Page 80 of The Roommate Subtext

Giselda hadn’t been trying to get into a relationship with the Pimpernel. And she hadn’t left Chauvel for him. Why the hit piece? Why now? That aspect still didn’t make sense.

Thank you for telling me, she wrote, since she wasn’t sure what else to say. And I really am sorry. She swallowed. Hope I haven’t put you off a whole future of having internet sex with strangers. It felt like goodbye.

She hated goodbye.

I’m not sure how I feel about the future of my internet sex with strangers, he wrote. I guess a lot depends on how things go tomorrow night.

Her heart sped up. You still want to meet me? Even after everything I’ve told you?

We should probably choose a different location, he said. Since Arnold Chauvel’s expecting us to show up at the Weatherfield.

Maggie was grinning and couldn’t seem to stop. How about the Docksider? Seven o’clock?

Seven o’clock, he confirmed. I’ll see you there.

How will I know it’s you? she asked, the thought suddenly occurring to her.

There was a long pause before he replied. You’ll know.

EIGHTEEN

Maggie fortunately had enough on her mind Monday to keep from worrying about that night. She and Cora started their day with James, who gave Cora a crash course on their financial status and brought her in on all the reports. She took to it well, as Maggie should have known; she was a scientist with a head for numbers. By the time their meeting was over, Maggie felt clear about what their finances would look like if the worst should happen. It wouldn’t be easy, but they could get by.

After Cora headed to the lab, Maggie talked with Wiggins, approved his draft notice of contract termination, and sent it off to Chauvel. She was sitting down to lunch when her phone rang.

Of course it was Chauvel. She considered letting it go to voicemail, but she might as well get this over with. She signaled to the server and took the call outside.

“I bet you’re pretty proud of yourself.” Chauvel’s irritated voice came through the line. “Taking the high road to protect him? Do you even care about your future? Your sister’s future? I can make your lives a living hell.”

“Thank you for your concern,” she said, trying to sound calm. “I wish you luck on your future endeavors.”

“Fuck you,” he spat back. “I know you know who he is. And I’m going to find out. Are you out with him right now? Is that it? Are you two off having lunch together? Or are you saving it for your date tonight?”

“Goodbye, Arnold,” she said, and hung up without another word. Her hands were shaking, and she wiped her palms off on her jeans before reentering the restaurant. When her phone rang again, she blocked the number.

She wasn’t finished with Chauvel. He would surely do everything he could to make her life miserable. But ultimately, she could only control what she could control.

She had bigger things to worry about … like tonight.

The expression was about being a bundle of nerves, but that felt inaccurate to Maggie as she stared at her closet again, trying to figure out what to wear. She wasn’t a bundle of nerves as much as one nerve: one giant, vibrating nerve that made her entire body feel like it was shaking apart from the inside out.

She’d spent Monday afternoon burying herself in her work, trying not to think about the date at all. She’d done some writing, some marketing, and some cold emailing, pushing everything non-work-related out of her mind for as long as possible. All in all, she’d managed to pass the time effectively … until about 5 p.m., when she could no longer ignore the ticking clock in her head, and she’d turned all her nervous energy to the impending date.

A knock at her bedroom door made her turn. “Come in,” she said, then added, “I’m in my underwear,” as an afterthought as Blake pushed the door halfway open.

He froze, eyes widening at the sight of her in her bra and panties. “Your warning was a little late.”

She looked down at herself. “You’ve seen it before.”

Blake gave a small cough that turned into a laugh. “I guess so.” He gestured to the door. “I’m going out tonight. I’m … meeting up with a friend. I’m not sure how late we’ll be out, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

He looked good, in one of his adorable sweater vests—argyle this time—and some dark jeans. She felt a pang of regret. Maybe she should have pushed him to talk last night, when she’d come home worried and he’d reminded her that they’d agreed sleeping together doesn’t have to mean anything. But she hadn’t pushed. And she couldn’t think of anything other than the Pimpernel. She couldn’t let herself worry about Blake right now, not when she had this monumental Pimpernel-shaped question mark hanging in front of her.

“Have fun,” she said. “I’m going out, too, so I’m not sure which of us will be home first.”

“Oh, nice.” He nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something then, too, but he only smiled. “Have fun.” He turned to go, then paused and turned back. “You should wear the yellow dress. It looks nice on you.” Then he was gone, the condo door closing behind him.

Maggie watched him go, surprised into silence. The festive gourd dress, he’d called it that one time. With a smile, she fished it out of her closet and pulled it over her head. She felt cute in that dress. She paired it with leggings, then stared at herself in the mirror from a few different angles. Blake had good taste.