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THREE

NATALIE

“Wow, so smitten you don’t even want your coffee?”

The voice pulls me out of my stupor. Mr. Handsome is smiling at me, his eyes shifting from the magazine cover to me as I take the coffee from him.

He tips his chin at the cover. “You into cryptocurrency?”

“No, no,” I respond.

I want to say that the man on the cover might have something to do with poisoning my best friend and possibly other women, but I hold my tongue. My heart starts pounding as my hand slides into my purse to search for my phone—I need to call the detective.

“My boss,” Nick says.

“Huh?” I freeze, staring at him with a momentary shock.

His eyes motion toward the magazine cover. “That’s my boss,” he repeats with pride.

I knew he had something to do with the über-rich. “No way,” I blurt out.

“Yeah. I’m his personal driver.”

Oh. So, not a banker, after all.

“Must be nice,” I say, shoving the magazine back onto the stand, intending to research the Man of the Year online as soon as I get home.

“Nice what?” Nick’s brows draw together.

Driver or not, Nick must be making big bucks, judging by his crisp outfit and polished shoes.

“Working for a millionaire,” I say. “Pays well?”

Nick chuckles. “I guess. He’s a good guy. Filthy rich, too.”

The last words turn my thoughts by 180 degrees.

There’s one thing that history has proven—the rich often get away with their crimes. Mr. Crypto-King-Rosenberg probably has enough funds to bribe the police and the entire justice system. Me calling the detective won’t change a thing. Absolutely nothing will come out of it. Except—the thought sends shivers down my spine—I might end up just like Cara.

Right away, doubt creeps into my head. Why would a guy who is rich and famous, who is on the cover of a magazine, take a girl home and pump her with drugs, then let her go? According to the doctors, Cara had no signs of physical or sexual assault, not even a scratch. And that makes me wonder if this man on the cover has anything to do with it at all.

“Is the good guy hiring?” I joke without thinking, not sure why I even said that.

“No.” Nick chuckles, but his expression instantly changes, as if a lightbulb has gone off in his head. “You know what? What job were you interviewing for?”

A bartender, I almost say, though I have a degree in economics, but that doesn’t pay the bills too well these days.

“Why?” I ask instead, so as not to give away too much.

“My boss is having a business party this weekend. With catering services and all that stuff. But one of his housekeepers is on emergency leave.”

Nick scrunches up his face in what looks like pity.

Oh, wow. So he thinks I’m looking for that type of job.

I’m about to say something bitter to Nick, the hotshot driver. Sure, my simple white button-up, jeans, and my hair pulled back in a ponytail don’t give the impression of me interviewing for a CEO’s assistant. But a cleaning lady? Really?

I don’t say that. Nick’s gaze is not arrogant, not even a bit. It’s sweet and expectant, and I realize he’s actually trying to help.

“Are you asking me if I want to interview for a cleaning job at your boss’s office?” I probe, wondering if he is joking after all.

“Not his office—his residence. It’s in Jersey, twenty minutes or so outside the city.”

Nick scrunches up his nose again. I get it—that’s across the river in a different state. Coincidentally, I live in Jersey City, just across the river.

Nick shrugs. “It’s a staff of six people plus me. A temporary position anyway. Just trying to help if you are interested.”

I desperately need money. Like yesterday. “Won’t it take forever for a background check?” I ask carefully. “An interview? A résumé?”

I really don’t have time for that.

“Not if you know the right people,” he says with a wink. “The least I can do for someone who saved my life. Would be nice to have a pretty face around.”

I don’t know what to say. This morning, when I left my apartment to take the train to Manhattan for an interview, a cleaning lady position wasn’t even remotely an option. But this is not just any position. It might be fast money. And that’s not even the draw. It’s working for Geoffrey Rosenberg, the man who may or may not be involved in Cara’s poisoning. If there’s a chance to find out, it’s right now.

I chew on the inside of my cheek in contemplation. “You are saying I can get a job before the weekend and get paid right after?”

Nick checks his watch. At that very moment, his phone rings, and he switches the coffee into his other hand to pick it up.

“I’m here,” he answers, his face immediately acquiring a stern expression. “Yes, I’ll be there in five. Had a little delay… Yes. No problem, boss.”

His boss! He must be talking to the Man of the Year! It does something to my insides that twist in unease.

“What time is the conference call?” He motions with two fingers for my phone as he keeps talking to his boss on the other end. I pass him my phone, and he types in a phone number and sends a text, Natalie , to himself.

“Call me later today,” he mouths to me as he answers into the phone. “Understood… Yes… Yes. No problem.”

He winks at me and starts walking away, disappearing into the sea of people.

If this isn’t luck, I don’t know what is. I have a chance to meet the Man of the Year in person, maybe get to know him, maybe find out what happened the night Cara was drugged.

Cleaning trash will be temporary. And if Rosenberg turns out to be trash? I’ll figure out how to deal with him.

I just have to be very careful.