The Accident by Chris Pavone Read Free Book Online Page B

hours.”
    “That’s mighty generous of you. May I ask why?”
    “Because I love you. Obviously.”
    “And?”
    “Are you suggesting that I don’t love you?”
    “What are you looking for, Sunshine? I assume you have a number in mind. As compensation for the luxury of an exclusive submission.”
    “You’re asking what it’s worth?”
    “I guess I am.”
    “Eight figures.”
    Jeffrey can’t help but laugh, then realizes she’s serious. “What are you, out of your mind?”
    She doesn’t answer.
    “I’ve known this was coming, Sunshine, for a long time. But I have to admit, now that it’s here, I’m still sort of surprised.” He shakes his head. “Which is too bad. Because, you know, I’ve always hoped that one day we’d settle down, you and I. Exchange artisan-forged rings. Buy a drafty little farmhouse and some foul-smelling, disagreeable livestock.”
    He’s joking, sort of. Actually, she’s pretty sure that he’s pretending to be joking.
    “But not if you’re going to be insane.”
    “I didn’t say that’s what I’m asking . But that is, I’m certain, what it’s worth.”
    “Plus,” he continues, “and I’m telling you this as a friend—and you know I love you dearly—you look like crap. If you’re going to be showing up in restaurants at eight in the morning, asking for ten-plus million dollars, you’re going to have to …” He gestures in her general direction. “You’re going to have to look less like shit. Or , you’re going to have to be naked and performing, you know …  sex ual acts. Dealer’s choice. But you can’t be fully clothed and looking like shit and asking for eight figures.”
    “You’re not looking so hot yourself. Drink too much last night? Again?”
    “No, thank you, I believe I drank just the right amount. And you? Did you sleep at all?”
    “Not much. Listen, Jeffrey,” she plants her elbows on the table, leans in. “This is serious.”
    “What is?”
    “This whole thing is. Not a game. Don’t spread the manuscript around your office. You can tell people what it is, obviously. But don’t distribute copies to the whole world; in fact, don’t copy it at all . Don’t tell anyone who absolutely doesn’t need to know.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “You will,” she says. She suddenly feels her energy fading, precipitously. “Listen, I have to go. And you should get started reading.” She stands, leans in to kiss his cheek. “Forty-eight hours.”
    She turns away, takes a step.
    “Hey,” he says.
    She turns back.
    “Why me?”
    “Because I can trust you. Can’t I?”
    “Of course.”
    “But remember, keep it quiet .”
    “Why? I don’t under—”
    “Because it’s dan gerous, Jeffrey.”
    “But why ?”
    “Because it’s about some incredibly bad things.”
    “Done by?”
    She stares at him. “One of the most powerful, well-known people in the world. Media mogul, is the phrase used.”
    Isabel can see the color drain from Jeffrey’s face. Then he cracks a forced smile. “So Oprah does, after all, have bodies buried in the basement?”
    “No,” she says, “Charlie Wolfe does.”
    Isabel decides to leave him there, excited, curious, motivated. She makes her way back through the tightly packed tables, pausing to let waiters and waitresses scurry past. The smell of bacon wafts up from a table, and she inhales deeply, savoring something she forbids herself from eating more than once a month.
    In the tight space between tables, a man in a gray suit brushes against her, too closely, and she feels uneasy. She thinks for a second that her pocket may have just been picked. She pats herself down with quick sweeps, and realizes that there’s nothing in her pockets to pick; in fact, her pockets are still sewn shut, just as manufactured in whatever Southeast Asian sweatshop. She looks inside her black leather handbag, and sees the wallet, the phone, the keys. There’s nothing important that could be missing.
    Isabel continues on