Page 89 of Ghostly
Unfortunately, his body—or rather, himself—might be the only way to fix this. Yes, he was currently devoid of powerful friends who would shut down a nosy reporter.
But he had a story.
“Fine.” Still facing her, he moved backward and spread his arms. “You want a story? Have mine.”
Perry, previously concealed by Natalie, leaned to the side, eyes wide. An alarm bell—don’t expose yourself, don’t fuel the fire—went off in his head, but Gabriel was pure fury and determination. “I’ll tell you all you want, here and now, and then you’ll pack your bags and get out of this town. Yes?”
“Dude, what are you doing?” Perry whispered.
Janice, Dina, and Marge emerged from the bakery and stopped in a perfect line, forming a gradient from blue to peach to yellow.
Wonderful. Audience.
But if he was telling Natalie… well, he supposed it was only fair the rest of them knew, too.
“My name is Gabriel Vane,” he said, loud and clear. “I’m a lawyer at Ernest & Clifford, a prestigious law firm.” He slowly turned around, to make it clear to everyone they were invited to the show. Further down, Mark’s parents peeked out of the antique shop, and more people stopped on the other side of the road. And like in the good old days, when his nervousness before a first trial transformed into adrenaline once he stood in front of a jury, the alarm bells changed into a victorious sound.
The setting may be different, but he knew how to do this. There was his jury—the Schuyler Sisters, Mark’s parents, the old lady walking herdog, the pair of teens who probably hadn’t imagined they’d get this out of cutting class.
And here was his hostile witness.
Elation made his fingers tremble. It was time to win.
He clasped his hands behind his back. “In that law firm, I almost made partner. Almost. Had it not been for a tiny sex scandal.”
The Schuyler Sisters covered their mouths in unison.
“So it was true,” Natalie said.
“Oh, yes. And you needn’t regret the loss of photos—they were boring, tame, really. Ididhave an affair with Mrs. Sinclair.” Gabriel looked around. “My client at the time. I was handling her divorce.”
“How long were you and Mrs. Sinclair together before the affair was discovered?” Natalie asked.
“She caught my eye at a dinner party. Or, I caught hers—she’d been looking for a lawyer.”
“And you had no trouble offering her more than representation?”
“It was a mutual thing.”
“That doesn’t excuse you from breaking the law.”
Low murmurs drifted from across the street. Right, his audience. He straightened and cleared his throat. “No, it doesn’t. And I could try to paint it in a better light… she was divorcing, her husband was a prick, we were all adults who knew what we were doing.” Gabriel ran his eyes over the gathered crowd. “But in the end, all that mattered was that I—and she—got what we wanted.”
He slowly approached Natalie. “And it was good. Oh, so good.”
Natalie ever so slightly drew back, as more people drew near. Groups of three, four, on this side of the road, standing by the shops, some with theirhands still on the door handles. A line on the other side of the road, as if they’d gathered for a parade.
Well, he supposed it would be just as entertaining.
“You’re probably wondering why. Why would I do this to myself, to my career? It’s not like the affair itself won me the case. But when you’re so high up, when you’ve already achieved almost everything you wanted, when you know youcando it—that’s when you start to feel invincible. Untouchable.”
“You did it because you could.” Natalie had lost some of her bite, her voice nearly a whisper now.
“Probably. There was a thrill to the affair, but never a threat. I’d wake up in the morning next to Mrs. Sinclair, and I’d have this amazing feeling—not just because of the sex, but because I knewIwas on top now, better than the rest of all those idiots who used to ignore me because I didn’t come from money. And I…” He laughed at the stupid memory, stupid thinking. “I wouldn’t get found out. I’d already gotten over all the bumps in the road—it was smooth driving from here on out. Problems, rules, defeats—they were for other people. Not me.”
“But you did get caught.”
“Yup.” He should feel the old, familiar sickness in his stomach by now, the one he used to feel when he thought of the photos—but instead, mentioning them felt exhilarating, as if he was purging a toxin from his body.
