“Whatever, I miss your face. See you in an hour?”
I smile, glad Angie isn’t hurt. “Yeah. I miss yours too.”
After we hang up, I text Natalie.
Heads up: Angie and I are meeting for brunch at the Thorns at eleven.
Oddly enough, she doesn’t reply.
Natalie
* * *
I step through the door into the kitchen at exactly seven o’clock, and the whole place is in chaos. Danny is wearing even more flour than usual, and he’s chewing out his assistant over what sounds like “heavy rolls.” The poor guy is shaking. I glance around—Djimon is nowhere to be seen, but that’s not unusual for a Saturday morning—he usually comes in just before the brunch service, letting Danny supervise the kitchen opening.
“Danny,” I interrupt.
He turns to me with a glower. “What?”
“If the rolls aren’t right, you don’t have time to argue about it. Put biscuits and gravy on the specials menu and move the fuck on.”
“I need buttermilk to make biscuits.”
“Use regular milk, add a tablespoon of vinegar for every cup.” When I clock his aghast expression, I shrug. “Grew up in the South. Pretty sure biscuits and gravy were my first solid food.”
“Fine, get out of my kitchen and let me work.” He shoos me away.
I peek into the restaurant to see all the expected servers doing sidework and chatting. Everything looks good there.
But when I get to my office, something is wrong.
Very wrong.
Priya is standing behind my desk, arms crossed over her chest, face pale. And the safe is open.
“Hey, Pri. Why’s the safe open?” I ask, hanging my handbag on the hook behind my door.
“We’d like to know that too.”
The strange voice makes me jump. When I turn around, I see a uniformed police officer and Astrid, the general manager of the Thorns, standing in the middle of my office.
“Um, I just got here, so I can try to find out, but—”
“Elinor called me.” Priya stares at me, clearly pissed off. “I can’t believe you, Natalie. She was on her way out of the country on vacation when she got my most recent email. She said she never heard from you.”
“We’ve been playing phone tag for weeks but—”
“For fuck’s sake, cut the shit.” Priya hisses. “It’s over. We know what you did.”
They know. They know what? Bex? Vertical Smile? Both? Which is less likely to get me fired?
something’s got to give something’s got to give something’s got to give
“It started out as just something fun to do on the weekends. I never meant for it to turn into what it did.”
“Whoa—slow down.” The police officer holds up a hand. “You have rights—unless you’re waiving them?”
“Rights? Since when is it illegal to front a punk band?”
“Stop playing dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” Priya scowls. “We’re talking about the embezzlement and theft.”
“Embezzlement? Theft?” I look back and forth between the three of them, and at the open safe door. Embezzlement. Open safe in my office. Priya’s look of betrayal. “What the hell is going on?”
The police officer steps forward.
“Ms. Marshall, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say can and may be used against you in court.”
This can’t be happening. I’m having a nightmare. This is not my life.
“Are you arresting me?”
“I’m taking you into custody so we can ask you some questions. I’m going to finish explaining your rights, I’m going to make sure you understand them, and then we’ll take a ride and you can tell us how this all happened.”
“How what happened?”
“You have the right to an attorney.”
I take a deep shuddering breath. “I want one.”
Fourteen
Bex
* * *
I make it to the Thorns earlier than planned, so I stop by the concierge office on my way in.
“Hello, Ms. Horvath, how can I help you today?” The young woman at the front desk greets me with a smile.
“Could you let Natalie Marshall know I’m here? We’re working together on my father’s wedding. I wanted to say hello.”
The smile falls from her face and she goes pale. “I’m sorry, no. She’s gone out. I can’t say when she’ll be back.”
Can’t? Okay, that’s weird. “Did she pop out for lunch?”
“I can’t tell you that either.”
What the actual fuck? Is Nat hiding from me? I glance at my phone—still no answer to my earlier text.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You can’t tell me if she’s on her lunch break, you can’t say when she’ll be back.” Could it be related to the 3 a.m. panic attack? “Is she all right at least? We’ve gotten friendly, working together, and you’ve got me worried.”
The woman looks around her, then leans forward. “I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I’m worried too.”
“Maybe I can help her?” I feel guilty pushing for more information, but my whole body is on red alert.
“She left with the police. Something happened here last night. I don’t know what, but they think she did it.” She frowns. “I don’t see how, because she never comes into the club on her Fridays off. I could probably be fired for telling you this.”
Natalie was with me last night. Surely she’d told them that? Rather than be arrested over what had to be a misunderstanding? Or was it? Could she have done something? Could that be why the panic attack? We don’t know each other all that well yet.
Guilt washes over me in a hot rush. Of course she hadn’t done anything. She was with me. And before that the band. Which means something fucked up is going on, and Nat’s probably scared to death.
“Thank you for telling me. I won’t tell anyone it was you. Did the officer leave a card?”
She nods and hands it over. “Why?”
“I’m a member of the New York State Bar. If they’re questioning her in police custody, she needs a lawyer.”
