Betrayal (Infidelity Book 1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,85

too crazy to be someone’s companion. If I had failed, I wondered if I’d be relieved or upset.

“Miss Collins, this is highly unusual. However, I need you to come to the office immediately.”

“Immediately?”

“As soon as you can get here. How soon could that be?”

I hadn’t moved since last night. After the piano bar, Cy, Patrick, and I went to dinner. By that time, I’d consumed a few too many martinis. It wasn’t my drink of choice, mostly because I wasn’t used to them. After dinner, we came back to the apartment and Patrick poured me more than one glass of wine. The alcohol had undoubtedly been my coping mechanism, helping me come to terms with the decisions I’d made. I was getting closer to becoming Adelaide day by day.

Considering the circumstances, I decided I had the right to overindulge. That was fine then. Now I reeked of stale booze and needed a shower. “I’m afraid it will take me a few hours.”

“This is extremely important. Be here by one.”

Shit! That is in two hours.

“Yes, I can do that. Ms. Flores?”

“Yes?”

“Is there a problem with my application?”

“We’ll discuss it in person.” The line went dead.

Reflexively, I tapped the first four numbers of Chelsea’s cell number. That was all it took to have her full number, name, and smiling face on my screen. Before I hit the green icon, I remembered that I couldn’t tell her about Infidelity or ask her what to do. The sense of loneliness surrounded me as I deleted the numbers and called Patrick.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That didn’t happen to me. I told you it was about three weeks before I was introduced…”

I sighed. “Well, I’d better get cleaned up and go.”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Don’t be late and let me know what happens.”

“I will,” I said, disconnecting the call. Talking to Patrick didn’t ease my nerves. If anything, it made them worse. My stomach twisted as I worked to make myself less of a hungover, depressed excuse for a human and more of the confident put-together woman who’d been at Infidelity yesterday.

I had no idea what to wear. I wished I could wear the suit I’d worn the day before, but that wouldn’t do. My clothing choices were limited. The movers weren’t going to get my things from California until tomorrow. All that I had with me were the clothes I’d taken to Savannah.

With my clean hair—smelling like shampoo instead of old alcohol—pulled back into a low ponytail and my best attempt at reproducing Andrew’s makeup, I decided to wear a simple sleeveless navy sheath dress and navy pumps. If the dress had a jacket it would be very Jackie O. Luckily, I’d packed it with Montague Manor dining protocol in mind.

That made me laugh.

Well, thank you, Mother, for your ridiculous dress code. If you weren’t of that disposition, I wouldn’t have the proper attire to meet with my new pimp.

That sounded brash, even inside my own head, but I couldn’t think of a good argument to refute any of it.

As the taxi approached 17 State Street, I rubbed my moist palms over my dress for the hundredth time and looked at my watch. The traffic was worse than it’d been yesterday, or maybe it was just my imagination. Either way, I was pushing my deadline when I raced into the lobby and pushed the up button in need of an elevator.

There were so many elevators in New York. I wondered if anyone knew the exact number. There was the elevator in Patrick’s building and the one here. I could go an entire week in Palo Alto and never ride one elevator. I didn’t mind steps. That said, steps to a third floor and steps to the thirty-seventh were two different things.

“Miss Collins—” I began to say to the receptionist sitting behind the large desk for Infidelity when she lifted her hand and stopped my words.

She pushed a button near her ear and spoke into a Bluetooth, “Ms. Flores, Miss Collins has arrived.” She lifted her eyes to me. “She’ll be right out.”

I was certain that I was paranoid, but Karen’s greeting was less friendly than it seemed yesterday. I didn’t say anything until we were behind her closed office door. When we were, I asked, “Is there a problem? Have I done something wrong?”

Maybe someone heard me talking to Cy and Patrick. I worried about my five thousand dollars. I needed that money. Even if I was going to be told that I didn’t meet