“Why is it so easy to talk to you?” I mused.
“What kind of answer would you like to that?” he asked carefully.
I shrugged. “I know why it is. But you’d think there’d be some awkwardness.”
“There never has been. Not even in Paris. We bared our souls that night, and not once was it awkward with you.”
“Yeah, what a strange night.”
“Not the word I’d use.”
My eyes flicked to his, and I felt the heat across the room. “No…I suppose not.”
The tension brimmed between us again. And I went back to petting Totle. This conversation was just a distraction from what had brought me here. But I couldn’t work up the energy to tell him what had happened.
“You said at the club that you weren’t writing an Olivia book,” he said, changing the subject. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, I’m working on my literary novel again. It’s called It’s a Matter of Opinion. Kind of inspired by my parents’ deep love despite the fact that they’re opposites. The idea is that love isn’t easy when you come from two different worlds, and the reader sees it all unfold from the point of view of everyone close to the situation. But never the truth.”
“Hmm,” he said softly. “Love wins out despite outside influences and their differences.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Sounds a bit unrealistic, doesn’t it?”
He arched an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate.
I sighed and flopped down next to Totle. “Lewis’s dad called me a gold digger and offered to pay me off to get out of his life.”
Penn sighed. “He’s done that before.”
“So I’ve been told. Doesn’t make it any less humiliating.”
“I imagine not,” he said. “Especially with your experience with my mother.”
“Yeah. That didn’t help. But…it was Lewis. He…fuck.” I didn’t know why I couldn’t say it. It felt as if I was proving Penn right by admitting what Lewis had done.
“You can talk to me, Natalie. I’m sure anything Lewis has done, I’ve heard worse.”
I sat back up, took a deep breath, and then let it out. “When my book went to auction, it sold for seven figures to Warren. They weren’t the first publisher to try to buy it, so I thought that all of this had happened on my own merit.”
“But?” he urged.
“But Lewis interfered and drove the price up to get me more money.”
“Ah. And now, you feel like you didn’t earn any of that. Like you got preferential treatment, but not because of your work.”
“Exactly!” I snapped. “It feels like the success of the book was because of Warren flexing its muscles and not anything to do with the book.”
“Well, for one thing, the book is incredibly well written, so don’t discount your talent.”
“Fine, talent, whatever. But, fuck, I feel so…duped. Like, I thought that Lewis might have been involved, but I didn’t ask him. I should have asked him, and now, I feel stupid. Like, his dad now thinks I’m a gold digger because of this, and I didn’t even know.”
Penn waited until I’d finished my rant. Finishing his bourbon, he settled back into the armchair. “What are you going to do about it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Besides come here and rant to me about something I already guessed. What are you going to do about him withholding information from you? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s never just one thing.” Penn sighed. “The stupid fucking bet should have taught you that.”
My anger sliced through me as hot as a poker. The bet had that reaction. But also, he wasn’t wrong. It hadn’t just been Emily or Katherine or his mom…there had been something else, and he hadn’t told me what it was. He’d held it back, even as I’d asked him. Everyone had. Lewis had lied. Penn had lied. Katherine had told me about it, but I’d thought she was lying.
“You think there’s something else he’s hiding,” I said.
“You’re the one who came back to the Upper East Side, Natalie.”
The words stung. Yes, I had. I’d said I hadn’t wanted this life, and then I had somehow gotten embroiled in it again. So, the question was…did Lewis have another secret? And could I trust him after this?
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked, suddenly cautious. “You don’t want me with Lewis.”
“No, I don’t,” he confirmed. “But I do want you happy. Seeing you in my apartment with red-rimmed eyes, here as a desperate measure, is not the way I wanted you to come to me, Nat. So, right now, this isn’t about me and you. This is just about you. And I’ve played this game way longer than you have. I’ll help you play it if I have to.”
“I don’t want to play games,” I whispered.
“I know.” He shrugged helplessly. “Neither do I. But, if you don’t, you won’t survive the Upper East Side.”