My heart’s still beating double-time, and I lean against back against the door. “Do you get your thrills teasing innocent women? Or is it just me?”
“Innocent, Miss Tate? Is that how you’d describe yourself? At your request, your friend Toby has been engaged in all kinds of illegal activities over the past week. And now, here you are, trespassing on private property. If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I’d have already called the cops, but I’m giving you one more chance to do the right thing and walk away.”
“How did you find out who I am?”
“Your friend isn’t the only one with computer skills. Do you honestly think I don’t vet all my potential clients? I’m disappointed you made it so easy. I would have expected the woman who successfully infiltrated a secret society on her college campus to create a more resilient cover story. It was like you weren’t even trying.”
That stings. I was trying. I chose the name of a girl with whom I went to high school, who’s now married to one of the heads of Wall Street’s most prestigious brokerage firms. We weren’t friends, but we looked enough alike that we were often mistaken for sisters; unlike me and my real sister. Anyone Googling Bianca White would find a rich socialite with my approximate features and money to burn. How the hell did he get from her to me?
“Okay,” I say, “so my cover is blown. What now?”
“Nothing. You get the hell off my property and forget you ever heard about me.”
I laugh. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. You may have delayed me finding out who you are, but I’m a firm believer in the theory that a determined drop of water can wear down a mountain.”
“And in this scenario, you’re the water, and my identity is the mountain?”
“Bingo.”
“That still doesn’t give you a story. Even if you track me down and expose my entire client base, there’s no story without testimonials from my clients or an interview with me. And I’m here to tell you, the ladies who use my services will never talk to you. Neither will I. What’s the point of continuing to pursue this?”
“What can I say? I hate mysteries. Always have. And you, Max, are one giant mystery wrapped in an enigma. At the very least, I need to figure out your celebrity client list.”
He goes silent for a moment then says, “Why?”
That takes me by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why do you have to figure it out? I’m offering something to women that makes them happy. We’re all consenting adults. No one is getting hurt, so why ruin that? If you expose my clients, all you’re going to do is cause pain and misery to people who don’t deserve it, as well as depriving me of my only source of income.”
“Am I expected to feel sorry for you and your super-rich clients? Drop the story out of sympathy?”
“That would be nice.”
“Not going to happen.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “You know you’re infuriating, right?”
“Yes. I also know that when I set my sights on something, I tend to achieve it, so you’d might as well grant me an interview and save us both a lot of time and effort.”
“Honestly, Miss Tate, I’m not that interesting. Your readers would be bored.”
“A man who brings women’s fantasies to life? I know at least half of the world’s population would find that fascinating. Including me.”
I can almost hear him grinding his teeth. I’m a little appalled by how much pleasure I’m deriving from pushing his buttons. He may think he knows women, but he doesn’t know me, and I’m going to take him down, while possibly winning a Pulitzer in the process.
“Miss Tate, what you’re asking is impossible. The only way I can continue my work is by maintaining strict confidentiality about my clients. I’m not going to jeopardize that by talking to you.”
“What if I guarantee to protect your clients’ identities?”
“You expect me to put my trust in a reporter? I’m not stupid.”
That much is clear. Any other interview subject would have been tracked down days ago. “Look, Max, the way I see it is you have two options. One, you agree to meet with me for a no-holds-barred interview, and I’ll draw up a water-tight non-disclosure agreement about whatever elements of the story you need hidden. I’ll create aliases for all of your clients and protect their identity fully; yours, too. Or, you can stonewall me, and I when I eventually track you down, and you know damn well I will, nothing will be sacred. I’ll lay out the whole mess for everyone to see. Confidentiality be damned.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line, and I hold my breath in anticipation. I’ve never been a great card player, because I’m useless at bluffing, but I must admit that sounded damn intimidating, even to me.
The silence goes on for so long, I worry we’ve been cut off. “Max?” He doesn’t reply. “Are you still there?” Still nothing. “Okay, well, guess I’d better go and do some more research then –”
“Stop.”
“Oh, so you are still with me.”
“I was thinking. I don’t like being given ultimatums, especially ones that could affect people other than myself.”
I can feel him wavering. “Max, I understand that you’d rather I hadn’t found out about you, but I did, and I can’t just drop this story. It has the potential to make my career. But that doesn’t mean it has to be the end of yours. If you agree to my terms, I’ll be careful. I’ll protect you.”
“And if I don’t agree, you’ll destroy me?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have put it in such Bond-villain terms, but yeah.”
He sighs. “I’ll think about it, Miss Tate. It’s not a decision I take lightly. I need some time.”
“Okay. You have forty-eight hours. After that, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”
“That sounds pretty Bond-villain to me.”
“Yeah, well, you started it. I need your answer by Friday.”
“You’ll have it. In the meantime, can I trust that you’ll halt your investigations?”
“Sure.” I don’t know if he can tell I’m lying, but he doesn’t call me out.
“Fine. Goodnight, Miss Tate.”
“Goodnight, Ma–” I say, but he’s already hung up.
I take in the door with its creepy mural and high-tech keypad and snap a few pictures for my research file.
I’ve barely grabbed what I need before my phone buzzes with a message.
<If you don’t get off my property within thirty seconds, you’ll find out if I was joking about the hounds.>
I laugh, but when I hear dogs barking nearby, my blood runs cold. I get another message.
<Twenty seconds, Miss Tate. They haven’t been fed today. I’d start running if I were you.>
I run/walk to the end of the alley and cross the street as quickly as I can. It’s only when I step onto the subway car ten minutes later and the door closes behind me, that I stop waiting to be mauled by a hungry pack of dogs.
FOUR
The Things You Do for Love
I feel him before I see him. A sort of oily, self-satisfied presence at my elbow as I sit at the end of the bar and work my way through a nice, strong gin and tonic.
“Hey, there.”