New York, Actually

by Sarah Morgan

  He glanced from her to the file, wondering what he was missing. “Doctor? Doctor of what? Deception? Bullshit?”

  “Dr. Parker, Dr. Kathleen Molly Parker, is a behavioral psychologist.”

  Daniel looked up. The blood pounded in his ears. “Did you say Molly?”

  “That’s right.”

  “My Molly?”

  “I don’t think she’s going to be yours for much longer when she finds out you did a background check on her. Or maybe you already told her.”

  “I didn’t do a background check on her. I did a background check on Aggie, although technically it was Max who did it.”

  “Turns out Molly and Aggie are one and the same person. Aggie is her pseudonym.”

  “It has to be a mistake.” Daniel stood up and paced to the window, his brain racing. No, it couldn’t be possible. She would have mentioned it. After everything they’d shared, she would have mentioned it. Wouldn’t she?

  He thought about the times she’d changed the subject when he’d asked about her work. The times he’d probed for a little more information and got nothing back.

  She’d told him she was a psychologist but she had never given him specifics.

  He kept his back to the room. “Tell me.”

  “It’s in the file. Or I could call Max and he could—”

  “I want you to tell me.” Although part of him didn’t want to hear it. For the first time in his life he was enjoying a relationship with a woman, and now it turned out she wasn’t who she said she was.

  He could respect her desire to protect patient confidentiality, but he knew that wasn’t what was going on here. The issue was that she didn’t trust him. He’d trusted her with personal information about himself, about his past, that he’d never shared with anyone before but she hadn’t been willing to return the gesture.

  He didn’t turn, just listened as Marsha read from the report.

  “She has a postgraduate degree from Oxford. Her blog, Ask a Girl, currently has 8 million hits a week—” She broke off as Daniel uttered an expletive. “Yes, she’s popular. Her first book, Mate for Life, sold over half a million copies in the first two weeks of sale, and her second book—”

  “Wait—” He dragged his hand through his hair. That was why she had a copy of the book in her apartment. She hadn’t bought it for advice. She’d written the damn thing.

  Slowly, his image of her changed shape.

  Do you deal with relationships in your work?

  Yes.

  He turned to find Marsha was watching him as she might watch an escaped tiger, unsure whether to say more.

  Daniel clenched his jaw. “Go on.”

  “She’s just signed another book deal with Phoenix Publishing, but the details haven’t been announced yet.”

  “Phoenix? They’re the people who wanted me to write a book on surviving divorce?”

  “That’s right. Do you want to know the rest?”

  “No.” He’d already heard more than enough. What he needed now was a conversation with “Aggie.” Or Molly. Or whoever the hell she really was.

  How could they be one and the same person? One of them he wanted to have sex with, and the other he wanted to strangle with his bare hands.

  He’d thought Aggie was an ignorant charlatan, and in fact she was a smart, professional woman.

  The coffee Marsha had brought in earlier sat untouched and forgotten on his desk.

  Why wouldn’t she mention that she worked as an advice columnist? Why so secretive? It didn’t make sense. He was confused, and underneath the confusion was outrage. She’d accused him of deception, but her deception was greater than his. All he’d done was borrow a dog. She was concealing an entire identity.

  Marsha was still watching him. “Are you angry for professional reasons or personal reasons?”

  He thought of Molly naked, laughing down at him. Then he remembered the way she’d listened to him that night on the balcony.

  She had a way of encouraging people to talk, without doing any talking herself.

  “Professional.” He spoke through his teeth. “It’s professional. Wasn’t I invited to a party at Phoenix Publishing?”

  “Cocktails at the Met tonight. You told me to make your excuses.”

  “Un-excuse me. I’m going.”

  “To discuss the project they had in mind? Because if you’re going to make an embarrassing scene, I don’t want to be part of that. I like Aggie. Her book is brilliant, and—”

  “Her name is Molly. Call Phoenix. Invited or not, I’m going. And tell Max to delete this particular project from his memory. I don’t want it mentioned again.”

  Marsha looked upset. “I hate to see you hurt.”

  “Hurt?” He barely recognized his own voice. “I’m not hurt.”

  “But I thought you and she—”

  “What? I don’t do relationships, you know that. Molly and I had fun, but we’re not emotionally attached.”

  “Are you sure? Because I wondered if possibly, perhaps—” Marsha licked her lips and he scowled at her.

  “What?”

  “These last few weeks, you seem different. I thought, I wondered, if maybe you’re starting to care about her.”

  Daniel stopped dead, genuinely astonished. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Nothing,” Marsha said hastily. “It’s just that you seem very upset, that’s all.”

  “You’re right, I’m upset. And I’m upset because I don’t like being lied to.” It was obvious, wasn’t it? He couldn’t understand why she’d think it could be anything more. And of course he cared about Molly, but not in any deep or meaningful way. He’d meant what he said about not falling in love with her. He had no concerns about that. Their relationship was perfect.

  Except that apparently it wasn’t perfect enough for her to trust him.

  * * *

  The roof terrace of the Metropolitan Museum of Art offered a perfect view of Central Park and the skyscrapers of midtown Manhattan. Tower blocks rose behind treetops, as if the city was determined to remind the awestruck spectator exactly who was the star of the show.

