"Chasing Harry Winston" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weisberger Lauren)

friendly really means available and desperate

“Adi, the doorman just called to say your car is here,” Mrs. de Souza announced from the doorway of Adriana’s room.

“Okay,” Adriana mumbled, summoning her reserves of patience to keep from being aggressively nasty to her mother.

“What was that, dear? Did you hear me? I said the doorman-”

“I heard you!” Adriana said more tersely than she intended.

Her mother sighed, the long, extended, dramatic sigh that almost always preceded a long, extended, dramatic conversation. “Adriana, I’ve tried to be understanding-really, I have-but the situation has become untenable.”

Adriana felt her entire body clench, but before she could even react, the curling iron had slipped from her hand and landed on the floor, making a brief but painful stop on her thigh.

“Fuck!” she screamed, bolting to her feet and rubbing the top of her right thigh.

“Adriana! Language! I won’t have you speaking like that in this house.” Mrs. de Souza lowered her voice and approximated a soothing tone. “Come here now. Are you all right?”

“I burned myself. There’s going to be a blister!”

“I’ll bring you a little Neosporin in just a minute. But first I’d like to discuss something with you. I understand that you’re-”

“Mama, please, please, please can we have this conversation when I get home? I’m already late, and as you can see, I’m not even close to being ready. I’m sorry for the language. Really, I am. But can this wait?”

“It’s not just the language, Adi, it’s that tone you’ve been using lately with your father and me. I don’t have to remind you that this is our apartment, and we’re welcome to use it whenever we’d like. Now, you’ve made it very clear that you’re not happy about our presence, but have you thought how that might make us feel?”

“Mama…”

“And of course there’s the spending. I assure you, I’m every bit as tired of this conversation as you are, but nothing changes. It’s simply unacceptable.”

Adriana could feel the knot in her throat begin to grow. Determined not to cry and ruin forty-five minutes’ worth of careful preparation, she breathed deeply and walked toward her mother.

She had every intention of taking the older woman’s hands in her own and explaining calmly why this wasn’t a good time-really, she did-but the anger and frustration consumed her. Nothing on earth could inspire such rage in her as that patronizing look on her mother’s face. So she did what she had done her entire life when she felt cornered by her mother: She screamed.

“WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO RUIN MY LIFE? I ASKED YOU NICELY IF WE COULD HAVE THIS DISCUSSION ANOTHER TIME AND YOU REFUSED TO LISTEN!” She moved closer to her mother, who was slowly backing into the hallway. “I AM GOING TO FINISH GETTING READY AND I’M GOING TO LEAVE AND YOU ARE GOING TO DEAL WITH IT. NOW LEAVE. ME. ALONE!”

She punctuated her diatribe with a hearty door slam and immediately felt a wave of release. Of course it was ridiculous to yell and scream and slam doors at her age; it was positively sophomoric. But that woman could be so incredibly annoying, and her sense of timing was horrific. It was unbearable that her parents had arrived yesterday out of nowhere, with no more notice than the time it took to get to the apartment from JFK, and planned to stay through Thanksgiving, a holiday they didn’t even celebrate! The only solace was that Toby hadn’t also arrived yesterday as planned (the horror of having them all mingling in the foyer was unspeakable), so he had adequate time to find a hotel.

“A hotel? Really?” he’d asked, sounding surprised when Adriana asked if he’d like her to make the reservation or do it himself.

“Why yes, querido, of course a hotel.”

“I can understand why they wouldn’t be comfortable with me staying in your room, per se, but do you really-”

“Toby, please!” Adriana had interrupted in frustration. “You staying here with them is out of the question.”

He’d complied, naturally, and checked himself into the Carlyle; Adriana couldn’t bring herself to explain that her beautiful apartment was really their beautiful apartment, a fact he would most certainly uncover were he to stay under the same roof. No, that simply was not acceptable.

Determined to calm down for the sake of her complexion, Adriana took a seat at her vanity and brushed her cheeks and forehead with bronzer. She carefully outlined her lips with a nude pencil, filled them in with a slightly darker matte lipstick, and slicked a clear gloss for shine on top. A single tissue pucker and she was finished.

The outfit was another issue entirely. What was one supposed to wear to a business dinner? Oh, how she dreaded it! It was an unusually warm November Saturday night, and all the restaurants would surely put their tables outside, and everyone would be excited at the unexpected Indian summer, racing to hit the dance clubs and loft parties that night, and she was going to some stuffy apartment on the Upper East Side. It was sure to be chock-full of musty antiques and precious little collectibles, the mere thought of which was nauseating. Antiques made her sneeze. And Limoges! Just looking at those little boxes made her want to vomit. She’d complained as much as she dared when Toby announced the evening’s plan, but she wasn’t inclined to push it; Toby might be a tad boring in addition to being ever-so-slightly dorky, but he was her boyfriend and she planned to soldier through it like a dutiful and adoring girlfriend if it killed her.

With significantly less effort than she usually spent, Adriana quickly chose a clingy, short-sleeved cashmere wrap sweater and paired it with an extremely fitted pencil skirt. Seamed stockings-Mrs. de Souza had advocated their timeless sexiness since Adriana was a girl-and a pair of four-inch pumps completed the look.

She felt like a nun.

“I’m leaving,” she called to no one in particular.

Her mother materialized out of nowhere; her eyes expertly assessed Adriana’s appearance. There was a barely discernible nod of approval before the woman said, “He’s not picking you up?”

“His hotel is on the Upper East Side, and so is the party. He sent a car instead.” No one insisted on chivalry more than Adriana, but even she recognized the absurdity of a man riding eighty blocks downtown just to turn around and drive back again.

Mrs. de Souza did not. “Oh,” she murmured vaguely, implying without a word that she disapproved.

“Don’t wait up.” Adriana cinched on a Burberry trench-her most conservative coat-and kissed her mother’s cheek.

“What time do you think you’ll be home?”

“Mama…”

Mrs. de Souza held up her hands. “You’re right, I apologize. Go, have fun. It’s just that your father and I would like to meet Mr. Baron soon. Isn’t that right, Renato?”

Mr. de Souza glanced up from his O Globo only long enough to nod and tell Adriana that she looked beautiful and to wish her a wonderful time.

Adriana escaped the apartment without any more questions and held her breath as she waited for the elevator. It really was too much already. She was a grown woman, and still she had to endure the same parental questioning and involvement as a teenager.

She stepped out into the elegant marble lobby, so wrapped up in her anger that at first she didn’t notice anyone in the lobby.

“Adi, over here,” a voice called out.

Adriana turned to see Leigh standing in the building’s tiny mailroom off the lobby, sorting through a pile of papers.

