Free Overseas by Beatriz Williams

this Katherine Wilson?”
    “Speaking.”
    “This is Amy Martinez from the
New York Post
. I understand you were involved in an incident in Central Park last night with Julian Laurence of Southfield Associates?”
    The handset slipped from my fingers to crash on the floor.
    My thumbs flew.
Julian, the
Post
just called. What should I say? Call me. I don’t know your number. Kate. P.S. So, so
sorry.
    The phone rang a minute later. “Kate?”
    “Julian. I’m so sorry.”
    “Enough of that rubbish. You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
    “You’re right, we should have left him there. I’m so stupid. I didn’t think about what it all meant for you.”
    I heard him sigh. “Kate, it’s irrelevant. I can handle a bit of press.”
    “But you hate publicity.”
    Silence. “What makes you say that?”
    “You’re never in the papers. You never give interviews. And now Page Six is calling me and drawing God knows what conclusions…”
    “Calm down, darling. What did you say to them?”
    “Um. I said no comment,” I mumbled. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say? I mean, I’ve never talked to a reporter before…”
    “What was her name?”
    “Amy something. Menendez?”
    “Martinez. I’ll call her and sort things out. Go back to sleep.”
    “
Sleep?
I have to go to work. Oh, crap. Work. What should I tell them?”
    “Tell them the truth. If they ask.”
    “Which is?”
    He laughed at that point. “Which is that we were running in the park, and some rotter tried to attack you.”
    “Oh, sure.
That
will shut them all up.”
    “Look, I don’t mind. Tell them whatever you like, whatever sounds right to you. Let me handle Miss Martinez. We’ve spoken before.”
    My shoulders slumped. “Okay. Gladly.”
    “And don’t apologize,” he warned, just as I opened my mouth to do it.
    “Right,” I said. “Okay. Thanks.”
    “Good. How are you feeling?” he asked.
    “Sore. You?”
    “Right as rain. Now take some aspirin and go to work. I’ll handle it.”
    “All right.” I paused. “Thanks, Julian. I mean that.”
    “Good-bye, Kate. I’ll ring you later.”
    I hung up the phone and stared at it. Aspirin? Who the hell took aspirin anymore?

6.
     
    By lunchtime, the word was out.
    Charlie cornered me in one of the unused conference rooms in the far corners of the Capital Markets floor. I hadn’t turned on the lights. I was hoping no one would notice me there. “Dude, what the fuck?” he asked under his breath. “You’re all over the Internet.”
    “Oh God. Seriously?”
    “Julian Laurence really laid some guy out for you?”
    “It was all just a big misunderstanding,” I said.
    “Some fucking misunderstanding. It’s on
Gawker
, dude.”
    “Gawker? You’ve got to be
kidding
me!”
    “Serious as a fucking heart attack. Links to the Smoking Gun.”
    “What’s that?”
    He pulled my laptop over and began typing a new URL. “It’s this Web site that posts public documents. Divorce filings and police reports, shit like that. And there! Boo-ya!” He turned the screen so I could see it.
    “Wow,” I said, impressed. There was last night’s police report, every livid detail.
    “So is that pretty much how it went down? And why were you out running with Julian Laurence, anyway?”
    “I wasn’t. He just happened to be there when the guy ran into me.”
    Charlie’s eyebrows lifted. He was no idiot. “Just happened to be there, huh?”
    “Yeah. Wild, huh?”
    He shook his head. “Full of shit, Kate. Full of shit. I thought we were friends.”
    “Charlie, I swear to God, I did not go out running with Julian Laurence last night! I was totally shocked when he came up and laid into that jerk.”
    “Shocked,
shocked
,” he said, like the guy in
Casablanca.
    “Seriously, Charlie. I wouldn’t lie to you. Alicia and Banner, maybe, but not you.”
    He sat down in the chair next to me and swiveled for a moment. “All right. Fine. So do you think it was a coincidence? Or was he following