by Ashley Papa
“You’re traveling again? Geez, Paige, when did this come up? I thought we had plans this weekend,” Liam moaned.
Lying naked under his arm, I thought that breaking the news to him after we orgasmed would’ve softened the blow. Thursday was quickly turning into Friday and I was flying back down to Dallas in about eleven hours.
“Baby, I know. It was very last minute,” I soothed while looking up into his eyes. “I just need to wrap up this story. I’ll still be home to see you this weekend,” I promised.
I could tell in his eyes he didn’t believe me. I’ve made similar promises before. Without any sort of response or even a kiss goodnight, he rolled to his side of the bed facing away from me.
With all the running around I had been doing the past several weeks, I was actually looking forward to the four-hour flight and being unreachable. As the plane taxied out to the runway, I shoved the earbuds that were plugged into my seat’s television and put on episodes of The Big Bang Theory—just one of the features on the American Airlines flight. Back home, my team was diligently working on their tasks. April was out on Long Island with Piper living it up at Surf Lodge in Montauk and 1 OAK in Southampton. Adam kept it local to monitor Walter. Taylor was also doing all she could to keep The Gotham Post out of my hair. With three weeks to go before the interview, I couldn’t deal with the paper’s perpetual nagging for photos and updates.
Rodney and Richard were aware of my quick jaunt to Dallas after surprising them with a “guess who’s coming to town” text. Despite our lack of communication lately, they were quick to invite me over for dinner when I got in. They even arranged for a car to fetch me from the airport!
If all goes as planned, I’ll be back home Saturday evening and in Liam’s arms by midnight.
“Paige! So good to see you! Come here!” Pamela gushed as if we’ve been friends for years.
It seemed like just last week I was at the Roches’ estate. The butler escorted me to Rodney’s wife, Pamela, and Richard’s wife, Tracy, who were both sitting outside by the pool. Pamela’s waist must have been 20 inches around. They were both in skimpy sundresses and floppy hats and sipping on what was likely a Skinny Girl Martini.
“Aren’t you excited for another barbeque dinner?” Pamela sarcastically questioned. “Tracy, you remember Paige? She was here a few months ago. A friend of our hubbies. She is back in town for more work, isn’t that right?”
I took a seat in the wicker chair and was promptly served an identical drink to Tracy’s and Pamela’s.
“Yup…duty calls. Where are the men anyways?”
They have such a large presence; I can usually detect them a mile away.
“Oh, they’re out hunting something. They should be back soon. They said no later than four,” Tracy said while tapping on her diamond-encrusted Rolex.
The Roche wives could’ve passed for twins, with the bleach blonde poufy hair, size D implants, swollen lips, and bulging blue eyes. While discussing superficial things like white versus black pearls and flying on private planes and trips to Turks and Caicos, the butler would repeatedly come over to refill our emptying drink glasses. The more we drank, the more chatty the girls got.
“So tell me, how did you meet Richard and Rodney?” I began. “Are you both from Texas?”
Pam and Tracy looked at each other as if to tell the other one to speak.
“Well, we’re from up north, went to Texas Christian, and met Richard and Rodney right after graduating,” Pamela explained.
I took another big sip of my drink. Two down. The sun was setting behind us and the patio umbrella was slowly becoming ineffective. I could feel the strong hot rays on my back.
“Yes, but how did you meet them?” I pushed harder.
They gave each other that same look again.
“We don’t usually tell people this, but, since you’re a good friend and seem genuine…we actually met them online,” Pamela admitted.
Online? Oh really?
“No way!” I cried with feigned exuberance. “I didn’t know online dating was a big thing down here. Do tell!”
Richard and Rodney online dating?
“It was a different kind of dating website. Have you ever heard of the site Rags and Riches?” Tracy timidly asked.
The brief and casual mention made me nearly regurgitate my drink back into my glass.