“Hi.” Adriana sighed dramatically, sidling up next to her.

Leigh didn’t look up, just tossed a Victoria’s Secret catalog in the trash. “Nothing’ll make you feel like shit faster than that rag,” she said. “Well, not you, obviously, but the rest of us.”

“Oh, please, you’re gorgeous,” Adriana said automatically, although she was pleased-and in full agreement-with Leigh’s assessment.

“Where are you headed tonight?”

Another sigh. “With Toby to some dreadful industry dinner party. Studio execs or producers or some such, in town for a reason I can’t remember.”

“Maybe it won’t be that bad. Where is it?”

“Uptown.”

Leigh crinkled her nose. “Oh. That sucks.”

“What are you up to?” Adriana already knew what the answer was but felt she should ask anyway. Leigh was a lot of really wonderful things, but fun wasn’t one of them.

“Me?” Leigh glanced down at her flannel pajama pants and laughed. “I’ve got a hot date with my TiVo and a pint of Tasti D-Lite. Shocker, I know.”

Adriana shook her head. “And where’s your fiancé? No, wait-let me guess. He’s out somewhere like a normal person, having fun and being sociable, and you refused to go with him?”

“I didn’t refuse, I just opted out. Besides, I have a ton of work to do.”

“Okay, okay, querida, I must be going. If I stay here a moment longer, I’m going to get very upset with you. I’m going to sound like your mother and ask why someone as young and beautiful and charming as yourself insists on hibernating instead of flourishing.”

“Flourishing? Did you just say that?” Leigh glanced at the cover of a Sharper Image catalog and tossed that one out, too.

“Ach!” Adriana threw her hands up in frustration. The girl was impossible. And what a waste of a perfectly good boyfriend. Poor Russell probably just wanted to go out, relax a bit, have a little fun, and his girlfriend didn’t know the meaning of the word. “You should be going to this boring dinner tonight and I should be out with Russell, having fun.”

Leigh rolled her eyes. “Go! Say hi to Toby for me. And behave yourself, will you? No mischief at the dinner party.”

“What, are you worried we’re going to have sex in the bathroom?” Adriana asked with a grin.

“I’m more worried that you’ll have sex in the bathroom with someone other than Toby.”

Adriana pretended to consider this. “Hmm. I hadn’t even thought of that. Very interesting…”

The ride up to Seventy-fourth and Park was interminable. She was too young for formal dinner parties uptown! Too young to bury her beautiful figure under knee-length skirts and trench coats! Too young to be with only one man for the rest of her life! It was all so silly, this rush to find a husband just because she’d soon be thirty. Such pressure! From her parents, but from her friends, too: Why were they so convinced that their path was the correct one? Adriana grew angrier with every passing block; by the time they soared past the MetLife building she had resolved to end this entire farce once and for all. So she’d lose a bet-big deal.

The town car flew past Bear Stearns, and Adriana couldn’t help but think of Emmy’s Duncan, as she always did when she passed the building where he had once famously (in her mind, at least) claimed to “run shit.” She’d never liked him, but Adriana had to admit that he was a reasonably attractive, overly confident, typical New York banker who pretty much had his pick when it came to girls. Wasn’t it safe to assume that if Duncan had traded Emmy in for someone eight years younger, his friends and colleagues would do the same? Of course it was. And there was always Yani. Over the last few months she’d stepped up her efforts to flirt with him, make him notice her, until it had all ended one devastating morning when she saw him kiss another girl after class. Not one who was prettier or in better shape, mind you, but with a clear and undeniable advantage: She couldn’t have been a day over twenty. And finally there was Toby. Her mother might have said it first, but Adriana didn’t disagree: While there was no shortage of successful, handsome, wealthy men, not that many were straight or single. Of those left, how many would choose to marry a thirtysomething woman over a fresh-faced girl of twenty-two, one who looked up at them with big, adoring eyes and an expression that said, “I revere you and think every syllable you utter is the word of god”? Adriana knew she could fake it for a bit in the beginning, but her days of worshipping men were long gone-if they were worthy of her attention, they could worship her.

Toby was waiting for her outside the building when she arrived. Adriana almost told him he should have worn a pair of slacks with his blazer instead of jeans-Park Avenue and the Hollywood Hills didn’t exactly share the same dress code-but she remembered to channel her inner twenty-two-year-old, leaned in close, and whispered in his ear, “You look so hot tonight. I can’t wait until later.”

His face lit up with unabashed joy. “Really?”

Good lord, it was too easy. Mr. Superstar Director might ooze cockiness and confidence when it came to making movies, but he clearly wasn’t accustomed to this kind of compliment. Adriana did a quick calculation and figured she had probably just knocked a full month off of Ring Quest ’08.

“Really,” she purred.

The doorman greeted them by name and ushered them into the richly upholstered elevator. “Take it to the top,” he said without a trace of irony. Adriana rolled her eyes and Toby laughed. This isn’t so bad, she thought, allowing him to wrap his arms around her from behind as the elevator closed. He’s cuddly and sweet and he loves me. I could get used to this, if I must.

Which lasted precisely ten more seconds, just long enough for the elevator to open directly into the penthouse apartment and for Adriana to lock eyes with the very first person she saw.

“Well, look who it is,” Toby bellowed, releasing Adriana and moving forward to shake the man’s hand. “Sweetheart, I’d like to introduce you to someone. Dean Decker, this is Adriana de Souza. Adriana, Dean.”

Adriana’s mind went into overdrive. How did Dean and Toby know each other? Had she mentioned Toby to Dean on the plane that day? Was she about to be caught or busted by anyone for anything? She quickly concluded that no, as of this moment, she had done nothing wrong, but she was still too shocked to react in any sort of appropriate fashion. Thankfully, Dean appeared much more composed. Amused, even.

“Adriana, is it? Great name. Well, hey, it’s nice to meet you.” He offered his hand.

“You, too,” she managed. She could feel the hair on her arms stand up when her hand touched his. His utter scrumptiousness was impossible to deny, especially since he was sporting the exact same outfit (black blazer, white shirt, and jeans) as Toby. Just moments before Toby had looked reasonably attractive, but now, standing in direct comparison to Dean, he appeared shockingly troll-like. Adriana’s mind flashed to a disturbing image: photos of Toby and Dean side by side on US Weekly’s “Who Wore It Better” page, with a full hundred percent of those polled in Rockefeller Center voting for Dean. She’d never seen a full hundred-percent vote before-not even the time they had pitted Rosie O’Donnell against Petra Nemcova-but in her imaginary layout, the results were crystal clear.

