Andrew yawned. “I’d better take a rain check. I want to be sharp for our meeting.”
Kimberly nodded, but he could tell she was disappointed. “All right, then,” she said. “If you change your mind, you know my room number.”
Andrew watched her head down the hallway toward her room and drew a deep breath. He could no longer deny it: he was teetering on a precarious cliff.
And Kimberly would love to pull him over the edge.
When Andrew got to his room, he checked his cell phone and had a voice mail waiting from Beth.
“Hi, it’s me. Just wanted to make sure you got there okay. I’m going to bed, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow after your meeting.”
Andrew thought about calling and waking her up, then decided against it. She was still mad at him, that much he could tell. But at least she called.
Andrew and Kimberly joined their prospective client for lunch the next day in a booth at Lou Mitchell’s on West Jackson Boulevard. Jackie de Wulf was only twenty-seven, but her jaded cynicism made her seem much older. She was brash and shrill and knew everybody in the joint by name, including the homeless guys who lingered outside.
Jackie was not one to mince words and quickly made it apparent she was not the least bit impressed that a hotshot New York literary agent had flown to see her two days before Christmas. She expected no less for a writer with her gifts.
“I don’t trust you agent types,” she said. “Especially ones that look like you two.”
“Oh? How do we look?” Kimberly said.
“He looks like a snake oil salesman, and you look like the snooty girl who blackballed me from the sorority.”
Kimberly laughed. “You think I’m the sorority type?”
“You got the face, the bod, the hair. You saying I’m wrong?”
“Dead wrong,” Kimberly said. Andrew worried that an epic catfight was about to derail the meeting and their chances of signing the hot, young writer.
“I was in college less than a year,” Kimberly said. “And then I was arrested.”
“Arrested?” Jackie said. “For what? Too much hairspray?”
Kimberly smiled. “Resisting arrest. It was during a sit-in to protest the Iraq war. I punched a cop who happened to grab me a little too low on my anatomy. I have a pretty good right hook, and he lost a couple of teeth. For some reason, college didn’t want me back after that.”
Andrew gaped at Kimberly. Something she’d failed to mention in the job interview.
Jackie de Wulf took Kimberly’s measure, and for a moment, Andrew wasn’t sure which way it was going to turn. Then the writer slowly nodded and looked over at Andrew. “And how’d you come to work for this suit?”
“I work with him, not for him,” Kimberly said. “And don’t let the Armani and pretty-boy look fool you. Andrew’s a lot like me, not afraid to kick some butt when he has to. You’d be a fool if you didn’t sign with him. Sorry to be so blunt.”
Jackie sat back, a glimmer of a smile creeping into her eyes. Apparently Kimberly’s tough-girl gamble might have paid off.
Andrew raised his wineglass. “To the girl with the killer right hook.” It was late evening, and Andrew and Kimberly shared a candlelit table for two back at the Peninsula’s Pierrot Gourmet. They clinked glasses of red wine. “I cannot believe you reeled her in with that cockamamie story.”
“Who said it was a story?”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. Who was this woman sitting across from him?
“Okay,” she said. “I fudged a little bit. But it worked, right?”
Andrew grinned. “Sure did. You’re going to make a great agent someday.”
“So I guess this means you’re happy I came along,” Kimberly said.
“Of course.” Andrew took a sip of his wine. “I couldn’t have signed her without you.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“What do you mean?”
Kimberly’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I think you know.”
Andrew swallowed hard. He had to get out of there. He could almost feel himself clinging to the cliff edge, with his fingers slipping.
“I think I’d better call it a night,” he said. He drained his wineglass and slid his chair back from the table.
Kimberly leaned back in her chair and slowly nodded. “Me too,” she said.
But her eyes said something else entirely.
