Heath snickered as he finished off his breakfast pastry. He seemed in good spirits, which was not usually the case, since his boyfriend had left for an indefinite stay in his homeland of Ireland. When I caught Heath’s gaze and Camille wasn’t looking, I blew on my tea to cool it. The frilly teahouse had been her choice and watching Heath blunder about in here was something close to comedy. He flagged down the server to ask for a second bear claw.
“So, Mia, what have you been up to?”
“Studying, mostly.”
Her brows shot up. “No charity events? Evening galas? Fundraisers and all that exciting stuff the one percenters do?”
I blinked. I was a one percenter now? “Only all that stuff med school students with no social lives do.”
Camille shrugged. “I’m surprised you haven’t quit med school, but obviously, you’re doing what you love. That’s great. I wish I were in the position to do what I loved, like run my own art gallery. I’d love that. But Mom and Dad want me to show that I’m productive, so to the job market I must bend. There’s not much out there for an art history degree.”
Camille had spent the first half-hour of our get-together complaining about how her parents had refused to pay for graduate school until she could hold down a responsible job for a year. Not too long ago, I would have killed to have that problem.
She bent forward and added milk to her tea. “I wish I could be like Heath and work for myself. Or, you know, just marry a billionaire.” She giggled as she gestured to my engagement ring.
I resisted the urge to pull my hand off the table and sit back. I was almost used to it now—almost. Adam and I had been engaged for over a year, and everyone outside my close circle saw our relationship as my winning lottery ticket. Few viewed Adam as a man beyond his staggering bank account. One acquaintance, after a few drinks to loosen him up, had even attempted to pry the value of Adam’s total assets out of me.
I’d responded with the truth—I had no idea how much he was worth in dollars. And I’d made sure to add a deliberately saccharine but he’s priceless to me with a cutesy smile and the hopes that he’d soon begin gagging from the treacle.
Nobody seemed to believe that I didn’t really know. After that lovely experience, I’d come up with a list of sarcastic responses to use in the likely event that his net worth was broached again.
It’s too hard to count it all while I’m swimming around in all that gold.
I don’t know. He hides it all in the Batcave underneath our house where he parks his Batmobile.
I don’t know, but if he starts making me call him Daddy Warbucks in bed, I’m out.
I don’t know. I haven’t weighed him lately, nor have I been able to discern his karat number.
Every time I try to check out his bank balance online, the screen locks up.
“That reminds me.” She leaned toward me. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”
I leaned back, mind racing. Uh oh. Shit. Should I get up and go to the bathroom? Maybe interrupt with one of my prepared snarky rebuttals? Instead, I said nothing, waiting for her to continue.
“Since I was elected as president of my sorority’s alumni committee, I’ve been tasked to raise money for new front room furniture. It’s been on the sisters’ wish list for a few years now, and I’d love to finally get the money together. Contributions are tax deductible. I’m sure your fiancé needs a ton of deductions.”
I took in a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth, feeling my face burn hot with irritation. “I, uh…um…” Damn. Why was my mind blanking on the list of smart, snappy comebacks?
Before I could shut her down, Heath deftly changed the subject, and she started talking about high school gossip. Who had seen whom, who had graduated from college, and who had dropped out. Who was still up in the Anza/Idyllwild area and who, like us, had managed to escape the high desert small-town community from which we’d all sprung.
“Oh. You’ll never guess who I ran into, Mia. Julian Kerr.” My stomach turned. I didn’t give two shits about any of the high school football players—who’d been worshipped as gods in our small town. I kept a straight face and hoped the subject changed again soon. “He’s working at his parents’ store. I guess Hollywood didn’t work out for him.”
I frowned, sipping more tea. Heath’s head jerked to me. Our eyes met, and mine darted away.
“He’s a loser,” Heath said. He’d opened his mouth to say more—hopefully to change the subject—when Camille rode over him, obviously drooling with the opportunity to share her next tidbit.
“Yeah, well, he might be, but he had some awesome gossip that I think might interest Mia. He told me that Zach Downs got arrested last month in Mexico.” She seemed satisfied when my cup clattered loudly back on its saucer and I sat back. I could feel myself pale at the mention of the name. That jerk. The asshole I’d dated in high school. I swallowed, and Camille was already continuing with her story. “They nabbed him at the airport for possession of a whole kilo of cocaine he was trying to bring home with him. He’s in prison down there, and his family is frantically trying to crowdfund legal fees in order to get him out.”
Sucking in an involuntary breath, I coughed ferociously. Blood pounded in my veins, but not because I’d accidentally tried to aspirate my own saliva. And not simply from hearing the name, either.
I was reliving that moment last spring when I’d run into the asshole again—for the first time since high school. My attempt to suppress a shiver was unsuccessful. Heath was all too aware of it, too, frowning at me in concern. I shot a self-conscious glance at Camille. She knew that Zach had been my high school boyfriend, of course, but she didn’t know everything. She didn’t know why we’d broken up or why I’d spent the last few months of my sophomore year at home. Everyone thought I’d caught a bad case of the chicken pox.
They had no idea that Zach had sexually assaulted me and beaten me up badly enough to leave marks that took months to fully heal. Or that I’d stayed home from school because even the thought of running into him on campus gave me panic attacks that prevented me from breathing.
I begged off, leaving that annoying tea date early by feigning a splitting headache. I gathered my stuff, gave Camille a rushed goodbye, and ran to my car. Heath caught up with me there.