in her lap. She was doing her best to look poised, but deep down her stomach clenched with dread. Eric hadn’t mentioned Gloria yet. He hadn’t mentioned the revelation that Sarah, his “Vassar girl,” had grown up “dirt poor.” He hadn’t asked her how things had gone with Lane, or mentioned the fact that she’d seen him naked scampering down the hall in her seedy, poorly furnished apartment.
She’d been hoping he was embarrassed. Maybe the two of them could just silently agree to pretend the night had never happened. Maybe if she kept her polished, professional mask on, he’d follow suit.
But judging from the got-it-going-on grin on his face and the theatrical pause she was suffering through, things were about to change.
They were certainly changing for Sarah. She’d packed the rest of her belongings into the Malibu on her lunch hour, while Gloria was working. Gloria was fun, Gloria was sweet, but Gloria was a lousy roommate. Sarah had overlooked the late hours, the loud music, and the frequent male visitors—but she couldn’t overlook the business with Eric. She simply couldn’t trust Gloria, and there was no room in her life for people she couldn’t trust.
Eric broke into her thoughts, leaning back in his chair. “We need to talk about Two Shot.” He paused, his gaze intensifying. “I think it’s the key to everything.”
Oh, shit. He was so right. Two Shot was the key to everything. Her evasions. Her many, many sins of omission. Her lies.
Well, not exactly lies. She’d never told Eric where she was from. She’d just let him believe her life had begun at Vassar. It was as it she’d been born into the world at the age of twenty-five with a master’s degree instead of an umbilical cord.
She’d started hiding her roots soon after she’d started college. She’d listened to her new classmates describing their summers in the Hamptons and winters in Gstaad, and she’d launched into a narrative about tipping cows and John Deere joyrides that earned her raised eyebrows rather than laughter. When the girls edged away almost imperceptibly, she’d realized fitting in would be a challenge. So she’d studied the rich girls harder than she’d studied Econ 101, memorizing the effortless way they walked, copying the subtle simplicity of their clothes, imitating the faint note of ennui in their voices. By her second semester, she’d changed from a wide-eyed country girl into an upper-crust sophisticate.
But now she’d been busted.
“Yes, it’s all about Two Shot.” Eric picked up a gold-plated Mont Blanc pen and tapped it on the desk, first one end, then the other. “Lane really cares about that town, and he’s afraid the drilling operation will change it.” He set the pen on the desk and rolled it right, then left. “I don’t know why—it’s not much of a town. Just a crossroads, really.”
She nodded.
“Your friend said you’d lived in a trailer.”
Here it came. She was going to get fired. “Yes, I did. For a while.”
“Was it in a small town?”
She nodded, unable to speak past the lump forming in her throat. He was toying with her, sure as he was toying with the pen. Or did he really not know about her connection with Two Shot?
“I think you’ll be just the right person to solve the problem.”
She lifted her head, blinking. “Really?”
“Sure.” He set down the pen. “Lane seems to think our workers will come into town and shoot up the place like outlaws in a Sergio Leone movie.” He leaned toward her, steepling his fingers. “You and I both know that’s not true. We’re going to bring money into that town. Money, jobs—prosperity. And I suspect the people of Two Shot will welcome that kind of change.”
His intent expression darkened and his heavy brows arrowed down. She could almost hear distant thunder. “Besides, it’s not up to Lane to decide what should happen. It’s up to the people. And that’s where you come in.”
“Really?” she said again.
She needed to shut up and listen. She sounded like an idiot.
Eric didn’t seem to notice. “Lane can’t turn up on TV talking trash about the drilling if the whole town wants it to happen, right? So you’ll go to Two Shot and talk to everybody who counts—the mayor, the police chief. But in addition, you’ll talk to the regular folks. Ranchers, waitresses, hairdressers—everybody.”
Could the world come up with a worse nightmare to impose on her? Talking to everyone in town would definitely lead to some one-way conversations, because she doubted anyone in town