My stomach lurched as I imagined Audrey telling Max I had asked her to live with me, and then the two of them laughing about it together. Cat’s so pathetic, she’s always trying to force a friendship, Audrey might have said. Careful, Max might have cautioned, you know what happened to the last girl who wouldn’t be her friend.

“Maybe it was you,” Max continued. “Maybe you ransacked Audrey’s apartment to scare her into moving in with you.”

“By that logic, you’re the one who trashed her apartment,” I countered. “After all, she moved in with you. How do I know that you’re not the one stalking her?”

“I would never do anything to harm Audrey,” he said, sounding offended. “Never.”

“Neither—”

“Besides,” he interrupted. “I’m not the one with a history of violent jealousy.”

I had been expecting something like this, but it felt like a blow to the stomach. “That was an accident.”

“Sure it was, Cathy.” He cocked his head slightly. “What do you think Bill Hannover would say about it?”

My mouth went metallic. “Are you threatening me?”

“What would make you think that?” he asked, sneering slightly.

Time stood still as he held my eyes, daring me to call his bluff. I swallowed hard. “Max, if I give you these keys—”

“Everything will be fine.”

“It better be,” I murmured. I felt sick as I handed him my key ring, but what else could I do? If Max told Bill about Emily Snow, my future at the firm would be over. Legal careers were built upon reputation, and any connection to that kind of unpleasantness would be catastrophic. I had to protect myself.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE AUDREY

I briefly fantasized about tagging along to New York with Cat, going back to the city where I’d always felt safe and maybe never returning, but I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t go there with the way things were—me practically homeless, estranged from my boyfriend, and in possession of nerves so shattered that I jumped every time the wind blew—without feeling like a colossal failure.

Instead, I helped Cat pack. As I handed her a pair of pantyhose, covering up my anxiety about her leaving with a joke about Cat being the only woman other than the Queen of England who still wore hose, she suddenly seized my hand.

“Why don’t you call Nick?” she suggested, her expression serious.

“Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” I asked, taken aback. “You hate Nick.”

“I’d feel better if you weren’t in this apartment alone,” she’d said, forehead creased with worry. “Even if that means you’re staying with that awful ex-boyfriend of yours.”

“You’re sweet to worry,” I said, patting her hand. “But I don’t trust any men right now, Nick included. They all look like goddamn stalkers. I’ll be fine here. Truly. Your apartment is so much more secure than mine.”

Cat opened her mouth as though she was about to say something, then closed it and nodded. “Just be careful.”