Veronica

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I was headed home from a fundraiser a week later when my phone buzzed in my pocket. The bus chose that moment to turn the corner, so I ignored the phone and ran. Or tottered, rather, since the height of my heels seemed to be in direct correlation with the amounts individuals donated. And tonight was a big money night. The biggest of the entire campaign, which meant four-inch stilettos and a dress so long I’d have to swing the skirt over my shoulder just to go up the steps. The fancier the digs, the bigger the donors, the higher the heels, and the farther the houses were from a bus stop, without fail.

I nodded at the driver, huffed to a seat by the rear exit and sank down with a sigh before pulling out my phone with excitement. It had to be Zach. He texted me every evening now, although I hadn’t seen him since that night. He’d invited me back for dinner, but my campaign team had organized one meet and greet after another and, considering that I was the candidate, popping out to see my—whatever he was—wasn’t exactly feasible.

And the texting was good. It was safe.

Things were heating up with Rylie, too. I mean, he still had signs in two-thirds of the city’s yards and businesses, but with the help of my extra teams of canvassers and a new wave of bigger donations—including one massive one from a company I’d never heard of, my name was getting out there.

I looked at my phone.

You’re famous.

What?

Today’s article. The journalist seems to like you.

Oh. O’Neal’s one of my best friends. It’s an Op-Ed.

Preschool Teacher Takes on Local Establishment. I like it. David against Goliath.

I smiled and tapped.

Nothing so sexy as that.

I beg to differ.

Those words had my face heating in the near-empty bus. What was it about him that got my pulse rocking so hard? We’d talked every day since that dinner, but there’d been no sexting or anything.

Where are you?

Headed home from a dinner.

On the bus?

Yeah

I knew he didn’t like that, but we’d had the argument where he’d try to order a car for me and that wasn’t something I’d let him do.

What are you wearing?

My breath left my body in a rush. Oh. So maybe we were going there. I glanced behind me at the three people sitting in the back. One guy stared out the window, a young woman looked asleep, and the third was an old woman, knitting.

A red dress I had to buy for this fancy party tonight.

What does it feel like?

And just like that, I was wet, remembering the way he’d explored me. I ran a hand down my thigh.

It’s that thick silk. A little rough and the fabric’s stiff. No idea what it’s called.

Dupioni?

How the hell do you know that?

Just looked it up.

I couldn’t get over how fast he worked on his phone or his watch or whatever. He did things with mind-boggling speed.

Wow.

When will I see you?

I huffed out another nervous breath. Nervous because I could see him, in theory, tonight. Right now. There was nothing on the schedule for tomorrow but some letters to sign. I glanced out the window at the passing houses. If I got off in two stops and backtracked to 10th Avenue, I could stop by the drug store and grab the uptown bus and…

Very bad idea, my mind insisted, but my hands didn’t listen.

You busy now?

I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered that the pause before his answer was about ten seconds longer than for Dupi-whatever silk.

Let me send you a car.

I’m on the bus. Be there in 20

I’d once dated a man for five months before having sex with him, but if Zach Hubler broached the subject at all tonight, I would jump him, no questions asked.

I almost fell getting off, of course, and then realized I should have gone home to change and maybe—definitely—accepted a car ride from him, but it was too late.

I got a couple side-eyes and one long, sleazy smile in the drugstore, especially when I plunked the pack of condoms on the counter. But whatever. Forget them. I was being responsible.

The next bus took forever to show up, so I sat on the bench, in the dark, in my too-expensive dress, too-tiny purse, and too-high heels, carrying a pack of condoms in a plastic bag, feeling beyond nervous. When it finally arrived, I climbed on, plunked into a seat and bit my nails all the way to his neighborhood.

Every drop of anticipation had morphed into anxiety or something so that, when I pulled off the shoes to walk the last two blocks, the words bad idea echoed with every step, and I was close to turning around.

Halfway up the driveway, though, I spotted the house. Even in the dark, I could see that it had been cleaned up and fixed. It no longer looked like the haunted place where an ax-murderer might hunker down, but instead had the look of…

Holy shit. How had I not noticed how huge it was?

I scanned the front. It was one of those big, clapboard farmhouses that keep getting eaten by urban sprawl. The yard had been cleaned up and trimmed and mowed and, suddenly, it wasn’t a yard anymore but more like one of those fancy gardens you’d see in a magazine. To the side, where I didn’t remember there being a building at all, a garage stood, a perfect match to the main house, with its neat black trim.

And the whole thing was perfectly illuminated by outdoor lights, which I didn’t think had been there before. This place had more in common with tonight’s fundraiser venue than my crappy downtown apartment.

Something flopped around in my belly. The man had money. Or resources or something.

Who is he?

Barefoot, I picked my way up the perfectly bricked front path, to the no-longer-sagging porch, and all the while my stomach worked itself into knots.

The thing was, I wanted this guy more than I’d wanted anyone. Ever. But he also scared me. Not in a creepy way, but in a what-am-I-getting-myself-into way. There’d been a big sting in town, a few years back. This group of three or four people had rented a massive, fancy-ass house, which they’d used as the headquarters for their massive fake ID ring. When the cops had shown up, they’d found weapons and drugs and all sorts of illegal stuff.

And I was worried. So much about Zach seemed…wrong. Not wrong, actually. Right, but off, or something. Like he’d put up a front that nobody could get through. Except for possibly me.

I raised my hand to knock.