The Thrill of It by Lauren Blakely Page A

didn’t even have time to say goodbye to Cam. The next thing I knew, she’d slapped me, like in the movies, her palm smacking my cheek, my head careening to the right at impact. I dropped the cell phone, the battery spitting itself out onto the sidewalk of New York City.
    “I bet you thought you were going to get away with screwing my husband,” she said.
    “No,” I squeezed out, as I pressed my hand against my stinging cheek. That was true. I didn’t think I’d get away with it. I bent down to grab the phone and she kicked it farther away with her brown leather boot.
    That pissed me off. I looked up at her. “Really? Did you have to do that?”
    She laughed, but the sound was cold and hurt, so much hurt, rage and shame mashed together in her tangled voice as she tried to keep some semblance of control while I scrambled to pick up the phone parts. “That,” she said, hissing out the word, “is nothing compared to what I am going to do next. And you will be wishing for a broken cell phone for months, Harley Coleman. Months. Because you’re more than just a cheater. You’re a whore.”
    A chill swept through me, as if icicles were breeding on my skin. She’d found out the whole truth. But I had it coming. Whatever she was going to do I would have to bend over and take it. Even though I never screwed her husband.
    And maybe that’s another reason why I am in this cab tonight. Because I have been taking it from her for months. I want to take something for me again.
    The driver makes small talk and I exchange pleasantries with him as I give my breasts a boost so my cleavage peeks out of the top of the lacy bra. He does his best to appear surreptitious as his eyes dart around for a peek. I adjust my knee-high white socks making sure they fit just so.
    “Excuse me for a sec,” I say, but I don’t move out of the way of the rearview mirror. Let him enjoy his job today. Let me be in charge. I undo two buttons on my blouse, making sure my boobs look good.
    The driver breathes hard. I smile into the mirror, knowing I’ve just given him his happy ending for when he gets off work. When he pulls up to Bliss I thank him. He turns around and says, “No, thank you.”
    I press a twenty into his hand and hop out.
    When my heels hit the sidewalk, I am officially in Trey’s territory since he grew up on the upper east side. But I won’t run into him here because he lives downtown now. Besides, I’m not thinking about him, or about the cell phone stuffed at the bottom of my bag, nor the fact that I’m crazy certain he’s called again and texted again. I always answer for him. I’m available all the time for him. I rely on his friendship more than anything.
    He knows all this, and so he’ll know I’m up to something.
    But I don’t care right now.
    Hugo, the muscly dude at the Bliss door knows me well, but still asks for my ID. He hasn’t seen me in six months. I show him the one that says I’m twenty-two.
    “Been a while, Layla,” he says, using the name on my ID.
    “Missed you too, Hugo,” I say with a wink. He blushes, waves me in and gives me a kiss on the cheek as I go by. I blow him one back.
    Then I’m inside. Just as easy as it’s always been.
    Cam’s waiting by the bar, tall and sturdy and five-o-clock-shadow-stubbly, with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen pinned across his face. He wears pressed black pants and a silk shirt the shade of raspberry. He’s ridiculously tall with wavy, receding brown hair. Gelled, of course. He looks like Vince Vaughn. He talks like Vince Vaughn.
    Just like the day I met him two years ago, thanks to my mom.
    But here’s the best part. She doesn’t know he’s in my back pocket. She doesn’t know one of her sources is now mine. That I set myself up for my new job, my other life, because of someone I met through her. She didn’t intend to hook me up with Cam. She was simply meeting him for a tip on a story, and when she stepped away to answer a call, we