“You mean the sight where rich men solicit young women in need of money? I thought that website was shut down years ago,” I questioned while trying to not come across too accusatory or insulting.
“It did following that massive data breach. All the user names were leaked. Luckily, we met our men in the site’s glory days. It’s like, it was meant to be,” Pamela boasted.
“You know, Texas Christian is a very expensive school. And with all the loans and our sorority fees, the three of us were all kinds of desperate,” Tracy defended.
Doesn’t that go against the school’s morals? How “Christian” is being a sugar baby?
“I’m sorry, did you say “three of us”? Who was the third?”
“Yes. Me, Tracy, and our sorority sister, Lucy. She lives in New York City now. Did you meet her when you were here last?” Pamela unknowingly divulged a swath of information in that one detail.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t meet her. But I would LOVE to,” I exclaimed.
“You’d like Lucy.” I’m sure I would. “She has the life…” Pamela started before Tracy interjected.
“I beg to differ, Pam. Actually, she has to keep her relationship under wraps because it’s pretty high-profile,” Tracy let out in her high-pitched voice. “I’d rather be in a relationship that I didn’t have to hide.”
Pamela and Tracy continued to serve me info like I was ghostwriting their memoirs. It turns out that none of the three women knew whom they were getting involved with until the second date. That’s because Rodney, Richard, and Walter used fake names and profiles on the website. It seems almost sinister that Walter would bring his Rags and Riches mistress into his home and hire her as Piper’s babysitter, later on. Tracy even confessed that she and Pam wanted to sue the men for fraud, but after learning about the Roche’s net worth, they opted to continue on with the relationships.
What would possess Walter to sign up for such a sleazy website like that? Was he really that unhappy in his marriage? How did he know Lucy was on there?
Rodney and Richard finally returned an hour after they said they’d be home. After finishing with the platter of barbeque meats, casseroles, and thick slices of bread, I ended up spending the night at the Roches’ in one of their guest bedrooms. As much as I didn’t want to impose, Pamela insisted, so I obliged.
The next morning, instead of wasting time perusing the grounds of TCU and nosing around Sorority Row, I spent the few hours I had before my flight palling around with Tracy and Pamela. The two women dropped an easy $5,000 on a new Chloé purse, $2,000 on a leather bomber jacket, and $350 on a swanky brunch at Le Beau Pain. With endless funds courtesy of their husbands, these women were well taken care of. But, walking behind them as they window-shopped on the hot Dallas streets, I still sensed emptiness inside them. Money, trips, and endless “stuff” can only do so much to satisfy a person’s soul.
Back in that same small seat of the American Airlines flight back to Newark Airport less than 24 hours later. I had successfully accomplished what I wanted and would still be home in time to see Liam.
The plane was full and because of the late booking, I had to settle for coach. Careful not to let anyone see, I angled my laptop screen towards the window so I could conduct my research a little more privately. The inflight Wi-Fi sucked but was just enough to allow me to Google Rags to Riches. I scanned old headlines. When the website was hacked years ago, media outlets published the email addresses of alleged users. I remembered how big of a scandal it was. Thanks to the Internet and
the fact that nothing ever disappears these days, I was able to pull up some old articles on the hacking. One, in particular, linked to the list of email addresses. I downloaded the 340-page document containing the user accounts. It seemed like millions of users and they were in no particular order. Still, I scanned every single one of them.
It wasn’t until we were flying over Philadelphia, and I was on page 324, when I saw an email address that made me do a triple take.
Am I really seeing this?
[email protected]: the same e-mail that was on Walter’s phone bill. He had managed to bypass anyone getting wind of this. I had more than I needed to take down Walter. It was time to free Victoria from her husband’s deceitful grip.
Once off the plane and through the gate, I threw myself into the first cab I saw outside of the terminal. I had the urge to celebrate.
“Forty third and third,” I ordered the driver.
