—but I can’t place him.
The front door opens behind me, the light flooding the drive. I turn and look back at the house, and as Bradley calls out my name, I glance up at the attic and remember exactly where I’ve seen Jesse before.
In the window when I first moved in. The man that Grace pretended wasn’t there.
“Brie!” Bradley takes the steps two at a time and jogs towards me. “Where are you going?”
“I have to change.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m overdressed. I thought this would be a party, but it’s just Grace’s”—I take a beat, mentally inserting the wordcreepy—“agent.”
“I’m so sorry. We had some cancellations. But you’re not overdressed. Grace will love it. She’s dressed to the nines. She’s very disappointed in me and Jesse.”
“Really?”
“Come.” He extends his arm like the handle of a teapot, and I hesitate before placing my hand on his elbow. He walks me back, and I feel strangely like a bride walking down the aisle. But what does that make Bradley, in that scenario? My husband, or my dad? I must be smiling at the thought, because Bradley is looking at me, confused. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing!” I say quickly. “I’m just embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. Please.”
