Page 75 of Dirty Husband
* * *
For the firsttime in my adult life, I sleep in on a weekday. There isn't even an alarm to snooze. My cell is still in my purse, in the living room.
It's just me, this big, beautiful room, and the soft light of morning.
My room faces west. The Hudson. The sunset. New Jersey. But even that New Yorker cliché—anything but Jersey—can't harsh my buzz.
I'm still riding on last night's pleasure. All the other details are irrelevant.
After I move through my morning routine, I check my dressers. My clothes are here. As are some new items I didn't choose. Bought by Shep. Or his team.
I should be annoyed by the imposition, but my thoughts turn dirty too quickly.
Lace lingerie, silk sleepwear, basics that cost as much as my grocery bill. All things he can tear to pieces.
I don a crimson robe. It's soft and smooth, somehow warm and cool at once. Then I move into the main room.
Jazz music pours from the kitchen. I don't recognize it. I can't find a pattern. But that's the point of jazz, isn't it? It defies other musical conventions.
Maybe Shep likes it. That would suit him. He defies classification.
"Miss Lee." Key's voice fills with surprise. "I didn't realize you were awake." She almost blushes. "I can turn the music off."
"Don't. I like it."
"Are you certain?" Incredulity streaks her expression. "I'll put on something you'd prefer. Aalock tells me you enjoy show tunes."
"Musicals, yes. Though it's more the energy of the theater. I prefer plays."
"The ones without singing?"
I nod.
"Can you believe people are still paying seven hundred dollars a seat for Hamilton? I know it's nothing to Mr. Marlowe. And nothing to you soon. But—"
"I haven't seen it."
She shakes her headdisappointing.
"I haven't seen much recently. I used to go to the TKTS box on Sundays, to find a cheap matinee, but now I spend that time with my dad."
"Your father, of course. He left something for you." She motionsone moment. Moves into the kitchen. Returns with a note. "Would playing a few songs from Chicago be too obvious?"
"That's a sweet thought, but I don't think I ever need to hearAll That Jazzagain."
Her smile is almost warm. Teasing even. "Amy Winehouse perhaps?" She offers another, more popular but jazz adjacent option. "Or do you prefer a different modern performer?"
"This is great. Really. I promise."
She places the note on the table. "What would you like for breakfast?"
"Anything is fine."
She stares at me, unblinking. "Of course, anything is fine, Jasmine. I can do anything. If you'd like me to decide—"
"Yes. Surprise me."
"Oolong, I assume?"
