Page 41 of Mr. North
Ten
Beth
I ’m meantto work at the library again this afternoon, but when I arrive for my shift Henrietta is waiting at the entrance of the building, wearing a stern expression. Unlike Professor Dalziel, she seems less enamored with Raph and more concerned about my new found sex-tape celebrity. “We’ve had camera crews loitering outside all day. This library is a quiet place where people come to read and study. We can’t have that rabble disrupting everyone.”
“So…I can’t work today?”
She purses her lips into a disapproving line. “We’ll pay you until the end of the month. I’m sorry, Beth. I really am.”
So it’s not just today, then. She’s firing me. I’m so frustrated and annoyed by this point that I want to scream at her, to lose my temper, to tell her how ridiculous this whole thing is, but I can see from the look on her face that she’s not going to be moved on the matter. What would be the point in making a scene? Someone would probably catch the whole thing on their cell phone, and it would be live in a matter of seconds. That’s the last thing I fucking need.
I think about going to David’s place, but then I remember how absolutely unbearable he was last night, and how disgusting his apartment probably is, so I nix that idea. I find myself sitting on the subway, making my way across the city without even thinking about it. It’s only once I’m outside the Osiris Building that I realize what I’m about to do. Less than twelve hours ago I told Nate I didn’t want to be seen entering this huge monolith of a building. Then I had tinted windows and an underground entrance to protect my identity, and now I’m heading in here on foot? Through the front fucking door? I have officially lost my goddamn mind.
Oliver never seems to go home. His eyes nearly bug out of his head when he sees me hurrying toward him through the lobby. He steps out from behind the reception desk and puts his arm around me, ushering me toward the private elevator without saying a word.
“Ms. Dreymon! Ms. Dreymon! Elizabeth!” A hand lands on my shoulder, trying to turn me around. “What’s the nature of your relationship with Mr. North, Elizabeth? How long have you been engaging in a sexual relationship with him?”
“Which escort agency do you work for, Ms. Dreymon? How many clients do you have?”
The two men standing behind me yell questions over each other, both of them pulling at my arm. Oliver puts himself between me and the reporters, but they’re frenzied, their eyes wild, voice recorders held tightly in both their hands. They shove the Dictaphones in my face, and I feel like my legs are about to buckle from underneath me.
“Ms. Dreymon is a close personal friend of Mr. North’s,” Oliver states. “She is not an escort, and has nothing to say at this time. If you have any questions relating to Mr. North’s business endeavors, please direct them to our public relations department. If your questions are of a personal nature, please feel free to vacate the building at your earliest convenience.”
The guys aren’t listening, of course. They’re too busy straining to reach around Oliver, grabbing and clawing at my shirt. “Ms. Dreymon! Ms. Dreymon! Are you Raphael’s mistress? Are you moving into the penthouse with him, Elizabeth? Elizabeth !”
My heart is beating out of my chest as Oliver pulls me through the door and slams it shut behind us. His professional exterior has slipped, anger twisting his features. “Fucking animals,” he hisses. “I’ll call security as soon as you’re upstairs. Don’t worry. They won’t be here when you leave.”
“Thank you, Oliver. I’m sorry for the trouble.” I don’t know why I’m apologizing. I haven’t asked for any of this. I didn’t do anything wrong. By coming here, I’m causing trouble. I know that. It was probably a bad idea, but I’ve avoided this for as long as I can now, and I just cashed in the last fuck I could possibly give when Henrietta told me I no longer had a job.
I take my shoes off and slide them into my bag without thinking. No defiance this time. I’m nervous. My palms sweat like crazy as I watch the numbers illuminate one by one, marking out the floors as I ascend. What if he doesn’t actually want to see me? What if he sends me away? There’s every chance his business advisors have counseled him against further contact with me. I haven’t exactly checked the share prices on North Industries, but a public scandal like this can only breed distrust. It must be hurting him financially, and he’s a clever, pragmatic kind of guy when it comes to business and money. Surely he wouldn’t allow something like this to affect his bottom line.
The doors slide back and I hurry out, my bare feet slapping against the marble flooring. I stop halfway to the door when I see Thalia sitting in a heap in the middle of the anteroom, her purse up-ended around her, a bottle of water gripped tightly in her hand. Her eyes seem unfocused when she looks up at me. A deep frown forms on her face.
“Beth? You came. Finally .” Her relief is exaggerated, like she’s being sarcastic. It’s only when I draw a little closer that I see it’s not. She’s drunk. Hammered, in fact. The bottle of water in her hands is actually vodka, and it’s almost fucking empty. I drop my purse and sink to my knees in front of her, cupping her face in my hands.
“What are you doing, Thalia? Why weren’t you in class this morning?”
“I had to make sure he was okay,” she says, her words running into one another. “You didn’t answer my texts. You didn’t come over here, so…I had to.”
“I was going to. I just…I needed a little time to figure out what I was going to say.”
Thalia arches an eyebrow, her eyelids half closing. She unscrews the cap from the vodka bottle, lifts it to her lips and takes three deep gulps of the clear liquid inside. “Did you figure it out?” she asks flatly. “What you’re gonna say to him? Because this isn’t him, Beth. It isn’t, I swear. He’s had to live his life behind closed doors for a long time now. It’s a miracle they figured out how to invade his privacy here. A fucking miracle . He’s done absolutely everything he can to avoid prying eyes. He feels just as violated as you do right now.”
Violated. That’s a good word for it. I really do feel like I’ve been compromised. “I’m not mad at him , Thalia. I’m mad at the situation.” It’d be easy enough to assign blame, to say that Raphael was careless and should have known that fucking me up against that glass would lead to dire consequences, but it’s not the case. Seventy-three floors: the penthouse’s secluded nature should have been enough to keep that frenzied, urgent, lust-filled moment between us sacred.
Thalia knocks back another shot of vodka and then holds out the bottle to me. “He won’t answer the door to me. Can you believe that?” she asks.
I take the bottle from her and I put it on the ground behind me, out of her reach. “Did he message you?”
She nods morosely. “He told me not to come.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because. I made a promise a long time ago. I told her I’d watch out for him. I swore I’d make sure he was okay.”
“You promised? You promised who ?”
“Chhhhlllllooooeeeee .” Thalia says the name as though the answer should be obvious, that I’m stupid for not knowing. She’s never mentioned anyone by the name Chloe before, though. Never once since we met has that name ever crossed her lips.
