Audrey nodded and stepped up her pace. “Oh, and did I tell you Max has already texted me to ask for a second date?”

“That’s great. What are you guys going to do?”

She wagged a finger teasingly and said, “I said he asked, not that I accepted.”

“But I thought you were just telling me what a great time you had.”

“Well, yeah. But I don’t want to seem too eager,” she explained, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s how you scare a guy away.”

Briefly, I flashed back to the night of the preview at the Hirshhorn, more than a week ago. As Connor and I shared an Uber back to Dupont Circle, I had suddenly blurted out an invitation to come over for a drink. Eager. Way too eager. Connor mumbled something about an early call, and we avoided each other’s eyes for the rest of the ride. Since then, our conversations had been stilted and awkward. Audrey was right; that was how you scared a guy away.

“Anyway, I won’t leave him hanging for too long,” she said as we turned onto the path leading to her building. “Do you want to come in?”

“Thanks, but I should really get home. I’m exhausted and I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“All work and no play—” Audrey began, but the sound of shoes scuffing on the quiet sidewalk made us both turn around. My blood went cold as I saw the edge of a shadowy figure dart behind a tree.

“Come on,” I said quietly, grabbing her by the arm. “You’re not staying here tonight.”

I kept my fingers wrapped tightly around Audrey’s sculpted upper arm as we ran down the darkened street together, both of us panting in fear. Audrey was right. Someone was following her. I threw a glance over my shoulder, terrified that I would see the figure chasing us, but the street was dark and silent. I stared hard at the tree, searching for human movement, and saw none. I began to wonder if my eyes had been playing tricks on me.

When we reached the corner, Audrey wrenched her arm free from my grasp and shouted back down the street, “I’m not afraid of you!”

As her clear voice rang out, I was certain a head peered around the corner of the tree. I caught my breath and squinted, trying to make out any identifiable features, but it was too dark. I thought I saw the outline of a baseball cap, but I couldn’t be sure. And then it disappeared.

“Did you see that?” I whispered.

Audrey nodded, her eyes wide and fearful in the moonlight. “Do you think he was following us? I mean, do you think that was random or that he was after us?”

I shook my head uneasily, not wanting to say what I was thinking: He wasn’t after us. He was after you.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX AUDREY

The day that The Life and Death of Rosalind Rose opened, I was too nervous to consume anything other than coffee and a banana. I knew the exhibit would be a success—the preview had gone well, we’d gotten positive coverage in the Post, and the images I’d been sharing online were generating tons of engagement—but my stomach still swarmed with butterflies, their wings furiously beating a chorus of Don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up. I needed to prove myself to Ayala, not just for the promotion but also so that I could finally, definitively show her and everyone else that I was made for this line of work, that my lack of an advanced degree meant nothing.