“He was wasted.”
“That doesn’t make him smaller.”
“True.”
JT sent a text, and they walked the half-block in companionable silence, broken when JT murmured, “Huh.”
“What?”
“Mr. Bishop is vetting you.”
“Mr. Subtle in the town car?”
“The car is registered to his company; well, Bishop Security, it’s a subsidiary.”
“Why take pictures?’
“Spank bank collection.” JT dodged her punch to his upper arm.
“Huh.” JT continued to stare at his phone.
“What?”
“It’s just... the car is registered to Bishop Security, but there is no Bishop Security. There’s no website, no search engine hits... well, one hit. Bishop Security is mentioned in the retirement announcement of Charles Bishop in 2002. Says he started the elite subsidiary after 9/11 for specialized projects.”
Emma huffed. “That tells us nothing.”
JT clarified. “Means it’s in-house. Explains why they don’t have any Yelp reviews.”
“How did he know where I was?”
JT waggled his phone in his palm. “I assume he has your contact info. With his resources, he probably knows what color toenail polish you’re wearing.”
Emma just rolled her eyes.
They stopped in front of her building, and JT waved goodnight. The night doorman, Ray, held the door as she slipped in and called it a night.
Upstairs, Emma changed into a pair of gray cashmere lounge pants and a worn NYU T-shirt and crawled under her duvet. She had been raised to be paranoid, suspicious of everything. A guy taking her picture rarely escaped her notice, even if it was just some creep at a bar. She was disturbed by the idea of her image being out there, in someone’s phone or on their computer, but accepted it. JT was right; she probably was a welcome addition to some perv’s spank bank collection. Shit happens. Emma let it go, and her thoughts once again drifted to Nathan. She didn’t know this Nathan Bishop, this warlord, man-whore, tycoon. She knew a boy who pretended not to notice when she sat on his shoe, wrapped around his calf, as he walked around like nothing was amiss. Nathan Bishop, CEO scoundrel, was a stranger, but the thought that he was keeping tabs on her, for whatever reason, warmed her.