“He didn’t exactly say it, but you know how they code it. ‘Your type,’ ‘your kind.’ ”

“When did he call you?”

“Like three days ago. It was hell. Somebody like that—”

“So you’ve known for three days you weren’t coming?”

“Liza, you’re getting the wrong information out of this.”

“WIC, it’s been a long night. I’m tired.”

“Did you dance?”

“Not really.” The beginnings of a pounding headache pushed against her temples.

“That’s not what the internet says.”

“Oh?”

“Oh. You let him use you. Now you look like you’re chummy with these developers. I mean, I have pictures of you looking absolutely dazzled by this guy. They’re saying you left with a Tiffany box. Now that’s the new narrative: ‘Residents make nice with developers, nothing to see here, folks.’ ”

“I’m sorry, there was too much on my mind to be playing chess.”

“Right,” WIC continued, “and I didn’t go because you know I can’t be used by them. I won’t be their little dancing monkey.”

Liza opened her mouth to speak but stopped short. Had she been a tool the entire time? Had she missed something entirely? If she was honest with herself, it didn’t feel that way. At some point during the dance, everything they had ever said to each other had just fallen away. What was left was just a man and a woman slow dancing.

“Tell you what, I’ll stop by the hotel tomorrow and take you out.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.” How had she gone from stood up to angling for forgiveness? This night had to end. Had to. She closed her eyes, and her throat clenched at the thoughts that rushed over her. Dorsey’s smoky eyes and his warm hand on her bare back as he pulled her flush with his body. He had been excruciatingly intentional. And she had registered every stray thumb press, every flick of his eyes to her mouth and then down her bodice, every intake of breath shorter than the one before it. He had given so little, and somehow it was like a flood.

“Weren’t you stood up? Why do you look all gooey?” LeDeya said. She surprised Liza with her perceptiveness sometimes. LeDeya walked out of the bathroom, all legs and swaying breasts. God help her, she looked ten years older than her tender sixteen years, even with all the makeup off.

LeDeya laid her head on Liza’s belly, and the two girls formed a crooked T on the overly soft hotel bed. She grunted and moved over something uncomfortable. “Ew. I opened this Tiffany box and it was just a used book. I would be so pissed. Does Dorsey hate you that much?”

Liza’s head shot up from the bed. “Don’t open my gifts, Deya. Gimme the box.”