Seeming unaware of both their matching outfits and his stunning defeat, Toby wrapped one arm possessively around Adriana’s shoulders and pulled her closer to Dean, so all their three heads were inches apart. “We’ve just signed Dean for the lead in Around Her,” he announced in a conspiratorial voice.

Adriana’s eyes darted to Dean.

“It’s true.” Dean nodded and grinned.

Adriana felt herself reeling with surprise. “Really?” she squeaked. Pull it together! Adriana reprimanded herself. She took a deep breath and then put on a smile, the real dazzler she usually reserved for special occasions (meeting a current lover’s wife, asking Papa for a new car, etc.).

“How wonderful! Congratulations to you both.” There. That was more like it.

A tall, striking woman in a timeless Chanel suit approached them.

“Welcome to our little fete,” she trilled, air-kissing the general area around the group. “We’re just delighted all you California boys could make it.”

“Catherine,” Toby said, clasping her hands and kissing both cheeks.

Adriana wanted to puke. Puh-lease! The only thing worse than Europeans being Europeans was Americans being Europeans!

“I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Adriana de Souza.” At the sound of the g-word, Adriana stole a glance at Dean, who was already looking at her with eyebrows raised and an amused look on his face. “And also Dean Decker. Adriana, Dean, this lovely lady is your hostess for the evening.”

Adriana turned to the woman, who, upon closer inspection, was older than she’d originally thought, probably closer to sixty. She forced out the usual platitudes about such a beautiful apartment, so glad to be there, love your necklace, blah, blah, blah, but the woman only stared at her. After allowing Adriana to ramble on in this manner for a bit, Catherine cupped Adriana’s chin and slowly, with great gentleness, as though she were handling fine china, turned her face back and forth.

“My, my, you are lovely,” Catherine said, gazing at Adriana. “Excellent cheekbones and pretty, wide eyes. But your skin!” The woman groaned. “The complexion of an angel.”

Well, this was more like it. Adriana found herself flashing her second award-winning smile that night. “Thank you! How nice of you to say.” She tried for an embarrassed, or at least humbled, expression, but wasn’t sure of the outcome.

“Catherine…,” Toby said in a warning voice.

“Sorry, I know-no work at a party. I promise not to bother her tonight, although all bets are off for Monday.”

The woman looked up as two more guests appeared in the foyer. “The bar is through there, in the living room.” She gestured to a set of imposing French doors. “Please excuse me for just a moment.”

“I think I’m going to make a beeline for the booze,” Dean announced as Catherine floated to greet her new guests. “See you two later?”

“Later, man,” Toby said, trying to sound cool but just sounding old.

Adriana barely knew where to begin. Did she grill Toby first about Dean or Catherine?

“You’ll have to be careful, or you might just find yourself in the pages of Marie Claire,” Toby said, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a roving waiter’s tray and thrusting one toward Adriana.

“Catherine works at Marie Claire?” Adriana demanded.

“Catherine used to work at Marie Claire. She was the booking editor for decades and is credited with discovering loads of now-famous models. So that’s quite a compliment she paid you. Not that I didn’t know it already…” He leaned in close enough that Adriana could smell the champagne on his breath.

“Interesting,” Adriana said. “Very, very interesting.” She’d have to ask her mother about Catherine; if the woman really was the booking guru at Marie Claire, then Mrs. de Souza would certainly have known her.

“Come, darling. Let me show you off.”

When it came time for dinner, Adriana located her place card, only to find that she was seated between a female editor from Marie Claire and Dean. Catherine had-as all good hostesses do and all their guests hate them for-split all the couples and scattered them around the table to encourage fresh conversation among strangers. Not ideal, but not a total disaster, either. She could’ve been seated between Dean and Toby; that would not have been fun. Adriana assessed the scene, devised a game plan, and took her seat. She nodded at Dean and then, as planned, quickly turned to her left. Adriana leaned in close to the woman, so close they nearly touched foreheads, and said, “Do you realize how lucky you are? You’re seated next to the most gorgeous man in the room.”

The woman, whom Toby had introduced earlier as Mackenzie Michaels, the woman to know at Marie Claire, stared blankly at Adriana for a moment, undecided in her reaction. Adriana merely nodded, as if to say, Well, it’s true, and Mackenzie stole a furtive glance to her left. Adriana watched as her eyes widened and she inhaled. Sitting on Mackenzie’s other side was a guy even more gorgeous than Dean. He was wearing a fitted, funky pinstriped Thom Browne-esque suit with no tie. His hair was clipped tight around the back and sides, but the slightly longer top was just the right amount of spiky: cool, but not trying too hard. But best of all was how he just seemed to gleam. His skin looked freshly scrubbed and shaved and tan from the actual sun and not the salon; his fingernails were cut short and straight with a subtle shine that managed not to look the least bit effeminate; even his tassel-toed leather loafers glinted in the light.

Mackenzie turned back to Adriana and groaned. “You’re right. He’s a fucking god,” she whispered.

Adriana surveyed Mackenzie’s hands and, finding no rings, said, “Go for it, querida. Make him yours.”

Mackenzie laughed, a sort of snort that wasn’t nearly as delicate or as feminine as Adriana’s. “Yeah, right. I’d have a better chance of going home with Matt Damon tonight.”

“Is he here?” Adriana asked, forgetting her promise to herself not to look in Dean’s direction. She scanned the table, carefully going over the faces of all twelve guests.

“No, he’s not here,” Mackenzie said with a laugh. “I was just making a point: There’s no way in hell that gorgeous guy would go for me.”

Again, Adriana assessed her new friend. Average height. Better-than-average face, with a cute button nose and a nice smile. Decent enough figure, she guessed, although it was impossible to tell what was happening under that babydoll dress. How she loathed babydoll dresses! Every woman on earth, herself included, looked either morbidly obese or eight months pregnant in babydoll dresses, and yet they were all the rage. Adriana suspected Mackenzie might even be hiding a pretty decent rack under that muumuu…a crime if there ever was one. Thankfully, the woman was somewhat saved by her flawless grooming. She sported a sleek blowout, what looked like professionally applied makeup, and a shoes-and-bag combo that most of womankind would kill for. Her appearance, combined with her success as one of the most sought-after magazine editors in New York, as Adriana would later learn, should have propelled Mackenzie into the stratosphere of confident women; her insecurity made absolutely no sense.

Before Adriana could do a thing to stop her, Mackenzie turned to the hot guy, tapped his arm insistently, and cleared her throat. She didn’t seem to notice that she was interrupting his conversation with the woman to his left, nor did she catch the surprised and slightly irritated look on his face. He swiveled around and peered at Mackenzie.

