Page 122 of The Liar's Reckoning

I gulp against the strong swell of love filling my chest. I can’t lose him. His strength props me up when I feel weak. His want gives me the kind of confidence I never had before he came along. The unconditional love we share is the only thing keeping me moving this morning toward my fate. It’s ultimately how I know I can face whatever Marianne and Gibson bring to the table in this matter with Avery that should be private.

I lean over him, a hand between his shoulder blades, so I can kiss his cheek.

He stirs, and his eyelids flutter open. A slow grin bends his lips. “Nice suit. Where are you headed?”

“Business lunch,” I say. Stupid words that wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny because I’m not a businessman, but they come out regardless. He’s too sleepy to probe, and I don’t want to wake him any more than I already have. I know how hard it is for him to rest during daylight hours, even with blackout shades dimming the room to the best of their ability.

“Go back to sleep,” I tell him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Good.”

His eyes close, and I kiss his cheek one more time, savoring the warmth and scruff against my lips. Steeling myself, I stand, leave the bedroom, grab my keys, wallet, and phone, and leave our apartment to head uptown.

Gibson Hayes is builtlike Superman. He’s an incredibly attractive white man in his forties. I’ve always thought he was good looking, even before I met him. He’s well known among politicians—generous in his campaign donations—not to my party, of course. His camp is firmly on the left side of the aisle, and I assume it’s mostly to do with his interest in his club.

The First Amendment cuts both ways. Freedom of speech and expression can certainly be interpreted to support sex work, but the laws on the books say differently. If my party has its way in the upcoming year or two, the laws will be significantly shored up, making the penalties for prostitution much, much harsher.

But that’s all secret still, a plan in the works behind closed doors in the Senate, tucked neatly into a piece of developing legislation that purports to protect children from sex trafficking and internet predators. Parents’ rights.

Gibson’s eyes are heavy with stress and a hint of regret when he shakes my hand. I try to smile, but whether I manage it or not is anyone’s guess. The restaurant is sparsely populated. It’s early for lunch. Eleven. I wonder if he chose this time on purpose, so there would be less chance of anyone overhearing. However, in terms of locations—here in Lenox Hill, I’ll be recognized, as will he. It’s not the kind of place average people hang out.

“Good to see you,” he says, and I’m uneasy when he sounds nervous, too. He gestures to a table, and I take a seat before he slides into his own across from me. We’re between empty tables for the moment.

A waiter approaches to take our drink order. Gibson says in a low voice before the man reaches the table, “This may be unpleasant.”

I stare hard at him, his lips now pressed into a determined line. “I’m going through a divorce. Nothing’s pleasant these days. I assume this has something to do with that. I know she and Marianne talk.”

“They do,” he says. “And my wife is quite a pit bull when it comes to her friends.”

I twist the bracelet Silas gave me around my wrist. It’s such a nice watch. Touching it is a nervous habit, like I can ground myself in him when he’s not around to hold onto. “Shall we cut to the chase, then?” I ask.

Hayes speaks quickly as the waiter nears. “Man to man, and this goes nowhere, are you aware of the reason Avery’s filed for divorce?”

I answer just as rapidly, glancing out the window because I can barely stand the sight of his face. “She thinks I’m cheating on her. I kept my old apartment. Is that a fucking crime now? You of all people should know the value of real estate in this city. The market was terrible for sellers when she and I decided to move uptown. I was a county prosecutor. It wasn’t like I could afford to take the loss.”

The waiter is stopped by a man at another table.

Gibson leans back in a comfortable, yet commanding slouch. “I understand you’re doing well for yourself now.”

So he’s clueless then. I guess that helps? “I’ve made good investments.” That’s a lie, but I know my parents will back me up with this divorce. They’ve said as much.

“Speaking of which…”

Finally, I meet his eyes, trying to put steel in my gaze. “Is this where you deliver a message to be generous with my wife in the divorce, or else?”

“More or less,” he says leadingly.

“I plan to be,” I say as the waiter arrives at the table. Gibson orders whiskey neat.

I need water. Gallons of it. My mouth is bone dry, and I’m afraid if I have a real drink it’ll come right back up.

When the waiter leaves with our orders, Gibson leans in, his broad shoulders looming, and speaks quietly. “You have reason to be extremely generous. By that I mean, whatever she asks for, you’ll give her.”

I almost relax. While a lawyer could have delivered this message just as effectively, it’s not a surprise. “Is she planning to clean me out?”

Gibson shrugs, and then his mouth twists into a grimace. His next words come out harsh. “Unfortunately, it’s not just that.”

I back up, not liking how close he is to me and really disliking his choice to do this in public. There’s still no one within eavesdropping range, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a cameraphone on us. “What the fuck is this?” I ask, needing him to get to the point. “You’re not asking for a favor, are you?”

---