Because not only is it marking the page with Invictus, but tucked in beneath the dust jacket flap is a one thousand dollar bill in a little plastic sheath on which has been written in Sharpie, Sell, don't spend.
I stare at it, not comprehending. Sell? What does that mean? Is it art? A joke?
Do they even make one thousand dollar bills?
I do a quick search on my phone and, apparently, they used to. And though they aren't in circulation any more, they're still legal tender.
But the note is right; I'd be stupid to spend it. Because from what I can tell in my five seconds on the net, that single bill is worth almost three thousand dollars.
So why the hell did he give it to me?
* * *
Joy takes a sip of coffee from one of my Mickey Mouse mugs, then sighs with such deep emotion that I think I should abandon my kitchen and give her some privacy.
"This is like liquid heaven," she says. "Very essential liquid heaven."
"Traditionally it's called coffee." I take a seat opposite her, sipping from my own mug. "But on a morning like this, I think we can call it ambrosia."
Joy's waggles her eyebrows. "A morning like this, eh? Does that mean that last night was both late and energetic?"
"Um, hello? Last night was a job, remember? Not a first date."
"Sorry," she says, looking immediately contrite. "I'm an idiot. Was it okay, though?"
"Odd," I say.
"Really? Why?"
I just shrug. "Doesn't matter. But at the end he gave me this." I pass her the book.
She frowns at the volume. "You sleep with the guy, and this is what he gives you as a tip?"
"Actually, there wasn't sex--"
"Wasn't sex?" Her voice rises with incredulity.
"--and I'm not supposed to be talking about any of this to you, am I?"
"The NDA, you mean? You can tell me whatever you want."
I must look dubious, because she crosses her heart and holds a hand up like a Boy Scout. "No, really. And not just BFF rules. I'm totally, legally allowed to hear."
I peer at her over the rim of my mug. "How?"
She makes a face, then lifts a shoulder. "Because Marjorie hired me about two months ago to do administrative stuff, so I'm part of the formal staff, and formal staff is outside the NDA. I'm her only employee who sees the whole picture. She needed someone to help because, honestly, she runs a pretty big operation. And I got tagged since I'm family and I could handle working some extra hours."
"The whole picture? You know who Mr. Z is?"
She shakes her head. "Nope. That's the only part Marjorie keeps locked up tight. In her head and in her safe."
"I can't believe you didn't tell me that you work for her."
"That would violate the whole secret part of the gig. At least until you'd officially taken the job, and by then you were out the door. Speaking of secrecy, you're not required to tell Marjorie anything that goes on unless it's dangerous, but you're not forbidden, either. Marjorie discourages it because she doesn't want a flood of girls giving her the down and dirty, but it's all in your contract. Marjorie sent you a copy last night. Check your email and read it if you don't believe me."
"I believe you," I say. "And the book wasn't the tip. This was." My purse is on the kitchen table where I left it last night. I'd put the bill in there for safe keeping until I figured out what to do with it, and now I pass it to Joy. "It's worth more than two grand."
Her eyes go wide. "That is seriously cool." She passes it back to me, and I tuck it safely away in my wallet. "Of course, I was hoping he'd just pay off your house, but an extra two K is pretty cool. Especially if he didn't fuck you. There really wasn't sex? You're serious?"