“Hello,” he said in a neutral voice, but Adriana could tell what he really meant was “Yes? Can I help you with something?”

Mackenzie plastered on a huge fake smile and extended her hand, a rather awkward gesture considering how tightly everyone was packed in around the table. She ended up looking slightly spastic, a fact that wasn’t lost on the guy. “Hi there. I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Mackenzie Michaels, features editor at Marie Claire. Probably not your typical reading, since it’s a women’s magazine-but actually, come to think of it, we do have quite a few male readers. And surprisingly, they’re not all gay, which is-”

“Mackenzie, querida? Would you happen to have a little breath mint, or perhaps a stick of chewing gum?” Adriana asked, gripping the woman’s arm. It wasn’t brilliant, but it was the best she could possibly do with this woman she barely knew. Besides, she didn’t really care what was said, just so long as Mackenzie stopped talking. It was painful to see, like sitting in the front row as a comedian floundered or the best man flubbed his toast. It made her uncomfortable, and for this reason alone Adriana stepped in.

She looked at the hot guy and it occurred to her, for just a moment, that he was a delectable prospect. If Mackenzie was going to sabotage herself…But no! She had been lucky enough to find her future husband, and she wouldn’t allow this dime-a-dozen playboy to tempt her. This mission was strictly one of necessity, not pleasure.

“Allo!” She turned up the Brazilian accent a few notches. “I am Adriana. Do you mind if I borrow my friend for just a moment?”

Mackenzie opened her mouth to interject, but Adriana took the liberty of pinching her forearm.

The hot guy smiled, nodded, and turned back to his original conversation.

Adriana could feel the iciness radiating from Mackenzie’s whole body, but she was even more acutely aware of Dean’s presence on her right. He’d watched the whole thing, and out of the corner of her eye she could see that he was smiling. Then there was Toby, who, from the other end of the table, was using her name in conversation loudly enough that she could hear every word. She should be curled up on a dark banquette with a caipirinha and a boy, and instead she was enduring one social awkwardness after another.

“If you wanted him yourself, why did you encourage me to go for him? Just to make an ass of myself?” Mackenzie hissed in Adriana’s direction while staring straight ahead. Both women smiled at the waitress as she placed endive salads before them.

Adriana sighed and checked to make sure that Dean was engaged in a different conversation before continuing. “I didn’t-don’t-want him myself, querida. I just couldn’t bear to watch that. It just felt so, so…” Adriana tried to think of another, gentler word here, but she already felt so exhausted.

“So what?” Mackenzie insisted.

Adriana met her gaze levelly. “So desperate.”

Mackenzie inhaled sharply and Adriana felt a pang of sympathy before remembering that she was doing Mackenzie a favor. If no one had told her this already, she was pretty much doomed. So she’d hate her. Adriana had bigger things to worry about than yet another woman hating her.

“It wasn’t desperate,” Mackenzie whispered. “I was just being friendly.”

Ah, the friendly card. Adriana was instantly transported back to her teenage years, when her mother was trying to teach her these important lessons and Adriana had raised these very same arguments. She almost smiled with the memory.

“Friendly, outgoing, engaging, charming, whatever you want to call it, it still translates into ‘available and desperate’ when you’re the one who initiates contact.”

Mackenzie appeared to mull this over, at one point opening her mouth to disagree and then changing her mind. “You think?” she asked finally.

Adriana nodded. It was boring, it was so obvious. Why didn’t American women understand this? Why weren’t they taught it? The Rules had helped a little but hadn’t done nearly enough; it instructed women how to deny men, but not how seduce them. If she hadn’t actually witnessed it herself over the last ten years, she never would have believed there existed grown women who thought the way to get a man was to chase him. She’d found the exact same thing with her friends-Leigh to a slightly lesser degree because of her more reserved personality, but Emmy had been downright humiliating, initiating conversations, calling first, suggesting plans, and making herself constantly available.

“So I shouldn’t have introduced myself?”

“No.” Adriana sipped her wine.

“Well, how were we going to meet otherwise?”

Adriana looked at her and tried not to get frustrated; she had to remember it wasn’t really Mackenzie’s fault. “You would have met, probably within minutes, when he had introduced himself to you.”

“Oh, please! What’s the actual difference who-”

Adriana continued as though she’d heard nothing. “At which point you would have rewarded his politeness with a smile and some smoldering eyes, and then you would have promptly dodged any of his direct questions, turned away, and become completely engaged in a conversation that did not include him.”

“Even if-”

“Even if he was midsentence, even if he asked you a question, even if he seemed smitten with you. Especially if he seemed smitten with you. The only time it’s acceptable to continue is if he’s ugly, because, well, we’re not really concerned with the outcome then, are we?”

Mackenzie nodded, seeming more entranced with Adriana than annoyed by her slightly patronizing tone. This was so basic it was elementary; how had this otherwise attractive, successful woman missed it?

“So basically what you’re saying is that we should all be living embodiments of The Rules? Which, in my opinion, is totally unrealistic.”

“I agree,” Adriana said. “It is totally unrealistic. The Rules is a good place to start, for teenagers. But it’s nothing for grown women. I mean, any book that addresses sex only as something you should avoid or withhold is not remotely relevant.”

Adriana was pleased that Mackenzie appeared transfixed. She continued, “Because really, what’s the point of men in the first place if you can’t properly enjoy them?”

Mackenzie kept vehemently nodding her head in agreement, so Adriana kept talking. It had been a while since she’d done something out of the goodness of her heart for someone else; it was time she imparted some of her lessons to someone less fortunate.

“It’s a complete myth that once a man has sex with you he’ll lose interest. In fact, it should be just the opposite: If you’re doing your job well, it will make him want you more. It’s all about finding the balance of mysterious and unavailable and challenging with sensual and seductive and sexy. You make them work for it-not just the first time, but again and again and again-and they’ll love you forever.”

“You sound so sure…” Mackenzie’s voice trailed off, but Adriana could tell she was a believer.

“I am so sure. I’m Brazilian. We know men and we know sex.”

Adriana began to eat her salad while Mackenzie stared at her. In almost the same moment, Adriana could see the gorgeous guy wrap up his conversation and turn to Mackenzie. “Excuse me?” he asked.

Mackenzie paused for a moment before turning to him and offering him a radiant smile. “Yes?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t properly introduce myself. My name is Jack. It’s nice to meet you.”

Like a pro, Mackenzie peered at him for just long enough before offering another smile-only this one was slightly more teasing, with pursed, just-licked lips. “It’s lovely to meet you, Jack,” Mackenzie purred.

“So, how do you know Catherine?” he asked.