I opened my Seamless app, clicked on Insomnia Cookies, and had two double chocolate chunk cookiewiches sent to Liam’s place with a note: “Sweets for my sweetie. See you in 30.”
SUNDAY
Five in the morning. Too early to be awake, yet something did not feel right. Liam was still out cold next to me. His chest would rise and fall with every breath he took, like light rolling waves on a calm sea. For that moment under the cool Ralph Lauren sheets, I thought about how lucky I was to have met someone so right, considering all the wrong men I am surrounded by on a daily basis. I kissed him on the cheek, careful not to wake him, and quietly slid myself out of the bed and tiptoed into the living room. The sun’s rays glistened off the East River while sailboats slowly made their way downstream. I clicked on the news, making sure to keep the sound at the lowest level. Channel 4’s token Asian anchor was going through the usual top stories, including a shooting in the Bronx, a hit-and-run in Queens, a theft in Harlem, and expected subway delays.
Coming up next, “Mayor Wilcox caught with his pants down,” she said.
What?! Please don’t tell me someone leaked something…
“We’ll tell you what prompted him to strip for a good cause,” she continued.
I let out a long sigh. The story ended up being about him raising money for Figure Skating in the Bronx, a local charity that benefited young girls with an interest in figure skating. Mayor Wilcox skated with some of the girls in his shorts and a T-shirt in the 38-degree Sky Rink at Chelsea Piers.
Wait a minute. Who is that?
Something, more like someone, had caught my eye. I hit the rewind on the DVR and replayed the video in slow motion. As the camera panned the bleachers, there she was. Lucy! She was sitting with Comptroller Brownstein and together they looked like the perfect couple. To the average viewer, she looked like Richard’s wife. Jimmy was also standing off to the side by the exit door. It all made sense now. Lucy wasn’t just Richard’s beard. He had been made to look like he and Lucy were an item all along so that she could be out with Walter without anyone getting suspicious. Meanwhile, Richard really had a thing going on with Jimmy.
This case is like an episode of The Young and the Restless.
“What are you doing up so early?” Liam’s question startled me from my analytical state.
He was still naked as he walked across the living room and to the kitchen to get some water. His tight butt was turning me on.
“I couldn’t sleep any longer. You looked passed out, so I didn’t want to wake you.”
My knees were pulled up inside one of his Hurley surfing T-shirts that I had thrown on. He came over and kissed my tired eyes.
“I like your outfit,” I joked and slapped his thigh as he plopped down next to me.
“The last thing I would be doing if I couldn’t sleep is watch the news,” he commented.
“Well, you know I’m a news junkie. I have to make sure the world didn’t blow up while we were fucking,” I sarcastically explained.
He laughed at my quick tongue and I maneuvered his limbs so I was perfectly curled up under his arms.
“Baby…baby…your phone.”
Whaaa?
Liam was shaking me. I had gotten too comfortable in his embrace and passed out momentarily. He dangled the phone in front of me like a hypnotist.
“Your girl Taylor has been blowing up your phone the past ten minutes. You fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake you but she won’t stop!”
I grabbed the phone from him and answered. I couldn’t even get a complete “good morning” out because she sounded so hyped up, like she had too much coffee.
“Paige, The Gotham Post has been UP MY ASS. They need to see photos. They haven’t had an update from you in days! They think you’re dead or something,” Taylor nagged.
Her demand was not typical Taylor. Liam was still sitting naked next to me and I didn’t want him to overhear the conversation, so I excused myself into the bedroom.
“Taylor, I honestly have nothing new for them. Not until the actual interview!” I loudly whispered into the phone.
“I can only push back so much. I can’t risk my reputation and my publicity business either. Just give me a couple generic pictures and notes to appease them, okay?” she begged.
I hated having to succumb to their demands especially knowing what they were really getting out of this deal.
After agreeing to Taylor’s wishes, I now had to get back home stat. I figured I’d send them a bland rundown and some pictures to keep them out of my hair.
