Marise didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Kathleen’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Please. Just go.”
Then she turned and walked back inside.
This time, Marise knew it was final. Although she knew this might happen when she concocted the plan, it still hurt like the devil.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Marise slipped out the front door of the Wainright house without a word. The air was crisp, a welcome bite after the heat of the confrontation with Kathleen.
The car arrived only a few minutes after she ordered it, which suited her. She needed to get out of the place as soon as possible to lick her wounds. When she climbed into the back seat, she gave the address of Darlene’s apartment block. As the cab pulled into the street and turned south through the city, she stared out the window, trying not to think. But the silence inside the car only made the memory of Kathleen’s voice louder.
“Get out of my life.”
It played in her mind on loops, each repetition dug a little deeper, like a bruise sinking through layers of skin. At first, everything had gone well; she’d made contact with Darlene, exactly what they had planned. Then it had all turned to shit. She’d underestimated Darlene’s vindictiveness towards Kathleen. Telling her parents that ‘Veronica’ was an escort was spiteful and unwarranted— Marise had already promised to go with her.
Then the final nail was driven into her coffin when Ted turned up at the party. Kathleen had looked at her like she was one of her bugs. All that warmth and love disappeared into disbelief and disgust.
“Who are you?”
A question she didn’t know how to answer.
Outside the window, life shimmered in the city that never slept. Crowds roamed the streets. Steam rose from sewer grates. Neon bled down the glass of passing taxis. When she caught her reflection faintly in the car window, she looked away, hating herself.
She checked her phone. Nothing, simply wishful thinking Kathleen would text.
After the cab pulled up in front of the Phoenix Tower, the doorman nodded and opened the glass doors without a word. As she adjusted her dress, she felt the hidden microphone stitched into the lining pressing into her side. When she stepped into the mirrored lobby and headed for the private lift to the penthouse, the concierge gave her a discrete nod. The air inside the elevator was softly scented, chilled and expensive.
Her stomach turned the higher they went to the twenty-fourth floor. The lift chimed, and the doors opened directly into the apartment.
It was as she remembered: Immaculate, all soft lighting and white leather. The floor-to-ceiling glass framed the skyline creating a spectacular view, with the Empire State Building glowing in the distance.
Darlene stood near the window, wearing a black negligee trimmed with delicate lace, the kind that looked like it had never seen a washing machine. Her hair was down, brushed to gleaming, and her glass was already half-empty.
“Pour yourself a wine,” she said not looking around.
Marise walked silently over to the bar, poured a drink and raised the glass. “Cheers.”
Darlene turned around to look at her. “What are we toasting?”
Marise smiled. “To new alliances.”
They drank. The wine was superb—dry, layered, expensive and it went down too easily.
Marise let it warm her throat, but not her mind. She was here for a reason and to drink too much would compromise everything.
Darlene prowled across the room like a lioness, bare feet silent against the marble. Her glass glinted in the light, still half-full. Marise could feel the shift in the air, the beginning of something that wasn’t conversation.
But she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
Marise sat down on one of the white leather lounges and crossed her legs, keeping her voice casual. “Before anything happens, I think we should talk.”
Darlene arched an eyebrow. “Talk?”
Marise swirled her wine. “If we’re going to be more than client and escort, we need to be clear about what that means. I’m not here to play house and I’m not interested in being someone’s toy.”
Darlene looked faintly amused. “So, you’re negotiating terms before bed?”