“Oh, who doesn’t know Catherine?” She laughed confidently and turned her back to him. “Adriana, honey, you were just telling the most amusing story about that shopping disaster last week. Will you finish it for me? Please?”

Good god, Adriana thought, the woman is a natural. Adriana played along and crafted some fictional anecdote for the sake of conversation, just long enough for Jack to excuse himself and use the men’s room.

“You were perfect,” Adriana declared the moment he stood up.

“Really? I feel like I offended him. I was so rude that he left!”

“Absolutely perfect. You didn’t offend him, and you weren’t rude-you were mysterious. Keep it up for the remainder of the evening and he’ll go home with you tonight. Give a little, and then ignore. Flirt, then withhold. He’ll go crazy trying to pin you down.”

And sure enough, when Jack returned, he spent the duration of dinner, all of dessert, and a solid hour of postdinner drinks trying to keep Mackenzie’s wandering attention. The man was working, and Mackenzie clearly loved every minute of it. Adriana could see her confidence increasing with every passing flirtation, and she congratulated herself on a job well done. It was delightful to watch, especially since she was occupied enacting the advanced moves of what she’d just taught Mackenzie, trying to juggle with alternating cold shoulders and batted eyelashes two very different men of her own.

A little after midnight, Toby finally agreed they could leave. Dean had ducked out a bit earlier with profuse apologies that he had to get to a friend’s party he simply couldn’t miss (damn him!), Mackenzie was now feigning disinterest in Jack on a love seat in a dark corner, and Adriana was, once again, supremely bored. She’d already tried every trick in the book to get Toby to take her dancing, but he would have none of it. He was exhausted from the work and the travel; he was going directly back to the hotel, and he expected his girlfriend to join him.

Toby chattered on about something as he helped Adriana into her coat, but it wasn’t hard to block him out. What proved more difficult was remembering that she was only thirty-a mere girl, practically!-and not the fifty-year-old woman she felt like. At least the night wasn’t a total loss; it looked like Mackenzie, all touchy and laughing with Jack, was a changed woman. Adriana waited to catch her eye and offered a little wave good-bye.

Mackenzie motioned for her to wait a minute and, like a consummate professional, lightly grazed Jack’s lips with her fingertip and sashayed away from him, toward Adriana.

“You’re leaving already?” Mackenzie asked, glancing at Adriana’s coat.

“It’s after midnight. I’m beat,” Adriana lied. Not beat, just bored, she thought. “But it looks like you’re doing great work.”

“You. Are. A. Goddess!” Mackenzie whispered, leaning in and clutching Adriana’s arm. “He’s already invited me back to his place for a drink. I told him I’d think about it.”

Adriana was impressed. Nothing worked more efficiently than a maybe. It wasn’t a flat-out rejection, but it definitely sent the message that he’d have to work a little harder.

“Just remember, if you sleep with him, no staying over. I don’t care if it’s five in the morning; you have to be the one to get up and out. Stay as long as you’re having sex. The moment it’s time for sleep, you’re out of there,” Adriana advised her new pupil and tried not to think about how much she sounded like her mother.

Mackenzie nodded, hanging on every word. “What if he-”

“There are no exceptions.”

Another nod.

“Enjoy!” Adriana trilled. She gave Toby’s hand a little tug to pull him away from the circle of people who had entrapped him. “Honey, we really should be going…”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Mackenzie whispered. “I want to pitch a story idea to you, as the focus for our next issue. I’m not sure what the angle would be yet, but you have an absolute gift and I think our readers would love to know about it.”

Well. This was an interesting-and unexpected-development. Adriana was accustomed to being solicited for her picture by random tourists who thought her exotically gorgeous, and tonight wasn’t the first time a magazine editor had deemed her beautiful enough to be included in an issue. But a story focusing on her innate abilities with men and her talent for teaching other women how to snare them? That didn’t happen every day.

She feigned indifference even though her voice shook slightly from the excitement of it all. “Oh, well, that might be nice,” she said blandly.

“Oh, I do hope you’ll think about it and agree. I can see a double-page spread with a full interview and lots of gorgeous glossy pictures. We’ll make it phenomenal, I promise,” Mackenzie gushed. She hadn’t seemed like a gusher earlier in the evening, but then again, she hadn’t seemed like someone who could snag a guy so expertly, either.

It was all Adriana could do not to shriek with joy. “Well, um, Catherine knows how to reach me-or, at least, how to reach Toby-so that’s probably the best way…”

But Mackenzie had already started back toward Jack. “I’ll call you next week! Great to meet you. And thanks…for everything.” She waved and continued her sashay back to the darkened love seat.

“I hope you had a nice time, sweetheart?” Toby asked as he hailed a cab outside the building.

“It was so much more than nice, Toby. I had a wonderful time,” Adriana said with more honesty than she’d thought possible before Mackenzie’s idea. “An amazing, splendid, wonderful time.”

The knock woke Leigh out of a deep sleep, something she rarely achieved at night, never mind in the middle of the afternoon when she hadn’t even intended to fall asleep. There was something about the air or the water out here, something she needed to bottle: Every time her little rental car pulled into Sag Harbor, her whole body went slack with relaxation.

“Come in,” she called after a quick check to make sure she was clothed and not covered in drool. She was shocked to see that it was already dark outside.

Jesse opened the door and peeked just his head inside. “Did I wake you? Sorry, I figured you were hard at work twenty-four hours a day.”

Leigh snorted. “Uh-huh. I’m learning firsthand that having two Bloody Marys before lunch isn’t all that conducive to productivity.”

“True enough. But how good do you feel?”

“Pretty good,” she admitted. Despite the bits and pieces of her dream that were flashing back to her-something to do with walking down the aisle naked and shivering-she still felt rested and peaceful.

“Wait just a minute,” Jesse said as he crossed the room in three quick strides. He sat on the edge of the bed where Leigh sat fully dressed bolstered by half a dozen pillows, on top of the quilt. “What do I see here?”

Leigh followed his eyes to the paperback that was spread open across her stomach. It sported a baby blue cover with a picture of a prettily wrapped gift and was a sequel to Something Borrowed, a book she’d just finished and loved.

“This?” she asked, folding down a page and handing it to him. “It’s called Something Blue. The first one was about a girl who falls in love with her best friend’s fiancé and doesn’t know what to do. Well, they end up together, and now in this one, we see the story from the perspective of the best friend who lost her fiancé. Not that she’s so innocent, either, because she slept with one of her ex-fiancé’s groomsmen.”

Jesse read the back cover while shaking his head. “Incredible,” he murmured.

“What?”

“The fact that you read this.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on, Leigh. You don’t think it’s amusing that little Ms. Cornell-English-major-I-only-edit-serious-works-of-literature is reading Something Blue in her free time?”