  And who could forget?

  Smiling, Molly took a glass of champagne. She probably didn’t need the drink. She already felt as if she’d downed an entire bottle of champagne without pausing for breath. She’d sailed through the day on a cloud of happiness, dizzy with excitement. Part of her wished she had made her excuses this evening so that she could have seen Daniel instead. If she’d done that, they’d be in bed now.

  She surreptitiously drew her phone out of her purse, but there was no message. Maybe he was still deciding where to take her to dinner tomorrow. She probably should have told him that she’d be happy to eat a bowl of corn chips in his bed.

  Lost in a dream, she moved to the edge of the terrace, taking the weight off her feet one at a time. Why did shoes that felt comfortable when you put them on turn into torture devices after a few hours of wearing them? It was one of life’s mysteries.

  She gazed down at the park. She ran there every day, but she never saw it from this angle. Through the canopy of trees she could see paths winding their way lazily through wooded glades, framed by buildings beyond.

  She rose on her toes, trying to pick out the spot where she’d first met Daniel. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. For her, sex had always been part of a relationship. That in itself had been enough to hold her back. Only now was she realizing that she’d rationed her responses. She’d never had sex that was so uninhibited, so real. It had been crazy, electrifying and so exhilarating that she wasn’t sure how she was going to get through a whole twenty-four hours until she saw him again.

  She stood staring at the view, listening to the clink of glass and the hum of voices behind her when she heard someone say her name.

  She turned and saw Brett Adams, the CEO of Phoenix Publishing, approaching. With him were a man and a woman.

  “Aggie!” He leaned in and kissed her briefly on both cheeks, New
York style. “Glad you could make it. We’re excited about the next book. We have big plans.”

  “I’m excited, too.” She was relieved and grateful that he used her pseudonym. She’d been assured by Brett that her identity would be protected at this small, exclusive party. There were no photographers, no journalists to write up her story.

  “I want you to meet my brother, Chase, and his wife, Matilda. Matilda is one of our rising stars. She writes romance fiction and she’s a big fan of yours. She’s been nagging me for an introduction.”

  The woman was pretty, with tumbling brown hair and friendly eyes. “I just loved Mate for Life. I used it for inspiration when I was writing my last book. You have a way of putting things that makes so much sense. I wish I’d had your book when I was single.” Matilda reached out to shake her hand, spilling some of her champagne in the process. “Oh. I’m so sorry—”

  “Let me take that.” Chase carefully removed the glass from her hand, the speed of his movements suggesting it wasn’t the first time he’d rescued his wife from disaster.

  Matilda shot him a grateful look, which he acknowledged with warmth and amusement that was touching to watch.

  Molly decided these two were in no need of any relationship advice from her.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Have you written many books for Phoenix?”

  “I’m on my third, so I’m still very new.”

  “She’s being modest,” Brett said. “Her first book hit the New York Times bestseller list. Rare for a debut author. The heroine was engaging and relatable and seemed to strike a chord with many women. You’d enjoy it, Aggie. I’ll have my assistant send you a copy.”

  “I’d love that! Are you working on a book at the moment?”

  “Yes, and I need to get it written before the summer.” She placed a hand over her abdomen and beamed up at Chase. “Because in August we’re going to be busy.”

  Molly smiled. “Congratulations.”

  “We’re very excited.”

  They talked for a few more minutes and then someone approached Brett and Matilda and Molly stepped away, giving them space, only to slam straight into a solid wall of male muscle.

  “Hello, Molly.”

  She would have recognized that deep, male voice anywhere. She felt a thrill of pure adrenaline and turned. “Daniel? What are you doing here?”

  She was so, so happy to see him. For the first time in her life she wanted to behave like Valentine and wag her tail and jump all over him.

  “I was about to ask you the same question.” His tone was cool. Cooler than she would have expected given that twenty-four hours earlier they’d been intimately entwined.

  It puzzled her. Maybe there hadn’t been emotional involvement but there had been friendship. A connection that had added an extra dimension for both of them.

  But that connection was no longer in evidence and she sensed something different about him.

  Was it because they were in public? No. It was something more than that. There was a glint in his eye that she didn’t recognize. A hardness she hadn’t observed before. Oh, she knew he was tough, but he concealed it under layers of charm and charisma that made you forget his reputation.

  It was like playing with a tame lion, she thought, and forgetting that at the end of the day he was a wild animal.

  She was looking at Daniel the lawyer, not Daniel the lover.

  Her excitement dimmed, only to be replaced by panic as she realized something that hadn’t immediately occurred to her.

  She wasn’t here as Molly.

  He was going to want to know what she was doing here.

  “Daniel!” Brett stepped forward and shook his hand firmly. “Good to see you. I hope this means you’re considering our proposal. And I see you’ve already met Aggie. I think you’ll have a lot to talk about. Aggie is a psychologist, and she writes the most insightful books on relationships. She was Phoenix’s biggest seller last year and we’re hoping for similar success with her next book.”

