Derek, but he was ignored.
“Nonsense. You’re young, you’ll live. I just need a few minutes of your time.”
Madeline laid her hand on Derek’s arm, while peering directly at Hara, her face devoid of warmth. “Is there anything you need for the night, Hara?”
All eyes turned to the young reporter. Hara bit her lip. “I’m good, thanks. Super-grateful for everything, but I just can’t keep my eyes open. Good night.”
No one tried to stop her.
Her first steps were slow; she was stupidly hoping Derek would call out to her, at least to offer a real “good night.” The silence rang in her ears, pushing her faster up the stairs and down the maze-like hallways to her room.
Locking the door with a sigh, Hara shuffled into the bedroom. She kicked off her shoes and then her skirt before attacking the corset. Long, angry moments of struggling to get the laces loosened and the neck ruff unhooked left her on the verge of screaming in frustration. Finally, she wrenched the neck piece and the last closure came free, leaving her panting and drained, a hand to her throat.
She dropped onto the bed in her underwear. As images from the night, especially the last few minutes, tumbled around in a confused jumble, her face became hot again.
Hara sat up, her palms chilly against flushed cheeks. I’m not ready to parse this.
She changed into her old, comfortable pajamas and washed her face, moving on autopilot, choosing not to think, not yet. She picked up a book, hoping to live in another world for the next few hours, but her stomach let out a startlingly loud rumble, and then another as she tried to get comfortable on the bed. Groaning with frustration, Hara found she could no longer ignore her hunger. She’d meant to grab something at Tunnel, but then, well, the beautiful elite had surrounded her and she’d lost track of herself. But stomach pangs weren’t going to allow her to stay in that alternate reality any longer.
She quietly crept into the hall, barefoot. O’Donnell and Madeline and Derek would be in the library or the living area, on the other side of the house, quite separate from the kitchen. She should be able to sneak into the pantry for some bread and peanut butter with no one knowing.
The wood floors were cold under her feet, yet she found herself dithering more than once to appreciate a lovely painting or sculpture. Hara was probably standing next to something famous, like a Picasso or Matisse. She had no idea. I guess I really am a country bumpkin.
Anything to keep the conflicting thoughts of Derek at bay, until she was ready.
The graphic sex painting didn’t help matters. She hurried her steps.
Hara was halfway down the back stairs leading into the kitchen when she realized she could hear voices. Damn. Derek and the others were in there. Glancing down at her grungy pajamas, she grimaced. She would rather starve than have Derek see her this way. Or, worse, Madeline.
She’d backtracked only a few steps when Hara heard her name. She paused, wrestling with her code of ethics. Listen or not listen; what was the right thing to do? The first time she’d listened in on a conversation of Derek’s, she’d hit her head on the door. The second time she’d eavesdropped on him, outside the library, she’d taken a big hit to her ego. Karma was surely telling her something.
Madeline’s voice, with its overdone posh cadence, carried clearly up the staircase. “You have no idea who that girl is.”
“I know she’s a reporter. What do I care? I don’t have anything to hide.”
“But she does. You should steer clear of her.”
Oh. My. God. What a classist bitch. There was no way she was leaving now.
“What are you talking about? She’s totally normal. Way more normal than most of the people I’ve met lately.”
“You’re wrong,” said O’Donnell. “She’s only here because her father worked out a deal. He’s in prison. I’d think you’d have recognized the name. Isari?”
“Are you talking about Thomas Isari? The bookie who ratted on all those athletes? Jesus.”
The blood left Hara’s head. She put her fingertips on the nearest wall, steadying herself, praying she did not faint. Or maybe she was asleep. Dreaming.
The hard, solid wall and the silky feel of the wallpaper stole that hope away.
“She’s shifty, just like her father,” said Madeline. “Thank God she’s leaving tomorrow.”
Derek was silent. No one spoke for a few seconds.
What did that mean? Her father had worked