An hour later Andrew sat on the edge of his hotel room bed in his pajamas and robe, cell phone in hand. He thought about Kimberly in her room down the hall and felt a wave of relief. He’d done the right thing; he’d dodged a bullet. Tomorrow they’d go back to New York, and the first day back after the holidays he’d request to have her transferred to another agent. Why tempt fate?
He wanted to call Beth to share the day’s good news, but how could he tell her about signing the client without mentioning Kimberly? What would he say? Should he just tell her the truth? She was already mad at him; a confession of his deceitfulness would only make it worse.
He sighed and laid the phone on the nightstand. She was probably already asleep. Maybe he should wait until morning. Then again, he hadn’t talked to her all day. She’d be worried.
A knock on the door stirred him from his thoughts. He opened it to find Kimberly standing there, dressed in a Chicago Bears sweatshirt and shorts.
“Kimberly? You’re still up?” Andrew said.
“Too excited to sleep.” She held up a thick, dog-eared manuscript. “Andrew, I think I’ve found our next client.”
“You brought submission manuscripts with you?”
“A few,” she said. “No point in wasting time.”
Andrew couldn’t help being impressed. Whatever else this woman might be, she was certainly a go-getter. “Okay . . .”
“His name is Calvin Wright—the author, not the character,” she said. “He’s African American. It’s his first novel, and I think he’s really, really good. Not just salable—well, that too—but actually good.” She stepped into the room and launched into an animated summary of the plotline.
Fifteen minutes later, when she had barely taken a breath, Andrew raised a hand to stop her. “Hold on,” he said. He went to the minibar and opened the fridge door. “What are you drinking?”
“What do you think of the story?” Kimberly said.
Andrew left her hanging for a moment. “I think it has potential.”
Kimberly beamed. “In that case, I’ll have a soda water on the rocks.” Andrew took out the soda water, plopped it on the counter. He checked the ice bucket. Empty.
“Need to make an ice run. Be right back.” Andrew paused before heading out the door. “I really do like it,” he said.
As he walked down the carpeted hotel corridor, ice bucket in hand, Andrew imagined Kimberly back in his suite, checking her hair in the mirror. Her motive for showing up in his room was not solely to talk about a potential new client, and they both knew it.
He found the ice machine alcove at the end of the hallway, filled the bucket, then leaned his head on the machine.
Might as well stall his return for as long as possible.
Back in Carnegie Hill, Beth was curled up in a chair by the window, her favorite cozy blanket draped over her, her fingers wrapped around a mug of hot cocoa. Why hadn’t Andrew called her all day? The digital clock on the lamp table read 11:23. Next to it sat a framed wedding photo. Not the official one, but an outtake: Beth shoving a piece of wedding cake in Andrew’s mouth and missing to the north, smearing his nose. They were both laughing, thoroughly relishing the carefree moment.
Beth took a sip of cocoa and mustered a smile. She had just let him walk out without so much as a kiss good-bye. What if he were in an accident? What if his plane went down? What if she never saw him again, never got the chance to make things right?
Beth picked up her cell phone and stared at it for a moment as if expecting Siri to tell her what to do. She shouldn’t have to be the one to reach out. He should be calling
her. But Beth had long since come to realize that she was always the one to make the first overture.
She breathed a pained sigh and dialed his number.
“Hello?”
The voice was female, and for a moment, Beth thought she’d dialed the wrong number. But that was impossible. Andrew’s cell was programmed into her phone.
Maybe he’d lost his phone somewhere and some stranger had answered, hoping to discover the rightful owner. But no, the voice was familiar. Beth had heard that voice many times before when she’d called him at the office.
Kimberly.
Beth yanked the phone away from her ear and stared at it as she heard the voice repeat, “Hello?” Kimberly had to know it was Andrew’s wife calling. She had to be looking at Beth’s face, smiling up at her from Andrew’s phone.
Beth hung up and tossed the phone away as if it were radioactive. Kimberly knew who it was. She knew, and she didn’t care.
Which had to mean that Andrew didn’t care either. About Beth, about their life together, about . . .
