Page 60 of Cross My Heart

“My fellowship is for the year,” I reply, even though I’m hoping it won’t take me that long to get to the truth and find Wren’s attacker.

“Then let’s keep in touch,” Phillip says. “Get a drink sometime, reminisce.”

I smile. “I’d like that,” I say honestly. His phone buzzes again.

“Shit, I’ve really got to run. Nice meeting you!”

I lingerover my lunch and the stroll back towards the bus stop, feeling a new wistfulness. My sister wanted to make a difference with her work: save lives and change the face of medicine. I wish she was around to see her efforts pay off now. Phillip was cagey about the specifics of these big clinical trials, but he’s clearly excited about the results they’re seeing.

Results my sister contributed to.

It’s bittersweet that she’s not here to share in the excitement, but it’s true, what I told him: I love the idea that her ideas and dedication are living on in the world, and maybe one day soon even helping millions of people. After she died, one of the hardest things was just herabsence. Picking up my phone to call her or send a dumb video over text… And then remembering she wouldn’t be on the other end of the line. Seeing a face in the crowd, and for a split-second thinking it might be her… Before my brain caught up and remembered that it couldn’t be.

Listening to Phillip talk about their work today with that same spark of excitement in his eyes, it feels like a piece of Wren’s spirit is still alive.

My phone rings as I’m walking, and an English number flashes up on-screen.

“Hello?” I answer, wondering for a moment if Saint is getting impatient about the texts I’ve left unanswered.

“Tessa, hi, it’s Hugh. Hugh Ambrose.”

“Oh, hi,” I say, surprised.

“Saint gave me your number,” he explains. “Do you have a moment to chat? I have a proposition for you.”

“Uh-oh,” I reply, only half-joking, and he chuckles.

“Nothing bad, I promise. It’s really more of an opportunity. You see, we have an opening here at the Ambrose Foundation, fundraising and outreach, and I think you’d be perfect for it.”

I stop dead in the street. “You mean, like a job?” I check, confused. “But, I haven’t even applied for anything. I’m a student here, at Ashford.”

“It wouldn’t have to be a full-time gig,” he replies easily. “You could come by a couple days a week or work remotely from Oxford. To tell the truth, I was really impressed by what you said the other night at the party. You seem to have experience in this world, and an outsider’s perspective. That’s what we need right now, some fresh blood in the organization, to shake things up. It is for a good cause,” he adds, sounding tempting. “Just think of all the good we could do if you steer us away from those stuffy old fundraising dinners…”

I can’t help but smile, even though I’m still seriously confused by where this is coming from. “Did Saint put you up to this?” I ask, even though I can’t think why.

“Besides vouching for your general brilliance when I asked, no,” Hugh replies. “I told you, I like your perspective. How about you come by the office, and I can talk you into it in person. See what we’re doing—and how desperately we need your help. Say, tomorrow?”

I think quickly over my schedule. I should be buckled down, writing essays and studying nonstop, but…

My work at the nonprofit was so rewarding, compared to these dry, academic essays. Real people, real problems—and real solutions, too. The thought of another day locked in the library, wading through old texts gives me a headache just imagining it.

“OK,” I agree. “But just to take a look at things. No promises that I can actually take the gig. I have a lot on my plate right now.”

“I totally understand,” Hugh reassures me, “I’ll send all the details. Do you need me to send a car? The office is in London.”

I smile at the idea of being driven around in a chauffeured car, like some kind of VIP. “That’s OK,” I tell him. “I’ll manage.”

I hang up. I have to admit, I’m curious. Thinking about how Wren wanted to make a difference in the world, I’d love to be able to do the same. And even if this Ambrose Foundation gig isn’t for me, it’s the perfect opportunity to find out more about Hugh. After all, he’s buddies with Max, well-connected, and clearly part of the exclusive crowd.

Maybe he has some answers about this secret society…

Chapter17

Tessa

Saint texts again. And calls. And sends another lavish study-snack gift basket to the apartment. It’s taking all my self-control, but I’m still playing it cool, responding with a casual, ‘Sorry, buried with work! Talk soon,’ message, and going to bed alone.

I may spend all night replaying the hot pleasure of our sexy encounters, but I’m determined not to lose my head and let him know I’m biting back moans, thinking about him as I touch myself in the dark.