Chapter 20: The Laundromat

"Before I do anything," Maddox said, already pulling on his shirt. "I'm telling you. I want to go down."

"We all go down," I said. "Dressed."

Dorian found his trousers under the bed, and Christian found one sock.

I put on jeans and a T-shirt from a drawer, and I did not look in the mirror.

We went down the four flights in a line, with Maddox in front and Christian at the back.

The laundromat smelled of hot lint and detergent.

Every dryer in the room was running.

Cressida stood among them in her long white coat, with a phone held up in front of her face.

"We're live," she said, brightly. "Here she is, the woman who wanted a dare. At midnight, in her pajamas, with three men."

The cameraman swung his lens toward the stairs.

I walked into the light.

"Lena Prescott," said the lawyer, "you are served."

He pushed a thick envelope into my hand, and a second man in a gray raincoat behind him nodded once, as a process server does.

I did not open it.

"What is it?" I asked.

"An assault complaint, a civil suit and a demand for the return of one Pagani Huayra Roadster."

"Five million dollars," said Cressida, over his shoulder. "For my pain."

"Four point two," I said. "For the car."

"Interest."

The patron stood by the door with his hand on the frame, and he did not look at me.

I looked at him.

He was a handsome man, silver at the temples, in a bad mood.

He did not want to be in that laundromat.

"You're a reasonable man," I said to him. "Your lawyer said so on my lawn."

"I'd like my car back," he said.

"You gave her the car two weeks after you met her."

"She asked."

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