  Molly closed her eyes briefly. By introducing her by her pseudonym Brett assumed he was helping protect her identity, instead of which he’d inadvertently revealed it.

  She felt hideously embarrassed and aware that she’d laid herself open to accusations of hypocrisy. She’d been outraged when she’d discovered that Brutus didn’t belong to Daniel, but how much worse was this? What would he do? She felt a little sick. He’d told her things, personal things, and now he was probably feeling vulnerable. A man who felt vulnerable often fought to defend himself. Some might seek revenge, and what better way to take revenge than to blow her identity wide-open?

  She waited for Daniel to challenge her, but he didn’t. Instead he listened attentively to Brett, who seemed oblivious to the tension in the atmosphere.

  “Daniel is one of Manhattan’s top divorce attorneys. I’m trying to persuade him to write a book on how to make the divorce process as civilized as possible. Maybe we should commission the two of you to write something together.”

  Daniel gave a noncommittal smile.

  Molly felt a flutter of nerves. Was he going to say something right here and now, or would he at least wait until they were in private? She almost wished he’d get it over with because the suspense was killing her.

  She downed her champagne in four large gulps, only vaguely aware that Brett had wandered off to talk to another group of people who were waiting for his attention.

  Daniel lifted two more glasses of champagne from a nearby tray and balanced them on the low wall. “Help yourself. You look as if you need it, Molly. Or should I call you Aggie? I’m confused.”

  He didn’t look confused. She wasn’t sure how to interpret his expression. The setting sun made sure she couldn’t get a good look at his face.

  “Daniel—”

  “And you have a popular blog and an impressive following on social media. Now that’s something you didn’t mention while we were getting hot and sweaty together.” He leaned in, his breath warming her cheek. “I’ve never had sex with two women at the same time before. I’m interested—did I go to bed with Aggie or with Molly? Do you have any advice for me on that?”

  The couple standing close to them sent them curious glances.

  Mortified, Molly finished her second glass of champagne and moved away a few steps. “Plenty of writers use a pseudonym. Look around this party and I doubt you’ll find many people who write under their own names.”

  “And I doubt you’d find many people who fail to mention it to their friends. Especially friends they’ve been naked with. If ‘Aggie’ is simply a pseudonym, why didn’t you tell me?”

  She felt the anger pulsing from him.

  “Probably for the same reason you didn’t tell me Brutus wasn’t yours.”

  “That’s different! That’s—” He swore under his breath and raked his fingers through his hair. The light of his eyes had darkened to pewter. “I didn’t know you then.” Something in his tone made her breathing jam in her throat.

  She wanted to say that he didn’t know her now, but that would be lying. He did know her. Not every detail of her past, but more than anyone else ever had.

  “I keep a separation between my work identity and my real self. I prefer it that way.”

  “So you trust me enough to get naked with me, but not enough to tell me that?”

  She could hear the hurt in his voice. Pride. That had to be it. She’d damaged his pride. He’d told her things, but she hadn’t done the same. “You told me what you wanted to tell me, nothing more.”

  “This has nothing to do with what I told you, and everything to do with what you didn’t tell me.”

  Whatever his reasons for being hurt, there was no denying that he was hurt and she was the cause of it. And she hated that. Hurting him was the last thing she’d ever wanted to do. “You seem to have a big problem with the fact that I’m Aggie and I don’t get it because you’ve never even heard of me before tonight.”

  “I’ve heard of you.” H
is laugh was devoid of humor and she stared at him, wishing she hadn’t drunk champagne on an empty stomach. She needed her wits about her, and right now her wits felt…well, blurry.

  “Are you saying you read my blog? I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t, but my clients do.”

  Someone touched his arm and he turned, impatience masked by a quick smile.

  He shook hands, listened as if he was interested in what was being said, responded to their effusive thanks with a few polite comments. Then he turned back to her, his body language making it clear that the next person who disturbed them would find themselves dropped over the edge of the terrace into the park below.

  Despite the champagne, her mouth felt dry. “Your clients? Which clients? What are you talking about?”

  “One of my clients was getting a divorce, until you talked her husband out of it. You said that because they had children, they had a duty to persevere with their marriage.”

  Her head throbbed. She lifted her hand and pressed her fingers to her forehead, trying to remember. How was she expected to remember a few words among the thousands she wrote? “I would never give advice on a specific situation. I make general observations, that’s all.”

  “Well, your ‘general observations’ have caused a great deal of emotional anxiety and turbulence in a family that already had far too much of it.”

  “I will not apologize for suggesting that a marriage might be worth another try before abandoning it. If there are children involved, there’s nothing wrong with trying again.”

  “You know nothing about their situation.”

  That was true, and she also knew this conversation wasn’t about his clients. On the surface, maybe, but underneath it was about something else. It was about them. About the fact that she hadn’t trusted him.

  She lowered her hand and chose her words carefully.

  “I know a lot about it, both professionally and personally. People write to me outlining their situation, and I give them my thoughts. That’s all. Have you even read the advice I gave? Maybe you should, before flinging accusations. Good night, Daniel.”

  Hand shaking, she put her empty glass of champagne back on a passing tray and turned to leave.