Page 55 of The Unraveling

“I’m out in Soho right now, where are you?” I ask because it sounds like he’s literally on the same street as me, but it sounds forward. “I just heard the car horn and—”

He hangs up.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m an idiot. He just said he’d sign me and—

There’s a tap on my shoulder.

I turn and slip a little in my stiletto. It’s Alistair.

I glance back at Arabella and Cynthia, who are now both staring on with looks of shock.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he says back. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who uses that word a lot, so it sounds a little funny on his tongue.

“What are you doing here?”

“I just left Berenjak. Where have you been?”

“We just had tapas.” My heart is pounding. Standing with him on the chilly street is very different from sitting across a table from him in a warm restaurant. “I’m sorry, I’m really surprised to see you. It’s nice—it’s nice to see you.”

He looks at the girls staring on. “Let me take you all for a drink.”

I look at Arabella again. They’re sitting on the low wall behind them and talking, never taking their eyes off of us.

I weigh the professional benefits of accommodating my donor’s request versus having a drink with a married man when I’m a little bit buzzed and have been fantasizing about him for days. We had a one-night stand, but I will not repeat that.

Also I’m not alone. I’ve got Arabella and Cynthia. They can serve as my chaperones.

“I think there’s a place around here…”

He wets his lips as he furrows his brow and looks around at the nearby restaurants.

It’s definitely a bad idea.

“Sure,” I say, ignoring that voice in my head.

“Ah, yes, it’s right down there. Get your friends. We can walk there. I’ll just text my wife to tell her I’ll be a little late.”

I want to ask him about the divorce. Why is he suddenly acting like he’s just…happily married?

I don’t ask. Instead I just say, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

He gives me an intense look that makes me back down.

I go over to Cynthia and Arabella.

“So…Alistair wants to take us for drinks.”

“Don’t you mean Mr.Cavendish?” asks Arabella.

I give a self-conscious laugh, and then say, wryly, “Right, well, whoever that guy is.” Then, after checking over my shoulder, I lean into them and excitedly whisper, “He said he and Clementine are going to sponsor me! They just signed the papers!”

Arabella stares at me, her face unchanging. Cynthia looks at her, then to me, then back to Alistair.

She then clears her throat and gives me a look that means He’s coming.

“So what do you ladies say? I feel it would be impolite not to buy you at least a glass of champagne in celebration. Three of the world’s best dancers. I’d be a fool not to.”

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