About anything that mattered.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Andrew finally returned to his suite with the ice, he found Kimberly stretched out on the bed. She smiled at him. “I thought you’d fallen down the elevator shaft or something.”
Andrew ignored the remark and took the ice bucket over to the bar counter. He slowly started plunking ice cubes into their glasses. He knew exactly what she was thinking, knew what she wanted. What terrified him most was the recognition that deep in his heart of hearts, he might just want it too.
But he also knew that wanting it was a far cry from acting on it. Giving in to temptation would send his life into a downward spiral that could destroy everything he’d always believed in, everything he’d worked for. He would lose every shred of self-respect. Not to mention the best friend he’d ever had and the one true love of his life.
But there they were, alone in a hotel room. Kimberly was ready and willing and beautiful. Maybe he could have it both ways. Maybe Beth would never find out.
He flinched as Kimberly wrapped her arms around him from behind. He hadn’t heard her coming.
“Wow, somebody’s sure jumpy tonight,” she said.
Andrew put the glasses down, gently removed her arms from his chest, and turned to face her.
“Kimberly, listen . . .”
“Shhh,” she said. She put a finger to his lips. “Hear me out, okay? I think you’re an amazing man. You’re smart and talented and you know exactly where you want to go.”
“Kimberly—”
“Wait. I’m not done. Think about it. We are perfect for each other. We’re cut from the same cloth; we both want the same things. And, most importantly, I . . . I really care about you, Andrew. I think I might be in love with you.”
“Kimberly, please.”
“Andrew, I know you’re married, so we can take it slow. I promise I won’t pressure you.” Kimberly put a hand on his face, forced him to meet her gaze.
“I know you want me too. I can feel it.” Kimberly moved to kiss him, but Andrew held her off. This had already gone too far. Way too far.
He moved away from her. “Kimberly, I need you to listen to me now. This isn’t going to happen. I’m a married man, and I could never—would never—cheat on my wife. I’ve loved Beth all my life, and that’s not about to change.”
Kimberly gave him a wounded look, and her eyes welled up with tears. “Oh, so . . . that’s it?”
“Yes,” Andrew said. “That’s it.”
She crossed her arms and bit her lip. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or hurt—or both. “Please, Kimberly, try to understand. I think you’re a wonderful person. You’re smart and kind and beautiful—”
“Spare me, Andrew,” she said. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need a pep talk. I get it. You’re not interested. Sorry to be so presumptuous.”
“I hope I haven’t led you on . . .”
“Don’t worry about it.” Kimberly snatched up the manuscript and headed for the door. “It’s fine.”
“Kimberly, please don’t go like this,” Andrew said. But he didn’t mean it. He wanted her out.
She turned in the doorway, and suddenly the angry home wrecker had vanished. In her place was a little girl with a broken heart. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Beth is one lucky lady,” she said. Then she was gone.
CHAPTER SIX
Andrew called Beth the next morning, and it went straight to voice mail. He opted to text her instead. 2:30 flight. Home by 6. An hour later he checked out of the Peninsula and joined Kimberly in a limo to O’Hare.
Andrew took measure of his assistant’s mood. Cordial but cool. She did her best to pretend the previous night never happened and spent most of the ride to the airport on her iPhone. But as they rolled down Michigan Avenue, she casually let a little more leg show than was usual for a December day in Chicago, as if to remind her boss what he’d left on the table.
At the airport, they discovered their two-thirty back to JFK had been delayed indefinitely due to a Christmas snowstorm that had socked the Eastern Seaboard. Kimberly took a seat at the gate as far away from Andrew as possible and lost herself in her iPad. Andrew found an airport bar, ordered a whiskey sour, and tried to get in touch with Beth again. Still no answer.
