“When? I never see you except at board meetings.”
The fact was, Nina had been avoiding him.
“We’ll find a time. Next week. Dinner in the city.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
She scanned the terrace, looking for any excuse to get away from Hank. A man stood by the stairs to the beach, talking to her personal assistant. Nina took him in in a dazzling flash. The way the breeze lifted the crisp waves of his hair. The perfect features, athletic frame, the ease of his gestures. He wore a blazer and jeans that would’ve seemed dull on another man, but on him, looked like he’d stepped off the deck of a yacht. He must have felt her gaze, because he turned and looked right at her. But his gaze traveled on, as if it had only rested on her unintentionally.
“Who is that with Juliet?”
Hank turned.
“Don’t look,” she said, too late. Now he’d know she’d been talking about him.
“That’s Connor Ford. He works for Lauren in PR. I think they have a thing going, actually.”
“Lauren—and him?”
He shrugged. “He’s too young for her, right? I don’t mind, if it gets her off my back, so I can focus on you.”
Hank was simply a friend. She wanted to confront him, tell him off, for putting her in the middle of his divorce, but that would only lead him to declare his feelings yet again. She cared about him, but he was making it impossible for them to stay friends.
“Excuse me, I need to speak to Juliet about something.”
“Hey, no. Wait.”
He reached to stop her.
“Hank, this is too private a matter. I promise, next week in the city, we’ll talk. Now, please.”
He let her go.
Nina crossed the terrace. Juliet was talking intently. Seeing Nina coming, Connor very noticeably withdrew his attention from Juliet, following Nina with his eyes as she approached.
“Were your ears burning? We were just talking about you,” Juliet said.
Juliet Davis was underdressed for the evening, in black pants and a silk top, her dark hair tucked into a neat chignon. That was her style—quiet, efficient, unflashy. Juliet had come to work for Nina shortly after Edward’s death, and had become indispensable. Nina didn’t make a move without her.
“Why?”
“Remember, I was going to put you in touch with Connor regarding that profile?”
Nina had no memory of that. But then, his name meant nothing to her before tonight.
Connor was watching her. Her face felt warm. Her voice came out fluttering.
“Which profile was that again?” she asked.
“About your yoga practice?”
Nina frowned. “Really? I don’t recall.”
“It was Dawn’s idea—her yoga teacher,” Juliet added hastily, nodding toward Connor.
“I was just telling Juliet, I think that’s the wrong angle for you, Mrs. Levitt. Connor Ford, deputy director of PR.”
He smiled into her eyes as he extended his hand. That first touch was like a jolt from the universe, powerful and cosmic.
“Wrong for me—why?”
“Too trendy. Lacks gravitas. It’s not how you want the world to see you.”
“I agree. Though Dawn can be very insistent about her pet projects.”
“Ooh, touchy territory,” Juliet said, smiling. “I have things to see to. I’ll let you two hash it out.”
Juliet melted into the crowd, leaving them alone together. Nina, who was used to being assertive—in boardrooms, on the red carpet—felt suddenly tongue-tied.
“I was about to get a drink. You want one?” he said.
She nodded, and he tucked her hand under his arm. As they headed to the bar, people turned to watch. Nina looked around for Hank, worried about what he’d think. But he was nowhere to be seen.
“People are wondering who you are,” she said.
“No, they’re looking at you in that dress.”
The dress was black and beaded, with a dramatic low back.
“Is something wrong with my dress?”
“Something’s very right. It fits you like a glove.”
There was a long line at the bar, but people let them cut. It was Nina’s party, after all, and her house. She was used to being stared at, but there was a new sense of excitement, with Connor’s hand on the small of her back. The bartender asked for their drink order, and Nina’s mind went blank. She looked at Connor, shrugging.
“Bourbon on the rocks for me and a Vesper for the lady,” he said, smoothly.
“Vesper?” she asked.
“It’s a type of martini.”
“Gin, vodka, and Lillet, right?” the bartender asked.
“Yes, with a twist,” Connor said, then turned back to her. “It’s perfect for you. Ian Fleming made it famous. It was James Bond’s martini recipe.”
His physical closeness was distracting. She caught a faint whiff of sandalwood. Was he wearing cologne? It was so subtle that she wanted to lean in and sniff his neck, but there were too many eyes on them.
“Is that the image you have in mind for me? Bond girl?”
“Not a Bond girl. Bond.”
“Oh, I’m a spy?”
“An international assassin, with style.”
“Who told you I’m an assassin? That didn’t come from Lauren, did it? I know she’s your boss. She’s not very happy with me, these days.”
“I don’t listen to gossip.”
But she could tell from his inflection that he’d heard all about it.
“Good, because what you’d hear is totally wrong,” she said, then worried that that made her sound guilty, and started blathering, out of embarrassment. “Sometimes Levitt Global feels like a singles bar. At least, it did in Edward’s time. Lucky for him, he died before #MeToo really hit, or God knows.”
“That must’ve been difficult for you,” he said. “And a good reason to reinvent yourself, for the post-Edward era.”
“As a spy.”
He laughed. The sound was golden, his teeth perfectly white.
