Page 16 of A Secret and a Lie
I haven’t had time to investigate the forms thoroughly yet, but the parts of the encrypted email that her assistant shared this morning told me that this isn’t a low-level operation.
“How much does she cost?” Drake asks, guzzling water.
“There’s a fifty-thousand-dollar retainer on top of her rate of ten thousand per hour.”
“Holy fuck. I hope you run up the FBI’s bill out of spite.”
Fully intending to do just that, I laugh. “That’s not all, though,” I explain, getting to the best part. “In addition, there’s a fee of one secret you’re required to submit to even be considered as a client.”
Drake’s having the same reaction I had last night when Henry informed me of the price. If I had to guess, his blood is running as cold as mine was. “Shit, you’re telling me she holds the secrets of practically everyone in D.C.?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, and if I had to guess, her web stretches far beyond this city and probably the country.”
He tosses his towel over his shoulder. “She has to know that makes her enemy number one.”
“Henry told me last night that she was shrewd and cunning, but that she was the most charming woman he’s ever met.”
“Henry Fisher? The senator from South Carolina? Of course,he’sa client. That man could be charmed by a goddamn cobra.” He moves to shut off the stereo before inquiring, “So, what are you going to tell her? What’s your secret?” He waggles his eyebrows, and I chuckle.
“Fuck, I don’t know.” I rub the back of my neck. This shit has given me a headache since I read the email, but I’m considering giving her something honest.
He follows me to the kitchen, where I start making breakfast—for two, apparently. “Are you going to fuck her?”
My eyes slide to where he leans against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. “No.”
His head rears back. “How the hell do you plan to manage that?”
Eyes narrowed, I sigh. “It’s not required for me to get what I need. I don’t want to fuck her.”
That hangs between us until a grin spreads across his face. “Because you want to fuck someone else.”
I don’t comment. Instead, I crack some eggs into the skillet.
“Who is she? Why didn’t you say something? You haven’t been interested in anyone since—”
I cut him off before he can irritate me by bringingherup. “There’s nothing to tell. I’ve only met her twice.”
“But you like her?”
How do I explain that I’ve thought of almost nothing but Genevieve since the moment I met her? How do I explain that there’s something carnal and primal about the way I want to get my hands on her? How do I explain that I want to hear her call meSira thousand times over?
I can’t explain something I don’t understand myself. “Yeah, I like her.”
“So, ask her out?”
No shit.Rolling my eyes, I plate the eggs.
“This is how it’s going to go: you’ll ask her out, she’ll fall for your…personality, you’ll date, but not long enough to find out that she’s half-crazy, and you’ll get married. Then, divorced.”
I laugh loudly, Drake joining me as amusement fills the kitchen. “Sounds great,” I remark wryly.
“Hey, it worked for me.”
I stare at the blue-lit screen of my computer, bright in the dim light of my office. Lifting the whiskey to my lips, I take a gulp of the alcohol, praying it possesses magical powers. Powers that might give me the ability to decipher the meaning of these fucking questions.
Stupidly, I reach for my phone, typing out a text to Drake.
Ford: What the fuck is a switch?
