My stomach drops, leaving a cold, hollow space behind. I swallow the pills and the water, wincing as it hits my dry throat.
"I can explain," I say, though I’m entirely unsure if I actually can.
Vivian crosses her arms. "Please do. Because I woke up at six, saw that card, and spent the last three hours Googling him. Do you know what the internet says about Malcolm Vance, Audrey?"
"That he’s a billionaire?" I offer weakly.
"That he’s a shark," Vivian corrects, her tone deadpan. "He runs a private security and crisis management firm. He cleans up messes for politicians and CEOs. There are rumors he has ties to people who solve problems with crowbars. He is not the kind of man who hands out his personal cell phone number to a girl crying into a martini."
"I wasn't crying," I say defensively, rubbing my temples. "I was strategizing."
"You were drunk."
"I was heavily buzzed and highly motivated." I sigh, letting my head fall back against the sofa cushions. The fabric smells faintly of wet dog, courtesy of Vivian’s golden retriever mix, who is currently snoring under the dining table. "He bought my drink. We started talking. I didn't know who he was until he gave me the card at the very end."
Vivian narrows her eyes. "And what exactly were you talking about?"
"Hypothetical ways to ruin Simon's life."
Vivian stares at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then, she takes a slow sip of her coffee. "Okay. I’m a lawyer, so I have to advise you against premeditated felonies. But as your best friend... did he have any good ideas?"
I open my mouth to answer, but a sharp, authoritative knock on the apartment door cuts me off.
We both jump. Buster, the dog, wakes up with a start and lets out a confused bark.
"Are you expecting someone?" I ask, my heart rate spiking.
"It’s nine-thirty on a Wednesday," Vivian whispers, as if the person on the other side of the door can hear us. "The onlypeople who knock at this hour are serving subpoenas or selling religion."
The knock comes again. Three sharp, measured raps.
Vivian sets her mug down, walks over to the door, and peers through the peephole. I watch her shoulders stiffen. She slowly turns her head to look at me, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and deep, profound fascination.
"Audrey," she whispers. "There is a man in the hallway. He is wearing a custom navy suit, he is roughly the size of a refrigerator, and he looks like he could buy this entire building just to demolish it."
My blood runs cold.
No.It’s impossible. I didn't tell him where I was staying. I didn't even tell him my last name.
Before I can tell Vivian not to open it, she unlocks the deadbolt and pulls the door open. She’s a defense attorney; she has a pathological inability to back down from intimidation.
"Can I help you?" Vivian asks, using her best courtroom voice.
"I'm looking for Audrey," a low, resonant voice replies.
The sound of it sends a shiver straight down my spine. It’s him.
Vivian doesn't move out of the doorway. "And who are you?"
"My name is Malcolm Vance." He doesn't sound annoyed by her interrogation. He sounds entirely indifferent to it. "And you are Vivian Hayes. You passed the bar exam eight months ago, you work for a mid-sized corporate defense firm, and your lease on this apartment expires in forty-two days. May I come in?"
Vivian’s jaw drops. She looks back at me, completely out of her depth, before stepping aside.
Malcolm walks into the apartment.
The space instantly feels too small. The ceiling seems lower. The air feels thinner. He is wearing a dark navy suit today, no tie, the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. He looks immaculate, dangerous, and entirely out of place standing on a cheap rug covered in dog hair.
His dark eyes scan the room, taking in the legal textbooks, the messy kitchenette, and finally, me.
