Page 172 of The Liar's Reckoning

And then, just after seven, after I’ve sat and stared for more than an hour, he emerges with his jacket hooked on a finger, slung over his back, his familiar, worn backpack on the other shoulder.

Our eyes meet suddenly, like a crash of lighting. He hesitates in his stride, begins to walk again, then stops again to watch me. It feels like my heart stops as he weighs whether to cross the street.

I want him to, and I’m terrified he will. Of course he’s here. Why else would my ass have remained stuck to this bench for so long? Something inside me always senses him. Finds him. My life will forever collide with his. I never needed that location app.

If he were on the other side of the world and some horrible fate befell him, I would feel it. I would know. God, I need help. I’m still so in love with him despite everything, it’s turned me delusional.

“This is a bold move,” he says, in front of me now, looming and gorgeous.

“You’re suing Avery?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“Well, funny thing happens when you co-author a bill turning sex workers into felons. They lose their jobs.”

“What?” I ask sharply.

“Katia’s closing up shop. I’ve been let go. Thanks for that, Senator. You know Trixie’s life doesn’t pay for itself, but maybe rich kids like you don’t realize we don’t all have money trees on our terraces. Most of us don’t have terraces.”

“I didn’t...” I’m struggling. The law hasn’t even passed yet. It’ll be months until it’s enacted even if it does. And I never thought it would stop anyone from carrying on exactly how they have been. I only thought it would make them cleverer about it. Katia especially. She’s shrewd and savvy. I’m certain I wasn’t the first politician to use her service. “No, I know. But Katia is?—”

“Smart enough to read the writing on the wall. What are you doing here? Did Avery send you?”

I nod.

His jaw tightens.

My anger and frustration resurfaces. “She’s not the one responsible.”

“Of course she is. Why are you defending her? What do you care?”

I have no fucking clue why I’m doing anything. “Can we go somewhere else and discuss this?”

“No. I have nothing to say to you. So what do you want? Why are you here?”

“You’re asking for too much money.”

He barks a laugh. “Am I? Do you know what my life was like once that video came out? I was followed by the press for weeks. I lost two jobs—couldn’t even get an interview for a new one. The only reason I have this one is because my friend is married to the owner of the building. Pity and guilt. That’s how I got this job. Have you ever googled me? You wanna know what comes up?”

I shake my head, not because I haven’t done it, but because I have, and I don’t want to think about the things people have posted and said about him online—the articles that have been written. The speculation about me. I stonewalled the press with ablanket denial, and I’ve never wavered. I made myself boring and it put all the attention on him.

There’s an entire article in the Post titled “Who is Silas Manning?” and the primary source in the interview is his ex—Benjamin Alderman, who painted a portrait of Silas as a gay, promiscuous man who sometimes accepted money in exchange for sex. He never came out and straight up said Silas was an escort—he made him sound more like a low end prostitute—and I’m not sure which is worse.

Memories are short, though, and news cycles move on. I managed to create enough doubt about my own image in the video that people stopped questioning me, but I don’t think anyone really believes it wasn’t me. It’s amazing what people will overlook when you throw up enough smoke and mirrors and they need your vote. I clear my throat because it’s closing up fast. “I’m only saying, I think you might have better luck if you lowered the dollar amount.”

“How much did she get in the divorce?” he asks.

My own jaw locks up. I’m not telling him that.

“Ten million dollars,” he says correctly.

“Did you read that somewhere?”

His smile is cruel. Wicked.

It’s hot, too, reminding me of the last time he smiled at me like that. It makes my stomach flip with anxiety and lust.

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