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Vivienne met with Reed at eight o’clock the following morning. They sat one across from the other in the plush, plum-colored couches of Le Presse Café, Vivienne in a matching gingham set and Reed in a cut leather vest, the two of them a stark tableau of opposites.

“Let’s get this over with,” said Reed, setting his cold brew down like a gavel. Sweet foam sopped over the side. “The less time I have to spend in Walsh’s presence the better.”

The object of his ire sat outside on a bench, nursing a coffee of his own. The mere mention of Thomas sent a frothy wave of mortification tumbling through her.

She’d kissed him.

She’d kissed him , and he’d rejected her.

To make matters infinitely worse, he’d been a consummate professional all that morning—“Yes, Miss Farrow” this and “No, Miss Farrow” that—and his composure made Vivienne want to stab a fork through her eye. It was completely unfair, that she’d lain awake all night with humiliation burning a molten hole in her belly, and he was no worse for wear.

She did her best to ignore him as she sipped at her tea.

“Are you going to tell me why you dragged me all the way here at this unholy hour,” asked Reed, “or are you going to make me guess?”

I have an offer for you.

“An offer? I’m already suspicious. What is it?”

H-u-d-s-o-n wants you as his plus-one at his parents’ charity gala.

“Hudson.” Reed said it slowly, like he was sounding it out. “Turner?”

Do we know another?

He laughed a short, startled laugh. “That’s the reason we’re here? This is the big conversation that couldn’t happen over text? You want to whore me out to one of your little trust-fund buddies?”

Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not w-h-o-r-i-n-g if you like him.

“I never said I did.”

So, you don’t want to go?

“No, I—” He groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. “Do you know where I was last night? I was with Grayson. Do you know what he was doing? Practicing. On a cadaver. So he can try not to murder you when he cuts you open.”

Hearing it out loud made her blood run cold. What’s your point?

“ My point is that there are more important things going on here than whether or not Hudson Turner has a date to his little high-society ball.”

I know that.

“Oh, do you? Because it doesn’t fucking seem like it.”

Why do you think I’m doing all of this? J-e-s-s-e needs k-e-t-a-m-i-n-e to do the surgery. H-u-d-s-o-n agreed to provide it. For a price.

Understanding dawned on Reed’s face. “Me.”

She nodded.

“People aren’t currency, Viv.”

Does that mean I shouldn’t bother sending H-u-d-s-o-n your tux measurements?

“Shit.” He fell back against the couch. “You know, all of this is going to catch up with you eventually. You can’t keep bribing your way out of every problem you run into.”

Says who?

“This is what I’m talking about.” He jabbed a finger at her. “You’re too arrogant.”

I’m confident.

“You’re messy. If you go down for any of this, so do I.”

Don’t be dramatic.

“It’s not dramatic, it’s the truth. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out I’m your direct line to the House. How long until Walsh pieces it together? You and I both know he’s not going to let Grayson get anywhere near you with a scalpel.”

On the bench outside, Thomas spiked his empty coffee cup into a nearby trash receptacle. He looked restless—impatient—his right knee bouncing. Their eyes met through the glass and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

She didn’t know which was worse—that she’d kissed him, or that she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Torturing herself with it. What did she expect? Of course he’d spurned her. Vivienne Farrow wasn’t for loving. She wasn’t warm or sweet or good. Most days, she wasn’t even sure she was human. Reed told her people weren’t currency, but everyone in her orbit was there because they’d been bought and paid for in one way or another.

Thomas Walsh was no different. He didn’t care about her. He was just good at his job. He’d spent the summer doggedly chipping away at her defenses, and he’d done it for a paycheck. When the time came, he’d sell her secrets to Philip for a song.

You’re right , she signed. I should disappear.

“What?” Reed looked startled. “When did I say that?”

You didn’t. But if T-h-o-m-a-s finds out about J-e-s-s-e and his thesis, he’ll go running to P-h-i-l-i-p and ruin everything. It’s better if I go through the surgery now, before he figures it out.

“I’m not sure what timeline you’re operating on,” said Reed, “but Grayson is nowhere near ready to perform an experimental medical procedure. I’ve seen him, Viv. He can barely figure out how to insert an IV.”

He’ll do what I tell him.

“He’ll kill you.”

She swallowed around the sudden brick in her throat. She thought of Bryce Donahue wailing on the gleaming foredeck of a fishing boat. Mikhail Popov, gasping for air on the snow-encrusted bank of an unlit back road. Thomas Walsh, pushing her away in the hush of his bedroom.

She wasn’t afraid of death.

She was afraid of the girl in the mirror.

We do it tomorrow night , she signed. At the gala.

Reed balked. “I’m sorry, did you say we ?”

We can make it look like a kidnapping.

