Healy took another drink. There was a privileged, preppy aura about him, though she couldn’t tell if he came by it naturally or had cultivated it over time. In her work, particularly during the years she’d done stints at two big interior design firms prior to starting her own company, she’d met more than a few people who, after hitting it rich, acquired the trappings of old wealth—not just clothes and Bottega Veneta handbags but signet rings and clipped, patrician accents—that allowed observers to make grand assumptions about their background.
“I’ve got a favor to ask you,” Healy said suddenly. “Would you be willing to drop by my office tomorrow and talk to our head of security?”
The last thing Kit wanted to do at this point was become part of some manhunt. She didn’t respond immediately and she could tell Healy sensed her reluctance.
“Look, I hate having to involve you in this whole thing,” he added, “but if this guy is posing as me, it could turn into a huge nightmare, and not just for me personally. It could ripple over to my business. I want the firm to be in the loop.”
“I’ve got a pretty full work day,” Kit said truthfully.
“Is there any time you could squeeze it in? It’s really important.”
“Well, I guess I could stop by at noon,” she said, realizing she’d feel guilty if she declined. “But let me confirm the time with you.”
“Great, I really appreciate this,” he said.
“What about the police? Don’t they have to be informed about this latest development?”
“Yes, I’ll take care of that and they’ll probably be in touch with you. But let’s talk to my security guy first. Do you have a card?”
Healy seemed credible enough, but still, the whole situation was weird.
“Why don’t you give me your card,” she said. “And I’ll call you early tomorrow.”
His expression read worried, worried that she wouldn’t follow through.
“All right,” he said. “I don’t have cards with me but I’ll write down the details.” He asked the bartender for a pen, scribbled his contact info on a cocktail napkin and turned it over to her. “I know it’s a pain, but I really need your help. This could screw up my life if I don’t deal with it.”
She nodded. She felt sorry for him, though not as sorry as she felt for herself at the moment.
A few minutes later she parted company with Healy on the street. It was drizzling lightly, and she considered taking a cab or Uber home, but she hated blowing another thirty bucks on the night. So she rushed to the subway stop and hopped onto a downtown train, at least securing a seat.
As the train hurtled through the tunnel, she stared down at her lap. Inside she was churning, her feelings all in a big, messy tangle. Anger dominated, running roughshod over everything else. She’d been duped, and the mean, nasty way X had done it infuriated her.
She was furious at herself, too. Not for sleeping with a stranger. She was hardly going to slut shame herself now that it hadn’t worked out in her favor. What she hated was that she’d been such a freaking dummy. After years of dealing with the public, she considered herself to be clever at reading people, at assessing right from the start if a potential client would prove to be high maintenance or need to be massaged a certain way—or even try to stiff her when it came to the final bills.
It was a skill she had actually cultivated, reading books on body language and interpersonal relationships. Her father had been taken advantage of in business when she was seventeen, forcing him to declare bankruptcy and throwing their whole life as a family into a tailspin, and she’d sworn to herself that she’d never be deceived that way. Ever.
She thought suddenly of the comment X had made after he’d asked her to bed. He said that in the next weeks he’d need to focus all his attention on a critical matter, and he’d looked troubled by the thought. Was that because he was on the run? Nothing, however, about his comment or his manner then, had set off alarm bells for her. She’d simply assumed he was dealing with a personal, private challenge.
There was something else churning inside her, something she hated to acknowledge. Disappointment. Not only had the sex with X made her body feel as if it was on fire, but she had liked him, had found him