Leigh snatched the book back and pressed it against her chest. “It’s really good,” she said with a frown.

“I’m sure it is.”

Leigh wanted to say that, at least as of this moment, Something Blue was far better written than the latest draft of Jesse’s novel. That it had a sensible structure and coherent language. That maybe it wasn’t exploring too many lofty intellectual themes, but so what? It was witty, clever, and fun to read-something Mr. Literary Hotshot could use in triplicate right about now.

But of course Leigh didn’t say any of this. She merely said, “I’m not going to defend my pleasure-reading choices to you.”

Jesse held up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. But you do realize that this changes everything, don’t you? I now have actual proof that the work-Nazi editor is actually a human being.”

“Just because I read chick lit?”

“You got it. How tough can someone be if they read and relate to Bridget Jones’s Diary?”

Leigh sighed. “I loved that book.”

Jesse smiled. “What was that other one…The Nanny Diaries?”

“A definite classic.”

“Mmm,” Jesse murmured, and Leigh could tell he was rapidly losing interest. She knew his gestures now, his expressions, could decode the meaning of a furrowed eyebrow or a half-smile. She’d been to the Hamptons four times in the last three months, and with each meeting things had felt less awkward. The second time she’d again stayed at the American Hotel, although she’d spent barely a handful of hours there-a fact that said a great deal considering the visit took place on a No Human Contact Monday (she waived the rule for one night). On the third and fourth visits she accepted Jesse’s offer to stay in the guesthouse he’d built for his nephews-it was so much more convenient-and it wasn’t until yesterday, on this fifth visit, that Leigh had realized the wisdom of bunking in one of the main house’s upstairs guest rooms. After all, they often worked late into the night, and the walk to the guesthouse was winding and dark.

It was all very innocent and, to Leigh’s surprise, it felt extremely natural. She was pleased that they were able to work so well together and still maintain professional distance, even if they were sleeping in rather close quarters. Henry hadn’t thought it strange when Leigh mentioned she’d stopped staying at the hotel; he had other editors who traveled to visit authors-some to places more far-flung than the Hamptons-and they often bunked down on the property somewhere. When Leigh had told her father at dinner last week that she’d taken to spending two or three days a week working with Jesse in his home, he’d said something to the effect of “It’s not ideal, but if they won’t come to you, you go to them.” All their blasé attitudes only furthered Leigh’s conviction that Russell didn’t need to know.

“I wondered what you wanted for dinner,” Jesse was saying. “It’s almost six and it’s the off-season, so if we don’t motivate soon, we’re going to be shit out of luck. Do you want to grab a burger somewhere, or should I make something?”

“By ‘make something’ do you really mean ‘pour cereal in a bowl’? Because if that’s the case, I’d rather a burger.”

“Ah, sweet Leigh, charming as ever. Is that your way of saying ‘Thanks, Jesse. I’d love a home-cooked meal, I’m just way too difficult a bitch to actually say so’?”

Leigh laughed. “Yes.”

“I had a feeling. Okay, then, cooking it is. I’m going to run to Schiavoni’s for some food. Any requests?”

“Lucky Charms? Or Cinnamon Toast Crunch. With two-percent milk, please.”

Jesse threw up his hands in mock disgust and left the room. Leigh waited until she heard the front door close and the car start before she picked up her phone.

Russell answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

He always pretended he didn’t know it was her, even though he had caller ID like the rest of the civilized world. “Hey,” she said. “It’s me.”

“Hi, baby, how are you? How’s the lunatic these days? He staying sober enough to get any substantive work done?”

Russell had taken to putting down Jesse pretty much every chance he got, regardless of how often Leigh reassured him that Jesse was nothing like his reputation, or how many times she told him that he was just another author, alternately confident to the point of arrogance or insecure to the point of debilitation. It didn’t seem to matter, and Leigh figured out the more she defended Jesse, the more it incensed Russell. He was jealous-she certainly would be if he spent so much time with another woman-but she couldn’t bring herself to reassure him. Even if Jesse never mentioned his wife (and Leigh had yet to detect any actual proof of her existence), the fact remained that Jesse was married and Leigh was engaged, and they had developed a nice friendship in addition to their working relationship. A nice platonic friendship-something Russell claimed, much to Leigh’s irritation, was an impossibility between men and women.

Leigh sighed. “He’s really not like that, Russell. He’s not a drunk, he’s just…just different. He’s not quite as regimented as we are.”

Dammit. This was definitely not the right approach. Any conversation she allowed to veer toward Jesse would definitely end in a fight, something that, despite her very best efforts, seemed to be happening a lot lately.

“Regimented?”

“You know what I mean.”

“It sounds like you think he’s all chill and Zen and that I’m stressed out and…and…regimented.”

“We are different people, Russell. And in my opinion, we’re the ones living like responsible adults while he’s lost and directionless, okay?” Leigh didn’t acknowledge to Russell that although this had been her opinion a mere month earlier, Jesse’s lifestyle no longer seemed so unappealing. “Look, why are we even talking about him? Who cares? I called to see what was going on with you. How was today’s postproduction meeting?”

“It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Russell, don’t sulk. It’s unbecoming.”

“Thank you for the etiquette lesson, dear. I’ll remember that.”

“Why are you being like this?” Leigh sighed. She had merely wanted to check in, exchange a few pleasantries, and get back to her book, but she sensed that Russell was preparing a huge State of the Relationship talk. They were his specialty and her worst nightmare.

“Leigh, what’s going on with us?” His voice grew softer, gentler. “Seriously, I think we should talk about it.”

Leigh took a deep breath and exhaled silently. She strove for calm although her insides were screaming, No, no, no! I’m sick of talking about it. Let’s not talk about everything. Can’t we just tell each other about our days and move on? Please don’t do this to me! and said, “What do you mean, Russ? There’s nothing wrong with us.”

He was silent for a minute. “Do you really feel that way? Doesn’t it seem like there’s a lot of distance? And what am I supposed to say when people ask why we haven’t had our engagement party yet? That my fiancée doesn’t seem to have time, even though we’ve been engaged for five months?”

Oh god, please not this again. “You know what a big deal this is-why can’t you be understanding?”

“Yeah, well, call me crazy, but I guess I thought that getting married would be a big deal for you, too.”

“Of course it is. Which is why I want to wait until everything can be perfect.”

This wasn’t completely untrue. Leigh knew she was dragging her feet with all the plans. Part of it was just an overall lack of interest in all things wedding-related-she wasn’t the girl who picked out her gown at age twelve-and part of it was the dread of dealing with both her mother and Russell’s, but when she was completely honest with herself, Leigh knew it went beyond that.