“Again with this we .” He hadn’t touched his drink, and the melting ice was quickly turning the foam to sludge. “I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

I’ll make it worth your while.

He fixed her in a stony stare. “All right. I’ll bite, but only because I’m fascinated by the inner workings of your vindictive little brain—how exactly are you planning on pulling off a disappearing act? Walsh is the most committed watchdog I’ve ever seen.”

We’ll create a distraction , signed Vivienne. She considered for a moment and then added, Last year our swim team raided a rival school’s locker room with paintball guns.

“Paintball guns,” Reed said dryly. “How uninspired. Just so you and I are on the same page—do you want me at this party as a favor to Turner, or so I can help you sabotage it?”

She contemplated this. A little bit of both.

“He’s going to hate me.”

What do you care? He’s a trust-fund brat with a brand-new F-e-r-r-a-r-i and a full ride to the Ivy League school of his choosing. He’s everything you’re not. Wouldn’t it feel good to knock him down a peg?

Reed opened his mouth as though to argue and then shut it again, contemplating Thomas through the window. “You know what I think?” he finally asked. “I think you’re grasping. I think something happened between you and Walsh, and you’re freaking out.”

You haven’t said no , she noted.

He grimaced. “I’ll need help.”

We’ll recruit the other pledges.

“Will we? I hate to break it to you, but they won’t be as easy to manipulate as me and Grayson were.”

Why not?

“For one, you don’t have the funds or the intel to bribe that many people. For another, they answer to the House, not to you. Why would they stick their necks out for someone they don’t even know?”

Because you’re going to tell them to.

“Me?” Slumping back against the couch, Reed let the idea sink in. Finally, he lifted his cup in a toast. “Okay. I’m in. I’ll do your dirty work, but I want next semester’s tuition.”

Done.

“Paid in full, not in increments.”

Vivienne frowned. That’s a lot of money to move at once. P-h-i-l-i-p might notice.

“Not my problem. If you leave this mortal coil, I won’t see a dime, and I fully plan on graduating.” He drained the dregs of his cup and set it between them. “Pay me up front, and I’ll even break the news to Grayson so you don’t have to. I’ll get the other pledges to fall in line. We’ll come to your little party and make a great big scene. It’ll be beautiful.”

Fine , signed Vivienne. I’ll deposit the money into your account tonight.

“Look at that,” Reed marveled as he rose to go. “She’s vindictive, but she’s reasonable.”

···

Later, after a silent drive home, Thomas and Vivienne sat in the driveway, parked in the shade of the towering sugar maples out front. The engine clicked, cooling. Neither of them moved, not even to unbuckle.

“I’m trying,” said Thomas, startling her into peering up at him. He stared out at the fountain, his hands in his lap. Sunlight refracted in the water, turning the droplets prismatic with color. “I’m trying to find a balance. I’m trying to do my job. I’m trying to—” A muscle twitched in his jaw. Softly, he said, “I’m trying to separate out what I want and what’s expected of me.”

The car’s interior felt suddenly as fragile as glass. Outside, a warm wind ruffled the five-pointed leaves in their branches. Water spattered against the windows in a glittering overspray. Vivienne’s chest felt as though it was collapsing in on her.

She waited for Thomas to cut a glance her way before signing, I don’t know what you could possibly mean.

His face fell. “Don’t do that. Don’t ice me out.”

She unbuckled, fast as she could, and threw open the door. The heat rushed in through the gap, thick with the smell of burnt asphalt and fresh-cut grass. The slam of her door was echoed immediately by the slamming of his.

“Vivienne, wait.” He lumbered around the front of the car, cutting her off as she made a quick beeline for the house. “Just give me two minutes. Please.”

She stopped just short of colliding into him, and he into her. He looked visibly uneasy as he tugged at his tie.

“I didn’t explain myself well the other day. I was—I have people who depend on me. At home. People I can’t let down. I don’t have the luxury of choice.”

Anger flared in her. And you think I do?

“Well—” He hesitated. “Yes.”

Because I’m a spoiled brat who has everything. Because I have nothing but choices. Because all I have to do is snap my fingers and I get whatever or whoever I want.

Somewhere overhead, a chimney swift let out a high-pitched chip . Thomas scuffed his shoe on the drive, his hands in his pockets. “This feels like a trap.”

A scream built inside her. She couldn’t do it—she couldn’t stomach another second in his presence. She did a quick heel turn, heading off in the opposite direction.

“Viv—Vivienne, wait. Wait. ”

She didn’t wait. She rushed down the driveway, heading toward the street at a clip. She didn’t make it far before a second car turned into the driveway and squealed to a stop. She drew up short as Jesse climbed out, slamming his door with far more vehemence than either of them had managed to achieve.