Yeah, I’m definitely jumping in over my head. I don’t know if Nat can afford a lawyer or not. I don’t know if she’s already got one or not. And there’s no way on God’s green earth I can defend a criminal case, even if I weren’t sleeping with her.
But I need to see her.
Natalie
* * *
I’ve never been so terrified in my life.
It’s not like this is the first time I’ve been arrested—or taken into custody, or whatever. I got picked up on a trespassing charge after my parents kicked me out and before I moved in with X. But that time? I knew why. I was a stupid kid trying to find a warm place to sleep on a cold night, and I fucked up.
This is different.
And sitting in a holding cell while I wait for them to find a public defender gives me plenty of time to rack my brain. I know I didn’t embezzle money or steal anything. And I have a rock-solid alibi—as long as I don’t mind losing my job.
A nervous giggle escapes me and the panic starts to set in. Right. Like I haven’t lost it already?
Something’s got to give something’s got to give something’s got to give
What did Priya say about Elinor—that she hadn’t heard from me? That was ridiculous. I’d been leaving her voice messages for weeks. But if she’d deleted them…But how could she have made it look like something I’d done? It was impossible. But Priya had believed it.
How could Elinor have convinced Priya?
I turn the situation over and over in my mind until the door swings open and an officer walks in.
“Your lawyer is here.”
And in comes Bex. I start to stand up, but she gestures for me to sit down and thanks the officer before settling into the chair across from me.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss. “Pretending to be a lawyer?”
“I am a lawyer,” sh
e retorts. “And the girl at the reception desk filled me in on what she knows, so when you get back to work, bring her a coffee or something. Have they charged you with anything or are they just yanking you around?”
“They just want to question me,” I mumble.
“Okay, that’s good. Listen, I’m not a criminal lawyer—I worked in contracts for my dad’s production company. And I only practiced for a year. It’s unethical as hell for me to represent you, so when we leave here, I want you to let me find you a damn good defense lawyer, okay?”
I stare at her. “Why are you even here?”
She smiles. “Whatever you did or didn’t do, you need someone on your side.”
Ouch. I guess I shouldn’t have expected her to believe in my innocence—we barely know each other. Maybe I’m supposed to feel grateful that she’s on my side, but mostly? I feel sick. My eyes sting and the gorge rises in my throat.
Something must have shown on my face, because her smile falls and she touches my hand. “Nat? Look, I know money must be tight—I’m sure I can call in a favor to cover your legal expenses.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I say, knocking her hand away. “And I don’t want you doing me favors.”
Frowning, she reaches like she’s going to touch my hand again, but then obviously thinks better of it. “I want to help. Can you at least tell me what’s going on? Panic attacks in the middle of the night and then this—what do you expect me to think?”
I take a deep breath. Why should I trust her? Why shouldn’t you?
“Elinor in HR is in charge of new-hire paperwork for both clubs. Priya started noticing some discrepancies in the accounting for our employees and asked me to help her get answers. I don’t know how Elinor set me up, or why, but that’s what happened—from what I can tell, which isn’t much—she made it look like I embezzled money from employee retirement accounts.”
She straightens up, all business. “Okay, that kind of thing has a paper trail—since you didn’t do it, we should be able to figure it out. And you have an alibi for last night.”
“No, I don’t.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and now she’s looking at me like I have three heads.
“I’m pretty sure there are a few hundred people who can testify that you were performing at Bridgeview Pub last night. I’m one of them.”
“And then I lose my job.”
“So what? It’s a job. You’ll get another one.”
My face burns hot, and tears prickle the back of my eyes. “What the hell would you know about it? You’ve never had to work a day in your life. I’ve been working at the The Thorns since I was a teenager. The staff are practically family.”
“You can’t even tell them the most important things about yourself. That’s not family.”
“They’re all I have left of X.”
“Oh, honey. The job is not him. Don’t you think he’d want you to be happy?”
I cross my arms over my chest, jut my chin, and let all the hurt out in my voice. “With you? I doubt it.”
She rears back like she’s been slapped, but it’s only satisfying for a moment.
“I see.” She swallows. “I guess I deserve that. I came in here ready to save the day without asking what you wanted or needed from me. I’ve behaved unprofessionally and I’ve also hurt you personally. I’m sorry. I’m a terrible lawyer and a shitty person, but I only wanted to help.”
And now I feel like an asshole. Because no matter how misguided her advice or plans to save the day are—she isn’t a shitty person.
“Bex—”
“Do you want me here?” she cuts me off before I can apologize.
“Your coming down here is the nicest thing anyone has done for me since X took me in. But you thought I might be guilty. And that hurts.”
“I’m sorry—initially, yes, I did wonder if your panic attack was related to whatever is going on.”
“Initially?” My voice quakes. “But you don’t wonder anymore?”
“Nat—I’ve seen the way you work. You’re relentless at the Thorns, and then you turn around and play epic sets with Vertical Smile. You barely sleep, and then when you do, you’re out like a light. Not only can I not imagine you jeopardizing your job by running an embezzling scheme, I can’t imagine when you’d find time to do it. I also know you’re not the kind of person who would hurt others on purpose.”
