The Art of Scandal(50)

Nathan glared at Matt, who stared back with a newfound wariness. Lyric excused herself and mumbled something about being late for another event. Sofia offered to walk Lyric out. Joe studied everyone too long and too closely before his phone vibrated and pulled his attention away.

Nathan touched the small of Rachel’s back. “After you.”





The hallway was empty except for a woman in pale pink Chanel who gave Rachel a startled look before disappearing inside the restroom. Not good. Rachel probably looked like a wild animal caught in a net. She found an empty conference room and motioned for Nathan to follow her inside.

He had Sofia’s eyes. All that time she didn’t notice, but now she couldn’t unsee it. He and Joe had the same mouth and nose. “Would you say something, please?”

Nathan shrugged, like he was bored by the question. “I told you that my last name was Vasquez.”

“Oh, that is bullshit, and you know it.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “I didn’t want to tell you about my family. I still wish you didn’t know. I knew it would change how you see me. It always does.”

“Of course it does!” She groaned. “I am such an idiot. Of course you aren’t no one. I mean, who buys a laundromat before they can legally buy a drink?”

“What does that have to do with my family?”

She barked out a bitter laugh. “How did you pay for it? A trust? Something that hit your bank account when you turned eighteen?”

He didn’t answer. But his jaw twitched, and that was enough confirmation.

“And I doubt a fluff and fold was your childhood dream,” she continued. “So, who were you rebelling against? Who was the target of the fuck you that is your nonexistent college education and your designer T-shirt wardrobe? Sofia? Your father?” His eyes flashed. “Ah,” she said, and folded her arms. “Daddy issues makes total sense.”

Her scorn was laced with old resentments of college classmates like Nathan, spoiled into wearing their ambivalence as threadbare jeans from Goodwill. They’d been pretending. He’d been pretending to be an outsider, like her. Or at least, the way she used to be.

“Are you done?” Nathan’s voice was ice. “Because I don’t think you should throw stones about giving fuck yous to shitty families.”

And this was precisely why she didn’t trust people. They kept your secrets locked and loaded, ready to use against you. She’d ignored her instincts because she’d needed to feel something, anything besides rage. She should have known better than to think that salvation came in gorgeous Nathan Vasquez–shaped packages.

Being married to Matt had always been lonely. Even when he’d tried to be thoughtful and empathetic, there were parts of her that he could never understand. But Nathan had. Not everything, but more than anyone else. He knew what it was like to walk into a room of white faces wearing dark skin made of stone so no one could hurt you. He knew what it was like to love your art like it was a thing that made you, instead of the reverse. She didn’t have to explain it. He knew, and that had meant so much that she’d ignored everything else.

Now he was just like Matt. Rich and privileged. That easy confidence so rare for a guy his age was just a perk of having money.

Rachel moved in closer until they were inches apart. Even in heels she had to tilt her head back to glare at him. “Are you seriously comparing your situation to mine? If anyone finds out about us, I am done. I will be run out of town with pitchforks, and your mother will chair the witch hunt’s planning committee. I could lose everything—” She stopped when he cut his eyes in disbelief. Like he knew the first thing about her life.

“You knew who I was,” she said. “That Sofia and I are… friends. Is that why you slept with me?” She hated the quivering strand of hurt inside the question. “To get back at her for something?”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

She tried to wave him away.

“Rachel.” He grabbed her wrist. “I would never do that to you.”

He was close. Her focus narrowed to his chest, his shoulders, the musk of his aftershave. She searched for a safer place to rest her eyes, but her gaze landed on his mouth. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to be back there, sitting on his couch tracing his tattoos while he handed her pieces of himself. She didn’t want to be here. But this was the cost of letting someone in. The minute she let her guard down, they drew a map to the quickest way to hurt her. “I don’t even know who you are.”

Nathan’s eyes flashed and he put more distance between them. “Well, I don’t know you either. All that stuff you said about your husband? How you don’t love him anymore? If that’s true, then what are you doing here? With him?”

“It’s none of your business. You don’t get to ask about my marriage.”

“What marriage? He doesn’t want you. And you spent Saturday night riding my dick for hours, so you sure as hell don’t want him. How can you act like nothing happened?”

“Because nothing happened!” He blinked, his hard expression cracking. She knew it hurt, but she kept going. She had to. What they’d been doing was dangerous. “We fucked. It was a mistake. So let’s get through this, keep it professional, and move on with our lives. Can you do that?”