Page 90 of So Close

He scrubs a hand over his face. It isn’t the first time a woman has pursued him after a night together. In the past, he showed a cruel disregard for the perceived irritations, and I’ve always been the one to handle the subsequent awkward interactions. His feelings for Lily have, perhaps, made him somewhat more considerate.

“I don’t even know how to reach her,” he says grimly, “or what I’d say to her if I did. No, that’s not true. I need to apologize. My wife set me straight on that point.”

“Did she? Yes, that would be in character for her. She views womanhood as a battle requiring armament and vigilance.”

“Her mother raised her that way, and I’ve provided the perfect example of why she was right to do so. I can’t stand cheaters. I wouldn’t even reach out to Lily until Ryan was serious about Angela, and now I’ve got to tell a woman I took to bed that I was married at the time – and still am – and would appreciate it if she doesn’t bother my wife or me again.”

“Your situation is novel. The truth is all you can give.”

He laughs without humour. “I don’t even have that, do I?”

“I’ll let you know if she attempts further contact. And I’ll instruct reception and Julian to note her contact information.”

I exit and head back to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. I pause on the living room’s threshold when I find one of the maids, Lacy, studying a framed photo. She starts guiltily when she notices me. “Witte, you scared me.”

“My apologies. You were engrossed.” I step down into the sunken living room after noticing photos now strategically placed around the space. One graces an end table, and a few others sit among the items on the bookshelves flanking the fireplace.

“She just put these out,” she says unnecessarily.

The frames are a selection of sterling silver, shagreen and precious wood; each positioned to blend tastefully with the decor and other decorative items around their placements. I think of Mrs Black’s deliveries and realize that some must have been the frames, then marvel that her memory of the penthouse was so precise.

Clasping my hands behind my back, I study the images. All are of Mr and Mrs Black together in moments of intimate joy and love. All are revelatory of a couple mutually enthralled, and – most peculiarly – all are recent. None are earlier photos relocated from the beach house, where he keeps the preponderance of their visual history.

The room has utterly changed. With these few thoughtful additions, the space is now warm, personal and inviting. It feels like a home.

I understand why Lacy is captivated. We both stand motionless, astonished by the man revealed in the photos. I’ve never seen my employer look so well, so alive. His stunning transformation is almost enough to make me want to be as wilfully blind as he is choosing to be.

I’ve wished for his happiness for so long. It tears at me that he’s found it with a woman who broke his heart and has endangered his life. That I like her is even more divisive.

Still, there’s one disturbing detail he hasn’t yet revisited, although I can’t imagine he’s forgotten it: Lily recognized him when she saw him on the street.

His wife knew him, remembered him. And yet she hadn’t come home.

44

AMY

The instantthe chilled vodka hits the bottom of my empty tummy it’s like an orgasm. My eyes close, my breath catches, my toes curl in my heels. I hear the piped music beneath the dozens of conversations. The scents of garlic and basil, oregano and thyme fade. I moan as the alcohol hits my bloodstream with tendrils of dreamy heat. For a far too brief moment, I’m in a perfectly happy place.

“That good, huh?”

Opening my eyes, I look at the bartender, who’s grinning and leaning on the bar in a way that makes the barrier somewhat pointless. It’s not the best vodka martini I’ve ever had. Too much vermouth and stingy with the olives. Still, he’s cute and flirting, so I smile back. “So good, I’ll take another.”

“Rough day?” he asks as he flips the emptied shaker in the air and catches it deftly.

“The worst,” I lie with feeling because I know the rules. One martini after work is no problem; two is either a rough day or a celebration. Three martinis is the point when the bartender’s smile loses its luster, and four martinis is when they stop smiling altogether and ask if you’d like them to call a cab to take you home.

I realize I may get to three tonight, considering why I’m in the restaurant.

“Coming right up,” he says with a wink. His gaze shifts to a point over my shoulder, and I watch his brows raise, and his lips circle to form a low whistle. His smile widens enough to reveal a small dimple, and the appreciative look he gave me kicks up a notch for the new arrival.

My back stiffens just before the expected hand rests lightly on my shoulder.

“Hey. Sorry, I’m late,” Lily says in her breathy, girly voice that reminds me of Jennifer Tilly. “Traffic was nuts.”

I turn my head as she steps into my field of vision. She’s wearing a black mini slip dress and a gorgeous sapphire blue kimono with metallic floral embroidery. A single strand of pearls hangs from her neck to her hips, with a knot below her breasts.

She holds out her arms, expecting a hug, and the adrenaline of fear spurts palpably in my chest. I’m awkward sliding off the barstool, almost stumbling into her. Her embrace is strong and more prolonged than perfunctory, but she still ends up being the one to let go first. I hate her for that. I hate her for how the bartender looked at her and because she’s glowing from being thoroughly reacquainted with the joys of Kane’s exceptional cock. Haven’t I seen that morning-after radiance on enough of his discards to recognize it?

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