Her voice is sincere, and her expression serious. She doesn’t break eye contact until I look away, suddenly overwhelmed.
“Thank you.” I wipe at my eyes. “Shit, I’m gonna fucking cry.”
“I won’t judge.”
The door to the interview room opens, and an officer walks in.
“Ms. Marshall, some new information has come to light, and we’re declining to interview you at this time. We’ll be in touch through Ms. Horvath when we need to ask you more questions.”
My mouth drops open. “What do you mean? You drag—”
“Not now.” Bex cuts me off. “Thank you, officer.”
She makes a show of gathering up her notebook while giving me a silencing stare.
I shut my mouth and let her lead me out of the station, my body humming with relief—and confusion.
Fifteen
Bex
* * *
My heart jackhammers in my chest as I lead a fuming Nat out of the police station. As fluorescent lights and air conditioning give way to sunshine and the stagnant heat of a summer afternoon in Manhattan, I’m already calling a Lyft to bring us back to my sublet.
“What the hell just happened?” Nat turns on her cell phone and alerts jump on the screen. “I’ve got a bunch of texts from Priya telling me to call her. Is she for fuckin’ real?”
She’s building up a head of steam, so I put a hand on her arm to calm her. “Nat.”
She looks up at me.
“The Lyft will be here in a minute. We’ll talk at my place. Don’t blow up at Priya until you’ve heard what she has to say.”
“She believed it—she was the one who accused me. I thought she was my friend, and she threw me under the bus. I don’t want to talk to her at all.”
I can see her point, and god knows she has the right to be angry. “Of course you don’t, but maybe let her explain what happened? We still don’t know what the new information that came to light was. We don’t know how Elinor set you up.”
She lets out a deep sigh. “You’re right. I hate that you’re right.”
Try as I might to hold back the smile on my lips, I’m pretty sure I’m unsuccessful. “It doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”
“It’s not that. I hate that you’re right because—”
A white Focus pulls up to the curb, and I stop her. “It’s our Lyft.”
After we get in the car and greet the driver—a graying hipster, complete with mustache and black-rimmed glasses—she continues.
“I just want to be mad and make her feel awful and get some kind of payback for the terror and the shitshow of this morning. And you’re all rational.”
“I’m rational because I’m not personally involved beyond you. And I want you to be happy and safe and not in an interrogation room, so if she can help us understand what happened?”
“And that’s why you’re right.” She lays her head on my shoulder and snuggles close, the scent of her coconut shampoo filling my nose. “I’m so tired.”
“I know, love.” I kiss the top of her head. “But you’re going to get through this. And I’m going to help any way you’ll let me.”
We ride in silence after that, listening to classic rock through the tinny car speakers and offering monosyllabic responses to the driver’s attempts at conversation. When the Lyft pulls up in front of my building, Nat turns her face up and offers me a tremulous smile.
The ferocity of my reaction takes me by surprise—I want to kiss her again, and to bury my hands in her hair and to bite the angles of her jaw. I want to shove her up against a wall and fuck her and I wa
nt to scream at the world that keeps hurting her after everything she’s given.
“Wow,” she whispers. “I want to know what put that look on your face.”
I shrug. “You.”
Inside the apartment, she sits down on the big leather couch, scootches her feet up under herself, and calls Priya.
As curious as I am, I force myself not to eavesdrop. I busy myself in the kitchen, preparing a plate of snacks and fetching a beer from the fridge. To me, the tone of her voice sounds flat and emotionless, but I know she’s anything but. At one point, her voices rises, and I look up to see her wiping at tears.
My poor Nat. It takes everything I’ve got not to go to her, but her voice settles, and eventually the flatness seems to disappear.
When she finally hangs up the phone and comes into the kitchen, I’m ready with a hug and some caloric therapy.
“Elinor used me as a distraction,” she says slowly, picking at the rind on a slice of cheese. “When Priya and I first started seeing the discrepancies and tried to get in touch with her, she knew she was caught, and she started planning her ‘vacation’.”
“Vacation?”
“Somewhere in the Pyrenees. With thousands of dollars of employee retirement funds she’s stolen. I don’t think she’s coming back.” From the expression on her face, it’s clear Nat is trying to be funny, but I can’t bring myself to laugh.
“What about the safe?”
“Mitch—the night concierge—forgot to close it after making the deposit—luckily there was nothing in it. His baby is in the NICU and he’s been exhausted.”
“Really?”
“She was premature.” Nat looks at me like I’ve got three heads.
“Not the NICU. The fact it was unrelated. Coincidences weird me out.” I pop an olive into my mouth. “Are you still mad at Priya?”
She stops picking at the cheese and shrugs. “More like furious, but I’ll probably forgive her. Eventually. Maybe. Elinor can be very charming and persuasive.”
“And your job?”
Off Limits Page 10
