Page 69 of The Roommate Subtext

The song ended, and they stepped apart and joined in applauding for the band. Maggie’s eyes were dark and flirtatious and dangerous, and Blake wanted to get lost in them forever.

“Mr. Peabody! Oh, Blaaaaaaaake!”

They looked over to see a small, elderly woman moving toward them with surprising speed. Blake flicked through his mental database. Cynthia? Yes, Cynthia Harriman, who owned a sports team. Darn it, he couldn’t remember what sports team, but he remembered being surprised that she owned it in America. Maybe polo, or rugby? Something like that. She was a widow, a generous donor, and a definite flirt for her age, but harmless.

They met Cynthia at the edge of the dance floor. “Blake, I was very impressed by your presentation up there.” Beaming, she took one of his hands in both of hers. She wore violet lace gloves that went all the way up to her elbows, matching her (quite stylish) dress of the same color. “I thought, I must come over and give this young man my appreciation. How wonderful to be able to support this cause.”

“We’re honored by your support, Mrs. Harriman,” Blake answered, smiling.

“Oh, dear, you know it’s Cynthia.” She squeezed his hand. “You two look lovely out there dancing. I used to dance like that with my Friedrich, god rest his soul.”

Blake glanced at Maggie over Cynthia’s shoulder. Maggie seemed to read his mind and nodded with an indulgent smile on her face. “Cynthia, would you like to join me for this dance?” he asked.

Cynthia gasped. “My goodness, you flatter me. I couldn’t intrude on you two young lovers.”

“No, I was just going to get a drink.” Maggie stepped back and waved the two of them away. “Enjoy, please.”

Cynthia was all smiles as she let Blake lead her into a dance. She started chatting immediately, complimenting the presentation and the organization as well, moving seamlessly into a story about her first days of supporting nonprofits in Boston, and Blake was able to listen without having to speak much at all. Over Cynthia’s shoulder, he spotted Maggie watching them from the sidelines with a smile. But as he watched, Arnold Chauvel approached her, murmured something, and her smile disappeared. When he held out his hand for a dance, Maggie took it, and Chauvel led her out to the other side of the floor.

Maggie would rather eat glass than dance with Arnold Chauvel, but she needed to keep the peace this evening, both for herself and for Blake. Chauvel moved effortlessly, like he too had been taught how to dance, guiding her with the firm confidence of someone who was accustomed to getting what he wanted. Funny how different that felt from Blake’s confidence.

“I have a bone to pick with you.” He didn’t even lead in with small talk.

“About what?”

“About that travesty of an article you sent me.” He looked past her, in the direction where they were dancing, not meeting her eyes. “Do you honestly think I’d pay you thousands of dollars and save your family from financial ruin for a milquetoast piece of bullshit like that? I’m offended.”

Maggie’s head spun. “What do you mean? I did what you asked.”

“Anyone could’ve written that article. There’s no information about him that you couldn’t find out in five minutes with a web browser.” He leveled her with an intense stare. “Did you even talk with him?”

“Of course. You wanted me to learn about him. Obviously, I went to the source.”

Chauvel’s smile was thin, no teeth showing this time. “I’d thought you were better than this, but it turns out you’re just another weak-willed woman.”

Maggie tightened her grip on his hand. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, you’d hardly be the first one to get taken in by him.” He gave an undignified snort. “Why do you think I wanted you to write this piece in the first place? I’ve seen this happen to other women. Suddenly they’re under his thrall. But I thought you’d have more sense.”

Maggie’s senses prickled. Some of the pieces didn’t fit together. Clearly, this was a personal grudge. Chauvel had claimed it was on behalf of his friend, but Chauvel didn’t seem to do anything for selfless reasons, which meant he was personally affected. What could the Pimpernel have done to hurt a man like Chauvel? Wounded his pride, perhaps. “She wasn’t your friend, was she? The one who was with the Pimpernel.” Maggie looked at him in time to see a muscle in his jaw twitch. Might as well take a stab at her new theory. “She was your girlfriend.”

His hand tightened briefly on her mid-back, then eased, like he was forcing himself to relax. “My fiancée. She ended our relationship over him.”

“Over him.” Maggie’s mind spun. The Pimpernel had told her he’d never hurt anyone, as far as she knew, and she believed him. Or at least, she’d believed him at the time. Had he been sleeping with a woman who was engaged to someone else? He said sex was rarely involved. Rarely, not never. He didn’t seem like the sort of guy to enable cheating, but again, how well did she really know him?

Chauvel’s words were low and fierce. “Suddenly she doesn’t want anything to do with me. Says she’s discovered this new side of herself. That the Scarlet Pimpernel was responsible for all of it. She leaves me. Leaves me.” He scoffed again. “I gave her a few months to see reason, waiting for it to all fall apart. She’s not even with him, you know. He probably wanted nothing to do with her once she didn’t belong to another man.”

What a disgusting way to refer to someone, like she was property. “You want this article to get back at the Pimpernel.”

“Of course I do. I want to reveal him for what he truly is.” Chauvel didn’t sound angry; he sounded calculating, like he was beyond anger. “He hides behind his anonymity like a coward. And look at you, defending him. It makes sense that you’d want to protect him. I bet he makes you feel all kinds of things that your boyfriend never could.”

Maggie was about ready to say, “I don’t have a boyfriend,” but she stopped herself in time and didn’t say anything.

“He’s a sweet fellow.” Chauvel looked past her shoulder, and Maggie knew he was probably looking right at Blake. Then he turned them both around until Maggie was facing Blake over Chauvel’s shoulder. “Look at him, dancing with that dear old lady. Imagine what he’d think about you degrading yourself for some online asshole who won’t even show his face.”

Maggie hated the part of her that agreed with him. Maybe she was being foolish, thinking there could ever be something more with the Pimpernel. Chauvel took advantage of her silence to keep talking. “I want more, Marguerite. I want to know who he is. I want everyone to know.”

Maggie pulled back to look into his face, trying to keep her voice low as anger and shock warred within her. “That wasn’t part of the deal. I never agreed to dox him.” If she revealed the Pimpernel’s identity, she could ruin his life. He’d never been anything other than kind to her, and she couldn’t hurt him like that.