He was dressed in dark blue scrubs, as though he’d come straight from his shift. His hair was mussed, eyes dark with sleepless bruises.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” he snapped, getting right in her face. “You think you can just change things up and I’ll fall in line? Let’s get one thing straight—we’re in my wheelhouse here. Mine, not yours. You do not give me orders. You do not call the shots. I say when we’re ready to move forward with this thing. Me. ”

“All right, that’s enough.” Thomas stepped in, bracing a hand firmly against Jesse’s sternum. “Back off.”

“Don’t touch me.” Jesse pinwheeled his arm out of the way and thrust a finger under Vivienne’s nose. “You’re psychopathic, you know that? A real fucking b—”

He didn’t finish. The crack of Thomas’s fist was loud in the quiet. Jesse folded in on himself with a groan as Thomas snapped his arm back and shook out his hand.

“Jesus Christ.” Jesse dabbed at his face, his thumb coming away crimson. “Are you insane? You broke my nose.”

Thomas didn’t apologize. “You’re done here.”

Jesse drew up to his full height, still prodding at his nose. It looked thoroughly broken, the skin around it tinged in a green, sickly coloring. Blood ran in spatters down his scrubs. “You can push all you want,” he told her. “But I’m not ready. We move forward now, and you won’t survive.”

He left without a look back at either of them, reversing over the curb as he peeled backward out of the driveway. The moment he was gone, Thomas turned to face her. The skin of his right knuckle was split open, the bone out of joint.

“What did he mean?” There was a hard edge in his voice. “He said you won’t survive . What does that mean?”

Your hand is swelling .

“I don’t care about my hand.”

We should ice it.

“I don’t care about my hand, Vivienne. I want you to answer the question.”

She swallowed a breath. What if she did? What if she confessed? What if she told him every ugly little thing she’d done? What would he think? What would he say?

It was a dangerous game to play. She knew exactly how it would go—he’d run and tell Philip, and then everything she’d worked for would be ruined. He was only in this for the money. He’d made that perfectly clear.

Losing her nerve, she signed, I’m going to get you ice.

“Vivienne—”

She turned and headed away from him—up the stairs stacked with potted topiaries, through the wide doors glazed in frosted glass, down the wide, empty hall of endless eggshell white. Thomas kept pace with her all the way, his silence as vast and as dark as a thunderhead.

Neither of them breached the quiet until they’d reached the kitchen. He waited as she fished one of her mother’s migraine masks out of the freezer and folded it over his fist. He hissed when it touched his knuckles but stayed otherwise still.

“What’s his name?”

The question was deceptively casual. She focused on icing his hand and didn’t answer.

“I’ll find out on my own,” he said. “You know I will, so you might as well tell me now.”

She pried up the mask and peered beneath. Your pinkie looks broken.

“I want a name, Vivienne,” he said. “You have until the count of five.”

Or what?

“One,” he said, in lieu of an answer. “Two. Three. ” His phone rang in his pocket. He silenced it. “Four. F—”

The ringing started anew. Vivienne dove for his phone, letting the mask drop to the floor as she fished it out from his pocket. She answered it before he could snatch it away, setting it on speaker.

Instantly, a girl chirped, “Tommy? What the hell, I’ve been calling you all day.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been occupied.”

“Yeah, I bet pole dancing is a really booming business,” said the girl on the other end. “Mom has been on my case to call you. She wants to know if you’ll be home for your birthday.”

“I don’t know yet.” He eyed Vivienne meaningfully. “I’ll have to call you back.”

The girl didn’t appear to have heard him. “You only get one birthday a year. Do we have to have cake without you? I’ll eat it all, and you know that gives me a stomachache. Do you want me to have a stomachache, Tommy?”

“Now’s not a great time, Tess.”

There was a pause. Then, “Oh my God. Oh. My. God. Do you have a girl there with you? You absolutely have a girl there with you. I can hear it in your voice. Tommy! Do you have a girlfriend ? And you didn’t tell me and Mom? No, wait—” From the speaker, there came a huge, air-sucking gasp. “Is she paying you ?”

“Yes,” said Thomas, and hung up without a goodbye.

Easing the phone out of Vivienne’s hand, he slid it back into his pocket. “You don’t have to cooperate,” he said in a voice that sliced her open, “but I will figure out who that was.”

And then what? You already broke his nose. What else is there?

“I’m going to figure out what he did to make you so terrified.”

He snatched the frozen mask off the floor and headed for the door. Vivienne stayed perfectly still and let him leave, listening to his footsteps recede down the hall. The moment he was gone, she sank onto the tiled floor. Burying her face in her hands, she let out a single, soundless scream.

She wondered what Thomas would think if he knew the horrible truth.

If he knew that it was Jesse Grayson who was terrified of her.