For a while she could tell herself that everything was moving too quickly. After all, it felt like only yesterday that they were kissing for the first time on a bench in Union Square. She’d liked Russell very much then, too-she’d thought he was sweet and good-looking, and she was flattered that he was interested in her. She hoped they would date and the relationship would develop or disintegrate naturally. Either two people grow closer and thrive, or the connection slowly fizzles and it’s time to break up. She’d enjoy her time with Russell and not get all stressed out about what the future held. Which had worked fairly well, until he had gone and proposed. And not just proposed, but slid that ring onto her finger while Leigh sat frozen in shock, and then kissed her mouth as it hung open in disbelief. She had never been less prepared for anything in her entire life, and it didn’t take a genius to see that she’d been haunted by doubts these past few months. What she didn’t know how to explain to Russell-or anyone else-was what, exactly, was wrong. Nothing had changed between them since they’d first met; he was still every bit as sweet and kind and understanding. The problem was that Leigh was still waiting to fall head over heels in love with him, and everyone else-her friends, her parents, and worst of all Russell-thought she was already there. In light of all this, was it really so strange that she just wanted to take her time?

It was his turn to sigh. “I understand. I just wish there was, I don’t know, a little excitement in your voice. Do you even talk about it to the girls?”

“Of course I do,” Leigh lied. Emmy and Adriana asked about the upcoming wedding plans incessantly-they desperately wanted to plan a bachelorette party-but Leigh always found herself changing the subject. Why didn’t they understand that this was all going way too fast? Even thinking this, though, made her feel guilty, so she softened her voice and said, “Baby, I’m excited about everything. We’ll get married, and when that’s finished we’ll go somewhere exotic and very, very far away, like the Maldives, and we’ll just relax and enjoy each other, okay? I promise.”

“Will you wear that bikini I love? The one with the metal circles on the hips and in the middle of the top?”

“Definitely.”

“And you won’t bring your laptop or a single manuscript, not even just for reading on the plane?”

“Not a single one,” she said with certainty, although this gave her pause. “It will be perfect.”

“Deal,” Russell said, sounding as though the issue had been completely resolved.

“I’ll call you later to say good night, okay?”

“You’re definitely back tomorrow, right? We need at least one night alone together before the big Meet the Parents Thanksgiving.”

“Of course we do, baby. I’ll definitely be home tomorrow night,” Leigh forced herself to say. She wasn’t particularly dreading Thanksgiving in Connecticut, even though she probably should be, considering Russell’s entire family was flying in to spend the holiday with hers, but her desperation to hang up the phone was overtaking everything else right then.

“Mmmwah!” Russell made a loud kissing noise into the receiver, a little inside thing they’d always done when they were apart.

Leigh did it back, feeling silly and slightly annoyed and then guilty for feeling silly and slightly annoyed. They hung up and she felt relieved, then exhausted, too tired even to reopen her book.

She awoke with the disconcerting feeling that someone was watching her. She glanced out the window and could see a few scattered snowflakes highlighted by the light above the front door. The room was nearly pitch-black, but she could feel someone else’s presence.

“Jesse?”

“Hey. Sorry. Did I scare you?”

As her eyes adjusted she saw him sitting across the room in the mahogany rocking chair. His hands were crossed over his chest and his head rested against the chair back. The smell of fresh garlic and baking bread wafted in from somewhere.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just admiring your sleep.”

“My sleep?”

“I came up to wake you for dinner, but you looked so peaceful. I don’t really sleep, pretty much ever, so it’s always nice to watch someone else. Probably creepy, but I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s actually ironic, because I don’t sleep anywhere else but here. There’s something about being out here that’s better than Bambien,” Leigh said.

“Isn’t it Ambien? Without the B?”

“Bath plus Ambien equals Bambien. But even that only works some of the time.”

Jesse laughed and Leigh felt a surge of happiness. And for the first time in her thirty years of life, Leigh did something without giving any thought whatsoever to any potential consequences or reactions. With a completely blank mind and absolutely no anxiety, she climbed off the bed and walked over to the rocking chair. Not even standing above him made her nervous; she extended her hand and, when he accepted it with only the slightest confusion on his face, she tugged him upward. They were face-to-face, something that felt strange because Russell was so much taller. Leigh looked down at her hands, interlaced with his, a moment of intimacy that was undeniable, unmistakable. He unhooked their hands and put them behind her neck and entangled his fingers in her hair, and their lips pressed together and opened; Jesse’s tongue on her own was more surreal than exciting, strange, or foreign.

From there everything moved quickly. They fell back onto the bed and within seconds they were naked. It was a violent, needy sex Leigh had rarely experienced. Even though he played with her hair, cupped her face, kissed the tip of her nose, stroked her back-he didn’t hesitate to pin her down almost roughly, hands over her head. Afterward, Jesse pulled her close, still on top of the covers, and ran his fingers lightly across Leigh’s shoulders until goose bumps rose along the backs of her arms. He asked if she was okay, did she feel all right, did she want some water? When Leigh was quiet for a few minutes, he lifted her chin and kissed her with such softness she thought she might die. They kissed like that for minutes, many minutes, lazily and languidly, and when Jesse pressed the flat part of his tongue across her bottom lip, Leigh had the sensation that she could disappear entirely into his mouth. Neither lifted their head from the pillow; they turned and kissed, so warmly and softly until something snapped and the urgency became overwhelming; their teeth clashed and their nails dug and their hands again grabbed and pulled.

Afterward Leigh rested her head on his chest and through half-closed eyes peeked to see Jesse awake, looking at her. Not with curiosity or love, though; he looked as though he was trying to remember every detail. Eye contact during sex was supposed to be the ultimate intimacy, a glimpse into the soul, blah, blah, blah. But no matter how close she’d felt to Russell or to other guys before him, meeting eyes had always felt forced or contrived, as though they’d both read the same article insisting lovemaking included eye contact. It always made her uncomfortable, took her out of the moment, but this was different. When Jesse’s eyes found hers it was hard to breathe; no one had ever looked at her like that before. It was out of a movie, and Leigh felt like a movie star. It no longer mattered that she had a small rash on her belly from an allergic reaction to a new lotion, or that Jesse’s skin was a bit too pale for such dark chest hair, or that they were both red and sweaty and panting; they had become the two sexiest people on earth. They had, in a very real way, found each other.

