Page 6 of The Art of Scandal

“Is it?” The girl tilted her head and gave the tip jar a pointed look.

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Are you extorting me for a Coke?”

Grumpy Teen sighed. “It’s soda, not revenge porn.”

Nathan waited for the inevitable “Do you have any idea who I am?” that would end the face-off. Anyone who worked retail in Oasis Springs probably heard that song at least once a week. The suburb was filled with professional athletes, Washington power players, and retired tech moguls “consulting” from the golf course. There were also people like Rachel, who managed to be a national celebrity while also being so ingrained into the insular fabric of the town that her last name was etched into bricks on four different buildings.

He was surprised when Rachel placed her hand over her heart, fifth-grade Pledge of Allegiance–style. “I get it. It’s sweet of you to try to protect me from myself. But I promise I’m not drink.” She paused. “Drunk. I have been drinking, but I am not drunk.”

The girl’s blank stare said it all. Nathan smothered a laugh, and Rachel’s eyes briefly shifted in his direction. “I’m not,” she said to both parties. “I just spilled whiskey on my dress. That’s what you smell.” Rachel refocused on the girl. “You know, I used to wait tables when I was your age—”

“In the eighties?”

Nathan laughed out loud this time, but Rachel didn’t seem embarrassed. Her lips trembled as she looked at him, like she was seconds from laughing too.

The concession shade slammed closed. “Try ’03!” Rachel yelled at the ghost of her tormentor. “And those jeans won’t age well!”

Nathan pulled out his wallet. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Neither was she,” Rachel said, watching him add five more apology dollars to the tip jar. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you nice?”

Something in her voice made him pause. Like she had already decided the answer. Her gaze was a challenge, and he met it for a moment, staring long enough for some of her skepticism to fade. But then her eyes dropped briefly to his mouth, and the moment warmed into something else entirely.

Nathan blinked and said, “I’m just here to get a straw.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Rachel shuffled backward and rubbed her arms as if she’d just noticed the temperature. It made him feel like a jerk. The woman was clearly distressed. He only knew her from pictures, but in those she was flawless. Sleek hair. Perfect makeup. Now there were dark smudges under her eyes. Smears of something white dotted the bottom of her dress. Seeing her this way, puffy-eyed and vulnerable, was like discovering a knight without his armor.

He looked at her bare feet. All she had on was a thin little party dress. “Are you cold?”

She looked down at her clothes and frowned like she hadn’t considered the possibility. He took off his sweatshirt and wrapped it around her shoulders like a cape. Her fingers grazed his knuckles as she took it from him. They were freezing.

Her eyes widened with recognition. “I saw you earlier.”

“Yeah, I saw you too.” Nathan took her cup and poured half of his soda into it. Then he grabbed the whiskey and studied her while he unscrewed the top. “You’re the mayor’s wife.”

Her eyes cooled. She probably thought he was one of those hard-up guys sliding into her DMs or retweeting close-ups of her ass. “And you are?” she asked, shrugging into the sweatshirt.

“Me?” He fell silent and focused on the whiskey, carefully eyeballing shots into each cup. “I’m no one. Nathan.”

“Right. Nate.”

“Nathan.” He pointed to her drink. “You’re good to go.”

Rachel took a sip, gazing at his face. Her eyes were so big and dark, they pulled him in. He stared a beat too long after her soft “Thank you.”

She sat at a nearby table, and he noted her bright red toenails, the matching manicure, and the dewy sheen of her skin. Pampered princess. Not his thing. Which was fine because he was just being nice. Now he could find another place to sit while she got wasted to cope with whatever had brought her out there.

But that was his favorite sweatshirt. And the same nagging voice that wouldn’t let him watch Dillon get his ass kicked in middle school was whispering in his ear. It was wrong to leave her upset and alone.

Nathan approached the table slowly to give her plenty of time to brush him off. Instead, she scooted over to make room. “I probably shouldn’t drink this.”

He sat beside her and leaned forward, elbow to knee. “Probably not.”

She shoved her hand through her hair, and he reached over to pluck some fluff from the strands. She watched it float to the ground. “Do you have a cigarette?”

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