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“Are you kidding? You’re the subject of some pretty horrible comments. Everyone wants to put a face to a name, and you have a great story. I think readers will love the small-town girl from North Carolina moving to the big city, excelling in college, and eventually opening her own business. It’s a real pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps story, and readers love them.”

The sad thing about the reporter’s pitch was that he thought it was a compliment.

“Mr. Friedman, I hate to burst your bubble, but Raleigh isn’t exactly a small town. Second, both my parents are college educated and I grew up in a middle-class home. As you’ve also discovered, I was fortunate to have the grades to get into an excellent university and studied like hell to be able to graduate in the top five percent of my class. I don’t believe that fits the customaryup by the bootstrapsstory.” Sure, life wasn’t fair, and as a Black person, she’d lived it firsthand. But she’d realized early on that she was more fortunate than most, and she refused to be depicted as a character of woe. More people than she cared to admit had it a lot worse.

As if sensing he’d well and truly put his foot in it, Mr. Friedman cleared his throat—an uncomfortable scratchy sound—and said, “All success stories are inspiring. As for the matter of the anonymous donor—”

“There was no anonymous donor,” Kennedy stated firmly, cutting him off. “Whoever gave you that information was mistaken. The scholarship for gifted students I received was offered by the university.”

“Throughthe university,” the reporter corrected. “The funding, however, came from an anonymous donor, and that’s the part of the story I find intriguing. And since it sounds as if you’re only finding out about it now, wouldn’t you like to know who helped fund your education? I know I would, if it were me.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Friedman, but I really have to go. Goodbye.”

Kennedy hung up before he could say another word, and then picked up her cell phone and purse before locking up the empty office. The car Nate had sent was waiting when she emerged from the building. She flashed the driver a tight-lipped smile when he opened the door for her. Inside the dark gray interior, she thought a lot about what the reporter had claimed, sounding supremely confident in his facts.

Anonymous donor, though? That couldn’t be right. Whoever his source was inside the university had to be mistaken.

Yet the more she thought about it, the more she questioned what she’d always believed to be the truth. Her recollection of the days she sat filling out application after application, both for college and financial aid, was mostly a blur of mental exhaustion and frustration. There’d been so many of them. Most she’d been able to fill out online, but some she’d had to complete by hand and return via snail mail. Kennedy had welcomed any and all help and had been grateful to Aurora for finding the scholarship. She hadn’t thought twice about having missed it herself. At the time, she’d qualified for two small grants but would need a lot more tuition assistance in order to be able to afford a university like Columbia.

Three weeks after she’d applied, she received notification that she’d gotten the scholarship, which would pay roughly 85 percent of her tuition and housing costs. She would never forget the overwhelming sense of relief she’d felt in knowing she’d be able to put herself through school. She would have to take out a loan, but it wouldn’t be an amount that would bankrupt her after she finished. Her parents were already in debt paying off the student loans they’d taken out to help her older brother and sister. She refused to add her educational burden to their already full financial plate and had been determined to do it on her own.

And she had.

At least, she thought she had.

Dinner was ready. Nate had made it himself, and done a good job of it, if he could say so himself. His abilities in the kitchen weren’t exceptional, but he could read and follow simple instructions and hadn’t attempted anything beyond his mediocre cooking skills. The baked salmon in a seasoned, brown sugar, oil, and soy sauce was an easy layup. Baked potatoes and sautéed vegetables were another can’t-miss. Now all he needed was his girlfriend to arrive and she could taste with her tongue what else he brought to the table in their relationship.

Just as he was placing the food in the warmer, his phone pinged with a message from his driver, letting him know he’d just dropped Kennedy off in front of his building. It was touches like that that made the service stand out from its competitors.

Nate expected a knock on the door in the time it took her to take the elevator up to the top floor. But the minutes came and went until ten had passed. Worried, he opened the door, intending to stick his head out before calling her to find out what was taking her so long. Startled, he reflexively jerked back at the sight of her standing at his doorstep, head down, arms at her sides.

“Hey, what are you doing out there? I thought you’d gotten lost.”

Then she lifted her gaze to his and he knew something was wrong.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He gently tugged her inside and closed the door. He hoped to hell it wasn’t another fucking email full of racist stereotypes and sexist garbage. Seriously, the whole thing was enough to make him lose his shit.

“Wrong? I’m not sure,” she replied, her voice flat.

“Something must be if I don’t even get a kiss,” he said, trying to coax something from her. Anything.

Kennedy stared at him, her eyes unblinking and her expression opaque. “If I ask you something, do you promise to be honest with me?”

Oh shit.That was like asking him if he’d rather die in the electric chair or by firing squad.

“Yes, of course. But why don’t we sit down first?” He had a feeling he was going to need the support.

“No, I’m good right here.”

He sent a pointed look at her heels and dove-gray pantsuit. The first thing she usually did when she got to his apartment straight from work was kick off her shoes and change into something comfortable. She kept a few pairs of yoga pants and T-shirts in a spare drawer in his bedroom.

Something was definitely wrong and getting worse by the second. He’d never dealt with Kennedy when she was like this. Cold. Unyielding. Emotionless. What the hell was going on?

“Did you pay for me to go to Columbia?” Her voice was calm, her tone measured.

Frozen in place from shock, Nate didn’t blink or breathe. Of all the things he might have expected her to ask, her question hadn’t even registered on his radar.

Are you seeing someone else? Did you marry someone when you were in France?Did you get someone pregnant?He’d been prepared for something along those lines, to which the answer would have been a resounding no. Easy stuff.

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