“Really, though. I don’t want to be Lady Macbeth. I’m seen too much that way already.”
“You’re viewed as a powerful woman in your own right. People have trouble with powerful women. That’s just misogyny. Personally, I admire you.”
“Thank you. I wish the public felt that way. What can we do to change that? I think about Jackie O as a blueprint. A famous widow who went on with her life, but she was popular.”
The crowd at the bar was closely packed. Connor put his hand on her waist and drew her closer, so they were touching from chest to thigh. There was an excuse for it—maybe. He was trying to protect her from the crowd.
“In a different era. And she may’ve been popular, but was she happy? Jackie lived in a gilded cage. Nina Levitt should be free.”
“You don’t think I’m free?”
“Are you?”
“Sir? Sir, excuse me? Your cocktails?”
The bartender was trying to get Connor’s attention, but he was busy looking into Nina’s eyes. She could feel her heart beating. He broke eye contact reluctantly, taking the drinks and passing the Vesper to Nina. She sipped it as they stepped away from the bar. It was clean and cold, with a kick as powerful as a hit of cocaine.
“Wow.”
“You like it?”
“Too much.”
“Good. I’m glad I got it right.”
“I’m not sure I can handle it, though.”
“I doubt there’s anything on this planet you can’t handle. Shall we?”
“What?”
“A walk on the beach? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people are staring.”
She felt breathless and nervous. Worried what people would think—what Hank would think, if he heard about this.
“Won’t they stare more if I walk out of the party with some man I just met?”
“I’m not some man you just met.”
“No
? Who are you, then?”
“I’m your image consultant.”
“What image will I project if I ditch my guests and leave with you?”
“That you’re Nina Levitt, and you do as you please. The world can wait.”
“Okay. I like the sound of that.”
She took his arm.
13
On the beach that night, they kicked off their shoes. He took her hand to help her over some rocks, and it felt natural. They walked until the sound of the waves drowned out the band, and the glow of tiki torches faded to a smudge in the distance. The moonlight shimmered on the water, and the fresh, briny smell of the ocean filled her senses.
“So,” she said breathlessly, “what’s somebody like you doing working as an assistant in PR? Isn’t that a bit lowly?”
“I’m a late bloomer. Misspent youth.”
“I’d like to hear about that.”
“It’s a cliché, to be honest. I thought I could be a rock star. Dropped out of school to chase a record deal. Got close enough a few times that I kept at it longer than I should, probably.”
“Well. Music’s a tough racket.”
“Especially for the undertalented.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“I could sing and play the guitar. I looked good onstage. But I was no songwriter. Eventually, I gave up. Went back to school. And was happy to get a job in a company that promotes from within. There are real prospects for me at Levitt Global. I’ve applied to the management program, so we’ll see where that goes. And I’d love to work on retooling your image. If you’d like. I’d love to be helpful.”
It was really the other way around—that Nina could be helpful to him. With a phone call, she could get him accepted to that training program, or have him promoted without jumping through any hoops at all. Connor knew that as well as she did.
They’d reached a beautiful, deserted stretch of beach. He took off his jacket and laid it on the sand for her. She perched gingerly on the edge of it, feeling adrift, out here all alone with him. Other than the Levitt Global connection, they had little in common, being from different generations and very different income brackets. But then he started talking, and it felt easy. They drifted from topic to topic—the company, PR, fashion, art, travel. He was charming and knowledgeable, from a background similar to her own.
The wind picked up. He rested his hand lightly on her bare back, and she shivered.
“Are you cold? You’re shaking. C’mere.”
He put his arm around her and drew her close. She thought he was making a move, but he just gave her a friendly squeeze.
“I’ve monopolized you long enough. I should get you back,” he said.
She was surprised at how disappointed she felt. He helped her to her feet. When they got back to the party, she wasn’t ready to let him go. She held on to his arm, taking him with her as she mingled, introducing him to people he wouldn’t’ve gotten close to otherwise. A Pulitzer-winning novelist. A TV star with a huge Instagram following. The editor of a culturally significant magazine. She told everyone that Connor was her publicist, which had the virtue of being true, but was beside the point. Mingling with him on her arm had no official purpose. She wanted to show him what she could offer. Not just great wealth. Access. Connections.
The massive fireworks display had just ended. With the smell of sulfur hanging in the air, Nina bid her guests good night from the bandstand. People began making their way down the paths to the front of the house, where the valets waited to fetch their cars. She’d spent the past two hours with Connor by her side and hadn’t gotten tired of him. Normally, after a party, she’d feel drained, and need to be alone. She felt the opposite—energized, reluctant to let him go.
“Stay a little longer. Are you hungry? The caterers left a feast in the kitchen,” she said.
“I’d love to, but—”
He really had the most extraordinary eyes. She noticed them as he looked past her, across the terrace, to where Lauren stood watching them with a resentful look.
So, it was true.
“Lauren’s waiting for you, I take it?”
“She’s my ride. Living in the city, I don’t own a car.”
“Sure.”
“That’s all it is. You know Levitt Global has a nonfraternization policy.”
Nina raised an eyebrow. “Which everybody follows to a T.”