At some point they fell asleep because when Leigh opened her eyes the sky was beginning to lighten. She eased herself out from under the throw blanket Jesse had pulled over them, and she tiptoed to the bathroom across the hall, waiting for the floods of regret, guilt, and self-flagellation. Nothing came. Instead, she peed and braced herself for the familiar stinging of a UTI, but miraculously, she felt fine. Splashing water on her face, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and nearly fainted. Her chin and cheeks were raw, and patches were lightly bleeding from beard burn; her lips were swollen; the skin on her neck was splotched red with teeth marks; her hair was tangled in ratty knots; there were bruises on her inner thighs from where he’d pushed himself against her. Her head throbbed from hitting the headboard, her pelvic bone ached from grinding, and the sensitive skin between her legs felt like it had been sandpapered. Even her feet ached from curling her toes for so many hours.

Never before had she felt so awful, if by awful one really means absolutely fucking fantastic. She returned to the guest room and found Jesse sitting in bed, still naked under the blanket. Light from the bedside window illuminated his face, and Leigh could now see the clock: 7:23 A.M. He looked up and, for the first time in hours, she was overcome with self-consciousness. She was standing there completely naked in the glow of full daylight before this man she barely knew, her author, for chrissake. Had she really done this?

“Leigh.”

She forced herself to look directly at him. The room was cold and she could feel the hair on her legs beginning to prickle.

“Leigh. Sweetheart. Come here.” He lifted the edge of the blanket and motioned for her to join him.

She climbed in next to him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled the covers over them both. He kissed her on the forehead like her father used to when she was sick. And what her father would think if he could see her now…not just in bed with someone-bad enough for a dad-but with the man she had been assigned to edit…and what about Russell…her fiancé…she was still wearing the beautiful ring he’d placed on her finger only five months earlier. She was a filthy, disgusting slut, unworthy of all of them.

“You look like you’re in the throes of a crushing panic attack,” Jesse whispered in her ear. He pulled her even tighter against him, but it was protective, not sexual.

“I’m a filthy, disgusting, unworthy slut,” she said before she could stop herself, but the second the words were out she regretted them.

Expecting a denial or, at the very least, another hug and some sympathetic clucking-Russell’s specialty-Leigh was horrified, and then supremely pissed off, when Jesse started to laugh.

She wrenched her body away from his and stared, dumbstruck. “You think that’s funny? You think it’s amusing that I basically just ruined my life?”

He hugged her tighter and rather than feel suffocated like she usually did, Leigh allowed herself to relax. Jesse kissed her lips and forehead and each cheek before saying, “I’m only laughing because you remind me so much of myself.”

“Oh, great,” Leigh muttered.

“But we didn’t do anything wrong, Leigh.”

“What do you mean, we didn’t do anything wrong? I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Maybe with the fact that I’m engaged? Or you’re married? Or that we work together?”

She emphasized the working together bit, but it wasn’t until she’d listed everything that Leigh admitted something to herself: She’d been waiting for Jesse to offer a reasonable explanation for his marriage, something along the lines of “We’re actually divorced” or “I’m not really married.” She knew this was unlikely. But that hadn’t stopped Leigh from hoping.

He pressed his finger to her lips and shushed her, which she was surprised to discover she found cute and not enraging. “What happened between us happened naturally. We both wanted it. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that?” she snapped, her voice taking on a mean, almost vicious tone. “What about your wife?”

Jesse rolled over onto an elbow so he was hovering above Leigh and looked directly into her eyes. “I’m not going to patronize you with the usual shtick about how miserable we are and how she doesn’t understand me and how I’m about to leave her, because that’s not true and I don’t want to lie to you. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t extenuating circumstances. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I don’t want you desperately right now.”

Well, that was definitely not what she wanted to hear. The I-hate-my-wife-she-doesn’t-understand-me shtick would’ve been just fine as far as she was concerned. The fact that it wasn’t forthcoming made her even more acutely aware of how wrong this all was, something made more confusing by the fact that it all felt so right. So right? What the hell was she thinking? This was lunacy… There was nothing right about betraying Russell or having sex with the man she was supposed to be working with. It had been a horrible lapse in judgment, inexcusable even, and it would be a miracle if they all got through this unscathed. Of course she could no longer edit Jesse, that much was clear, but that seemed an insignificant price to pay for her overwhelming stupidity.

It was time to leave. Immediately.

“What are you doing?” Jesse asked as Leigh wrenched herself out from under him and wrapped herself in the throw blanket. She grabbed her entire overnight bag and, with one hand clutching the blanket to ensure she remained covered, she half sprinted, half hobbled to the bathroom. Only after locking the door behind her did she allow the blanket to fall, but this time she couldn’t face her body in the mirror. Knowing she would only sob if she allowed herself the luxury of a shower, she pulled on a pair of clean underwear, jeans, and a button-down and wrapped her knotted, frizzy hair into a bun. She took the time only to brush her teeth and, with that single task complete, Leigh clamped her jaw shut to keep herself from crying and opened the door.

He was standing in the doorway wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts, looking miserable. Leigh wanted nothing more than to hug him, a desire she found both repellant and appealing, but she managed to squeeze past him without so much as brushing against his arm.

“Leigh, sweetheart, don’t do this,” he said, following her down the hall and then the stairs. “Sit with me for a minute. Let’s talk about this.”

She swept into the kitchen to gather her papers and notebooks and saw the remnants of the dinner they’d never gotten around to eating. A casserole dish of hardened lasagna rested on a hot plate between two place settings and two poured glasses of red wine; two simple silver candleholders were covered in melted ivory wax.

“I don’t want to talk. I want to leave,” Leigh said quietly, with no intonation.

“I know, and I’m asking you to wait.” Leigh glanced at him and noticed his stubble was sprinkled with gray and the hollows around his eyes were so dark they could be mistaken for bruises.

“Jesse, please.” She sighed, her back to him as she slid her files into her bag. She remembered she’d left Something Blue in the guest room upstairs, but there was no way she was going back for it now.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and pulled at her gently to turn her around. “Look at me, Leigh. I want you to know that I don’t regret last night at all.”

For the first time since she’d gotten out of bed, Leigh met his gaze. She stared at him with her iciest narrowed-eye look and said, “Oh, I’m so relieved! Thank goodness you don’t regret what happened. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that. In the meantime, get your hands off me.”

He pulled away. “Leigh. I didn’t mean it like that. Please, sit down with me for just a minute…” Something about the way his voice trailed off let them both know that the invitation, while sincere, was not something he actually wanted. He looked tired and beaten, like a man who was exhausted by the thought of having to deal with yet another hysterical postcoital female.

She would give anything for him to say that he loved her from the moment he met her and this wasn’t just another extramarital conquest for the legendary Jesse Chapman-that she, Leigh Eisner, was different-but she knew better. She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked proudly through the front door with her head held high, both surprised and saddened when Jesse didn’t follow.