Sara Shepard - Twisted

Patrick chuckled lightly. “Let’s worry about that later,” he said, then buried his face in Hanna’s neck.

A sour feeling welled in Hanna’s stomach. Patrick’s weight pinned her on the couch. “But we can do this later too, right?” she said, still trying to sound light and carefree. “Please can I see the photos? Please? ”

Patrick continued to grope her. All at once, Hanna noticed how his lips made smacking noises. His hair looked oily, and there was a smattering of dandruff on his shoulders. A horrible thought struck her: What if Mike was right about him?

She shot off the couch. “Patrick, I want my photos. Now.”

Patrick leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. With a cruel sneer of his lip, he instantly transformed from a lovestruck photographer into something far more sinister. “So you’re nothing but a tease, huh?”

Hanna blinked hard. “I just think we should keep things professional. You asked me to come over to look at my photos. I thought you were going to send them out today.”

“Come on, Hanna.” Patrick rolled his eyes. “Are you really that naïve?”

In a sweeping motion, he leaned down and pulled out a large manila envelope from under the couch. He undid the string fastener and revealed six glossy photos of Hanna. They weren’t the shots of her at the Liberty Bell or City Hall, though, but six almost-identical photos of her at his studio. The wind was in her hair, there was a slutty expression on her face, and her dress had fallen down her chest to reveal most of her lacy, strapless bra.

They weren’t like the provocative, half-naked Annie Leibovitz Vanity Fair photos, either. The lighting was brassy. Certain parts of Hanna were out of focus, and the composition wasn’t artful at all. It looked like bad porn.

Hanna flinched, suddenly light-headed. “What are these? Where are the others? The good ones?”

“The others don’t matter.” Patrick’s smile grew broader and broader. “ These are the gold mine. To me, anyway.”

Hanna backed away, her heart sinking. “W-what do you mean?”

“C’mon, Hanna. Do I really have to spell it out for you? What would Daddy do if he saw these? If his competitor saw these? I have friends in high places. This would make a top story on TMZ. And then . . . poof! ” Patrick snapped his fingers. “Bye-bye, Senate campaign!”

Hanna’s body felt swelteringly hot, then frigidly cold. “You wouldn’t!”

“I wouldn’t? You don’t even know me, Hanna.”

Hanna wilted against the island, her hopes and dreams leaking out of her like a punctured balloon. Everything he’d said, all his kind praise, had been a ruse. “Please don’t show those to anyone. I’ll do anything.”

Patrick placed his finger on his chin and cast his eyes to the ceiling, like he was pretending to think. “I won’t if you come up with ten thousand dollars by the end of this weekend. How about that?”

Hanna’s jaw dropped. “I don’t have that kind of money!”

“Of course you do, rich girl.” Patrick’s eyes gleamed. “You just have to be creative about where to look. I want it in cash in a manila envelope. Give it to a guy named Pete who works at the flower stand at Thirtieth Street Station. If you don’t, you’ll be link of the week. Daddy’s little assistant will have to work very hard removing this from the Internet. And I doubt the public will trust a man whose teenage daughter takes off her top for strangers.”

Hanna stared at him. Her gaze fell to the photos again. Suddenly, the whole scenario was hideously clear to her. “Y-you’re not even a real photographer, are you? You don’t have connections in New York. You just said that to set me up! You lied !”

Patrick laughed and held up his palms. “You got me.” Then he lowered his face to Hanna’s. “I guess you’re not the only one who’s good at lying, Ms. Marin.”

Hanna didn’t wait to hear another word. She backed away and ran out the door, slamming it hard. The building seemed even more derelict than it had twenty minutes ago. The couple was still arguing downstairs. The tin ceiling looked like it was about to collapse. Four floors down, Hanna thought she heard the faintest giggle yet again, like someone had heard everything.

“That’s it ,” Hanna screamed. Whoever this bitch A was, Hanna was going to tackle him or her to the ground and tell them to shut the hell up . She raced to the bottom of the stairs, her arms pumping hard, her fingers barely grazing the dilapidated railing.

But once she reached the lobby, it was empty. The front door swung on its hinges, the only indication that someone had just been there. A had gotten away again.

The Kahns’ Range Rover, equipped with snow chains and a heavy-duty ski rack, rolled into the circular driveway of the Whippoorwill Lodge on Lenape Mountain. Bellhops and valets in heavy padded jackets rushed to the car and began to remove their baggage from the back. Noel and his two older brothers, Eric and Christopher, jumped out and stretched their legs. Aria followed, nearly wiping out on the icy asphalt. Hello, hadn’t the bellhops ever heard of salt ?

Last but not least, disembarking from the car like a fur-clad princess, was Klaudia. The tip of her nose was adorably pink from the cold and her butt was perfectly round in dark-denim jeggings. Every one of the bellhops turned to gape at her. “Do you need help?” they asked in unison. “Is there anything we can carry for you?”

“You so sweet!” Klaudia trilled, shooting each of them winning smiles that made Aria want to puke.

Aria turned to Noel. “Can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.” The digital temperature readout on a bank they’d passed had said two degrees Fahrenheit.

Noel chuckled. “This is nothing—wait till you’re on top of the mountain!”

“You won’t feel cold when you hiihto !” Klaudia said to Aria in an excited voice. By now, Aria knew that hiihto was Finnish for ski. Why couldn’t Klaudia just say it in English? It wasn’t like it was hard. Three letters long. Ski. Figure it out.

Aria shot Klaudia a tight smile and turned away, feeling as rigid and sharp-edged as the icicles that dangled precariously from the roof. This was just about the last place she wanted to be right now, but she was terrified of what might happen if she let Noel out of her sight. Klaudia might get her talons in him—and how could he resist her? After all, his current girlfriend was nothing but a peikko.

“Aria?”

Aria blinked and looked up. Noel was calling to her from the lodge door. The Kahn brothers and Klaudia had already gone in.

She followed them into the large lobby. Every surface was paneled in oak, making the room look like a giant sauna. The air smelled like cinnamon and hot chocolate, and people clonked by in heavy ski boots, wooly hats, and oven mitt–sized gloves. Guests lounged on tobacco-colored leather couches and warmed themselves by a blazing fire in the corner. A yellow lab with a red kerchief tied around his neck dozed on a doggie bed next to the big window that looked out on the slopes.

“Nice,” Christopher murmured, walking over to the window. Christopher was three years older than Aria and Noel and home from Columbia on a break. He had Noel’s same clean-cut, golden features, but there was something hard about him, less endearing.

“Perfect powder,” Eric murmured. He was two years older than Noel and went to Hollis—but only as a formality. His real goal in life was to become a ski bum in Montana or a surf instructor in Barbados.