Page 60 of Best Offer Wins
21
The log in the wood-burning stove pops as Dottie shifts her weight on the sofa, tucking one leg underneath herself.
“It was probably about a month before his book came out,” she begins. “Bradshaw sent me an email, asking me to come by during his office hours so he could talk to me about something. That wasn’t unusual. I’d had classes with him for years, and I worked for his dad for a summer, so we were pretty close.”
I nod, wanting to encourage her to keep going without betraying how ravenous I am for the details.
“So, I went to his office and he had an early copy of the book there, on his desk. He said he wanted to thank me forhelping to inspire—those were the words he used—the opening chapter, and that he wanted to let me read it right there, in front of him, before the book came out.”
God, I’m practically salivating. I wish I could record this without freaking her out.
“Now, looking back,” she says, “I know he wanted to see how I’d react—to see whether I was going to be a problem.”
“About what?” I prod.
“About him copying a final paper I’d written for him sophomore year, nearly word for word.”
“Holy shit.” I lean back in the chair, the leather squeaking against my jeans, my mind leaping and twirling like it’s starring in a Broadway fucking musical. “The whole paper? That’s insane.”
“He changed a few things, I guess so it would sound more like him, but yeah, I basically wrote the entire first chapter. The research, the way it’s organized, the specific examples—that’s all mine.”
This is three-Michelin-star delicious. I’m gonna have nothing but fun nailing Curt’s ass to the wall with this, watching him squirm like the smug, silver-spoon-fed, born-on-third-base worm that he is.
“Hang on a sec.” With so much adrenaline coursing through me, I have to stand up. My work bag hangs from a hook by the front door, so I walk over and retrieve my copy ofFalling Apartfrom it. Bringing it along just felt like the right thing to do. But when Dottie sees the bright yellow cover, she grimaces like she’s in physical pain.
“Why do you have that garbage?”
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I was just curious about it. It was thirty percent off, if that helps.”
I flip it open to the first chapter, which, quite cleverly, follows the journey of a dining table destined for Wayfair as a way of introducing the book’s overall theme. It moves from the rubber-tree farm in Southeast Asia that supplies the inexpensive wood; to the nearby factory that turns the wood into furniture parts on the cheap; to the shipping container that can hold more tables than ever thanks to the ingenuity of using lightweight materials and flat-packing everything in pieces; to the consumer who buys the finished product for the bargain price of three hundred dollars from the comfort of her couch. It was the most enthralling part of the whole book.
I hold it out for Dottie. “All this is really yours?”
She refuses to take it. “Please don’t make me look at it. Yes, it’s really mine.”
“Sorry,” I say, realizing her pained expression wasn’t a joke. I reclaim my seat, relieved to see her posture soften when I shove the book under the chair. “So, after you read it in Bradshaw’s office, what did you say to him?”
“Nothing. It was like I was numb. I didn’t know what to say, or what to do. I don’t think I ever even looked up from the pages. I just remember not wanting to look at his face. And then I felt like I might get sick, so I just got up and left.”
“Did he follow you?”
“No. But his dad, Curtis Senior, called me the next day.”
“What the hell?”
“I knew him because I’d interned at his hedge fund. I was relieved, at first, to hear from him because I thought maybe he wanted to help.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know, maybe because I was panicking and not thinking clearly? He’d just always been really nice to me.”
“Okay, but what did he really want?”
Dottie laughs dryly.
“He was calling to cut a deal. I must’ve freaked out Professor Bradshaw pretty good, because he ran straight to Daddy and asked him to pay me off so I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
The rage wakes up, unspooling itself in my gut. Curt, you spoiled little bitch. You fucking low-rent Kendall Roy.