“Now who’s listening to gossip?”
She had no right to be jealous, but she was. Lauren was around forty, closer in age to Connor than Nina was. A sultry brunette, she looked fabulous in her body-skimming red dress and sky-high heels. That’s who Connor was going home with tonight. It wouldn’t do for Nina to seem like she cared.
“Get in touch with Juliet. She’ll set up a meeting to discuss your PR ideas. Have a great night, regards to Lauren,” she said, pecking him on the cheek dismissively.
“You know what. I can Uber back to the city. Let me just tell her.”
She watched him go over to Lauren, and saw the poisonous look on her face. Lauren would now believe Nina had stolen a second man from her. Though, Nina herself didn’t know what would happen next. Maybe something, maybe nothing. She’d keep her driver standing by to take Connor home. It was three hours easy back to the city. Late at night on the Fourth, that Uber would be an expensive proposition for an assistant director of publicity. If he ended up going home at all.
Nina dismissed the housekeeper, and they sat at the island in the vast kitchen, eating cold lobster and drinking champagne. She told him funny stories about people he’d met at the party, including a well-known music producer, who’d seemed to take a liking to Connor.
“Too bad I didn’t meet him a decade ago.”
“Who knows? Maybe it’s not too late. So, let’s hear it. Sing me something,” she said. But he just laughed.
“Seriously. You claim you were on the way to becoming a rock star. Show me. Sing me a song.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I mean it. Indulge me.”
“Ah, all right. Let’s see. How ’bout this? ‘If I was a carpenter, and you were a lady—’”
His voice was pure and clear, and the words went straight to her heart. But there was a sly grin on his face, like the song was a joke to him.
“Don’t laugh. It’s beautiful. I love it.”
“Ah, it’s sappy. You’re too easy on me.”
She was easy on him. When he asked for a tour of the house, she was happy to oblige. They spent half an hour wandering the first floor, starting in the ballroom, where the food had been set up tonight. It had sixteen-foot ceilings and an abandoned air, with the caterer’s tables gone and the rug still rolled up. They wandered through parlors, fingers grazing, laughing and talking intimately. She pointed out paintings and told him the provenance of the antiques. He knew a surprising amount about art. In the wood-paneled library, he sat down beside her on a window seat. She was in the middle of a sentence when he leaned in and kissed her lingeringly on the lips. She closed her eyes. The kiss went to her head.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ve been working up my courage to kiss you, and finally got there,” he said.
“Am I that scary?”
“Not scary. Exquisite, untouchable. Like a perfect marble statue come to life.”
It bothered her that he’d chosen words frequently used to describe her in the press. Was that a coincidence, or had he been reading up on her?
“So cold? I promise, I’m not untouchable. See?”
She took his hand and put it on her chest, just above her heart. His eyes glazed as he stared at the neckline of her dress, inching his hand down to the curve of her breasts. It wasn’t like her to go to bed with someone she’d just met. She was too private. But she wanted him enough to change her ways.
A noise in the hall startled them both. Connor yanked his hand away like he’d been burned.
“Who’s there?” he asked.
“Just staff.
It’s okay.”
He didn’t look reassured.
“Let’s go upstairs. We’ll have more privacy,” she said.
As he followed her through darkened rooms and up the sweeping staircase, he was visibly edgy, as if expecting someone to jump out from behind the drapes.
His hesitancy vanished the second the bedroom door closed behind them. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the tall windows. He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her greedily, then walked her backward till she hit the bed. Easing her down onto piles of silk cushions, he tugged the hem of her dress up over her hips. She was naked underneath, and the primitive sound he made when he saw that, the way his breathing sped up, made her quake. He knelt before her, nudging her legs apart. It had been a long time. Feeling self-conscious, she resisted.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
Her heart was hammering.
“It’ll be okay. Just relax.”
She felt his fingers, then his tongue, and melted back against the silk duvet, writhing. He brought her to the edge, then stood up and unbuckled his belt, looking down at her. She watched as he pulled off his clothes. He was perfectly proportioned, luminous in the moonlight. She’d never seen a more beautiful man. He hovered over her, then pushed in. Her hands went around his back, then down to his butt as he moved. She gave herself up to the sensations, feeling the power of him, and the loss of control was exhilarating.
When they’d finished, he kissed her lightly, then rolled off. Their fingers intertwined, but they didn’t speak. After a few minutes, she got up and went to her dressing room. She still wore the beaded gown. Her stylist had sewn and taped her into it earlier that night. She tore it off, and beads went skittering across the parquet floor. In the bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror. The spots of color on her pale cheeks, her swollen lips, made her look young. She felt strange, unlike herself. She had all the power, and yet she had none. She could ask him to leave. She could even ghost him, and he would accede with no fuss, and never attempt to contact her again. They could pass each other in the halls at Levitt Global and he would say a polite hello, without acknowledging this encounter, because he wouldn’t want to impose. She was confident of that. On the other hand, she could tell him to stay at Windswept—stay indefinitely, not go back to the city, to the office, to whatever he had going on with Lauren—and she was pretty sure he’d do that, too.
The Wife Who Knew Too Much Page 8