I could see Liam’s anticipating disappointment on his face when I came back into the room. I sat on his bare lap, put my arms around his neck, and looked solemnly into his hazel eyes.
“Let me guess. You have to leave,” he said with a sigh.
I could either leave like I usually do or I could take the risk and invite him back.
Maybe this would be a good time to tell him what I do and who I really am.
“I do. Do you want to come back to my place with me? My editor is just giving me a hard time.”
My stomach knotted with the invite. After constantly using the excuse that it was easier for the both of us if we kept using his place to meet, I couldn’t avoid it any longer. It took no convincing at all to get him to come with me. In fact, I noticed a sharp change in his demeanor after asking him. It was as if he felt excited and happier that I was opening up more.
We quickly changed and hailed an Uber to take us to Hoboken.
Crap, I think I left my spy equipment out. I hope Adam isn’t there working. Oh man. I think I’m going to pass out.
It may have been a good idea to give him a disclaimer or confidentiality agreement explaining that what he was about to see was off the record. But I had waited too long. As the car pulled in front of my apartment building, I could feel my Rosacea flaring up.
Liam held my hand as we walked through the lobby and into the elevator. I hit the PH17 button with my shaky finger.
“Wow…penthouse, huh? I had no idea reporters made that kind of money,” he commented.
“New Jersey is a lot cheaper. Plus, it’s not really a penthouse. By the way, my place is a mess. I haven’t had much time to clean lately,” I warned.
“Babe, stop worry!”
We walked slowly down the dimly lit and quiet hallway.
“Here we are,” I said and proceeded to open the door slowly as if it were booby-trapped.
Thankfully, it wasn’t as disoriented as I feared. Stacks of papers and files sat out on the coffee table. Liam walked in without a hesitation and made his way over to the windows that looked out over the Hudson. That seemed to be a draw for anyone who entered. Then, I let him roam around as if inspecting for signs that I was cheating or hiding drugs. He did that while I coolly went over to the kitchen to get some water. I patrolled his movements like a warden. He walked back over to the leather couches, stopping to check out my night vision gog
gles on the floor by the end table.
Crap…
“Are those night vision goggles?” he asked, pointing down at them.
“Umm. Oh, yes, actually. They were a gift from my old law enforcement friend. I just keep them out for decoration…or inspiration…something,” I fibbed. “Can I get you something to eat or drink? I just have to take care of some emails quickly in my office,” I offered wanting to keep this visit short.
“Go for it. I am fine. I will just sit here and wait for you.”
“Okay. Here. You can watch Netflix.”
The recently watched list came up revealing nothing but crime and murder mysteries as if to say to him, “You’re dating a psychopath.” I handed him the controller, kissed him on the lips, and continued to my office. The door was slightly ajar so I could keep an eye on his movements through the reflection in the computer monitor.
I quickly scanned through all 103 photos, deciding on three random ones to send to Connie and Juliet. Then, I typed up some bullets for them so they knew about my progress. Cc-ing Taylor, I hit “send.” Connie must have been waiting with her phone in her hand and eyes glued on the screen because within 15 seconds, she responded with a “thanks.”
“Jesus Christ…your office…”
I turned my head sharply to see Liam standing in the doorway. His eyes wide and fixated on the three computer monitors displaying top-secret information, two TVs with frozen images of Mayor Wilcox, stacks of file boxes, and my glass lockbox containing my Glock, lucky pocketknife, and assortment of spy cameras.
“It looks like the Pentagon in here.”
I was frozen in my seat. Making any sudden movements to push him out would only make this worse.
“Vixen Investigator?” he questioned, pointing to the badge on the desk.
I quickly hit the “Abort All” tab on my computer. It was a feature I had specifically designed for situations like this where all the computer screens and monitors would instantly turn off. It was now clear to him that I was hiding something. In an effort to try to explain things, I stood, trying to block everything that I was hiding from him these past months.