twenty-minute search, she had found it, shoved in the back of a garment bag she hadn't touched in years: a simple navy blazer and matching trousers from a life before Blair. It wasn't desi

tor whose work Hadley had studied in school, whose appro

ay like a normal person, arrive early like a normal person, prove that she could build a normal lif

door for her. "Good

odded, smiled, stepped onto the si

stop

he lobby, from the social world she had tried and failed to enter as Blair's wife. The one in the center-Tiffany something, married to a

uld I say the current Mrs.-" She looked at her companions, eyebrow

recognize. "Austen Roy. I looked it up. Nothing. Not a sin

some con artist she found on a street corner. Isn't that r

his much from three years of Blair's world: never show weak

fallen. From Park Avenue to-what was it?-some walk-up in Queens? Some studio in Brook

ance was two blocks away. She could make i

ve click of a car door opening. She didn't turn. But then a man in a dark chauffeur's uniform

James, the driver from that first night. "Mr. Roy is heading

y at the curb. The rear window was tinted, but she could feel Austen's presence i

ide, fixed not on Hadley, but on the uniformed driver, the discreetly luxurious car, and the invisi

arted, her voice s

hem. He simply held the do

k to the subway, and spend the rest of the day with Tiffany's v

and old money and something else she couldn't name. Austen was on the far side of the spa

," he said, as James closed the door an

she said. It w

nt perfume." He glanced at her, and she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Your neighbors will think twice before speaking to y

on the dashboard. Not the flashy, custom-colored one he would

, her self. But she was learning, quickly, that Austen Roy didn't do things by accid

had saved her from Tiffany's cruelty without demandin

-iron facade, the kind of space that screamed creative credibility. He handed her the portfolio from the seat beside him, his fingers brushi

t looking back. But she felt his eyes on her, patient and certain, and she carried them with

s camera and checked the images on his screen. The car. The chauffeur. The way

r. "Sir. I hav

he

his words carefully. "Sir, this isn't some street-level con artist. The car, the driver... the entire pr

that Alex checked to make sure the connection hadn't droppe

is

of the car. But he's orchestrating

x had never heard from his employer before. Something like fear. "Find

s,

, the building that had just swallowed Hadley Roy, and felt the

as learning, were