More than four hours later, the announcement came that Andrew’s flight to JFK would soon begin boarding. When he got to his first-class seat, he discovered that Kimberly had switched her seat assignment so that she wouldn’t have to sit next to him. Maybe it was for the best. He quickly texted Beth an updated estimated arrival time and settled in for the two-and-a-half-hour flight.
Never mind Kimberly. What he wanted most in the world was to get home to Beth, to make things right, to give her a wonderful Christmas.
A few minutes before 11:00 p.m., Andrew and Kimberly said their terse good-byes at the JFK curb. It was snowing hard, and several inches had already accumulated. Kimberly flagged the first taxi she saw, tossed out a lukewarm “Merry Christmas,” and was gone.
“Same to you,” Andrew said. As her cab disappeared into the snowstorm, a tremendous sense of relief washed over him. At least that was over. He’d have to face her again after the holidays, but that was more than a week away, and for the time being he could table his worry—at least until after New Year’s Day.
He flagged his own taxi and headed home to Beth.
On the way, Andrew had the cab pull to the curb long enough to buy a bouquet of flowers from one of the few markets in Manhattan open late on Christmas Eve. He knew Beth; she’d expect no less after the way he bolted on her so suddenly Friday evening.
As the cab pulled away from his building, Andrew looked up at the apartment window. It was dark inside except for the soft glow from the Christmas tree bulbs. He checked his watch: 11:43 p.m. Beth might already be in bed. He looked at the bouquet, hoped his floral mea culpa would do the trick. He was in no mood for a Christmas Eve confrontation.
As he walked by her apartment, Andrew noticed Mrs. Applebee’s door was slightly ajar. He could hear her TV volume turned loud enough to be heard all the way across Central Park.
His own door was unlocked. He pushed it open, stepped into the darkened apartment, and clanked his keys onto the gold tray that sat on the antique table by the door. He peeled off his wool overcoat and scarf and flung them on the rack. The moment he stepped into the dim living room, he saw her: Beth curled up in the easy chair. She was wearing a pullover sweater and jeans, her arms crossed.
“Hey,” he said. “Did we forget to pay the Con Ed?”
Beth just stared at him. Andrew knew that look. She was still angry.
“Got your favorite flowers.” He held out the bouquet, but Beth made no move to accept them. “Listen . . .” Andrew dropped the flowers on the kitchen table. “I’m sorry I had to run off like that. It’s just . . . this writer—”
“She answered your phone, Andrew.”
His stomach lurched, b
ut he tried to bluff it. “Who?”
“Don’t give me that. You know exactly who. Kimberly. I recognized her voice. She answered when I called you last night.”
Andrew had a brief flash of anger at Kimberly. Why had she answered his cell phone? Stupid, stupid.
“I . . . told you she was coming along,” he said.
“Don’t lie, Andrew. I deserve better.”
“I’m not lying.”
The look on her face told him he’d better not push it. “I guess it slipped my mind,” he said. “I didn’t think it was important.”
“Not important? You know she’s after you.”
“After me? C’mon, Beth. That’s not true. She thinks of me as a mentor—”
“Don’t patronize me. I want the truth.”
“Beth, I—”
“What was she doing with your phone?”
“I don’t know. I guess I left it—”
“Was she in your room?”
Andrew hesitated.
“The truth, Andrew. Just tell me the truth.”
“She came along for work. I needed help signing the client.”
“So, yes, she was in your room. And since when do you need help signing a client?”
Beth was out of her chair. She made a beeline for the front door.
“I’m her boss, Beth. We work together. Nothing happened!”
“Then why didn’t you tell me she was going?”
Beth grabbed her coat and scarf from the rack and threw them on. Andrew could see she was struggling to keep from melting down in front of him.
“Beth, stop.” Andrew put a hand on Beth’s arm.
She jerked away. “Don’t touch me! I can’t stand you right now! I can’t stand being in here!”
“Beth, where are you going? It’s two degrees out.”
“I need some air. I need to think.”
“But it’s almost midnight,” Andrew said. Beth looked him in the eye.
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