Gagged(14)

“I’ve seen you before,” he says.

“I don’t think so.”

“I have.” He snaps his fingers. “Right. My executive assistant was showing me footage of you from the traffic camera just down the street.”

“How do you have footage from the traffic cam?”

“She thought you might be a troublemaker. Always taking pictures of my building. But I told her you weren’t.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

He almost snorts. “Well, look at you.” He gestures. I thought I looked pretty good, but all of a sudden I feel two inches tall and dressed like a hobo. “You’ve obviously never been in any trouble in your life.”

“This isn’t about me. This is about my friend.”

Caspian runs a hand through his hair.

“All right. What’s your name?”

“None of your business.”

“You like to take pictures.”

“I’m an amateur photographer.”

He gives me a look like he’s about to pat me on the top of the head and tell me I’m adorable for all my ambition and big words.

“You seem to know who I am.”

“Oh yes,” I say. “I get the feeling I know exactly who you are, Mr. White.”

“I’m flattered. Maybe you also know that I don’t grant interviews, except for the one I now remember I set with your friend Jessie.”

“Jasmine.”

“GQ has been bugging the shit out of me to do a photo shoot. They say I’m ‘fashionable.’ I don’t know what they mean; I just dress well. Maybe that’s fashionable to people who dress in crap.” Another up-and-down glance with those brilliant blue eyes. “I’ve been turning them all down. But I’d already set aside some time for your friend, so maybe you’d like to come up, too. Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

I feel myself scowling, but it’s hard because I’m certain he finds my anger adorable, like someone with my face and personality can’t possibly radiate menace. So with as much venom as I can manage, I say, “No thanks.”

“Please. In fact, I won’t take no for an answer. I owe you one for all of — ” He gestures around the coffee shop, at the patrons pretending I shouldn’t be embarrassed for the scene I caused in the face of this pleasant and accommodating man. “This.”

The people are glancing at me, trying to pretend they’re not. I know I’m right by a large margin, but still I feel wrong. He’s not apologizing any more than he accidentally left Jasmine in the breeze for nearly an hour now. I want to justify myself — to explain the whole Jasmine-is-waiting-and-he’s-blowing-her-off-on-purpose thing behind my anger — but I can’t; it’ll come off horribly if I try.

I firm my jaw. I shake my head. “You’re an ass.”

I leave, and Caspian follows. After a few seconds he calls out, “Miss Henley!”

I turn back and look at him. He’s standing beside his fancy car, which it seems the pretty boy with the silver spoons actually drove here himself.

“I hear you’re interested in education. If you’ll let me make this up to you, maybe that’s something we can discuss.”

I take a step forward, curious despite my anger.

But then I stop.

Because I didn’t tell him my name, back in the shop, when he asked.





CHAPTER SEVEN

AURORA





CASPIAN IS OBVIOUSLY TRYING TO pull something, but I’d be a fool not to pursue this — to at least discover whatever I can without doing something stupid. But I’m a cautious girl, and not the kind of person you dupe. I don’t go to many bars, but you bet I watch my drinks when I do, then keep them in my hand so nobody can slip something into them. I don’t walk through questionable parts of town alone at the wrong times of day; I don’t jog alone on secluded paths. My parents had plenty of faults, but a healthy dose of skepticism was one thing they gave me — unlike Jasmine, who does all the things I’m thinking of and more. She’s never been robbed or raped or beaten or killed, but that doesn’t mean her frivolity is right and my caution is wrong. And I’m not going to wait until something happens to prove I’m right.

This is Caspian White, and he works there in that big building, and right now we have all sorts of witnesses. But I’m not stupid enough to climb into his fancy car. Not in a million years.

I sort of laugh a superior little chuckle — the one weapon I might have in my arsenal against someone like him, and only because I’m a woman who can reject a man if I choose.

“You’re full of it,” I say.

“I need to make it up to you somehow. Your friend gets her interview, and you can take pictures.”