FORTY-NINE
One month later, after end-of-year close, Christmas morning, and New Years’ Eve parties had all passed, Rebecca found herself thinking once again of Richard. This time, though, she had a somewhat reasonable excuse. She had been invited to give a guest lecture at the London School of Economics, and her plane left the next morning for seven days in England. A full week without my kids and without John. In the same city as Richard for the first time since we left Harvard.
Rebecca shivered at the thought of their graduation. The crisp night air. The sound of the river flowing by. The feeling of Richard’s body and lips pressed against hers.
She shook her head to try to clear the memory, but it came roaring back. Forcing her to think about the smell of Richard’s cologne. The soft waves in his hair. The way the world around them melted away as they were lost in each other’s arms.
“Rebecca? Hello?”
She turned to see her husband standing in the doorway of their bedroom.
“Are you alright? You look flushed.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little stressed trying to figure out what to pack.”
“It’s a business trip. You go on them all the time.”
“I know, I know. But I’m giving a lecture. And it’s England – they’re more particular about their clothes.”
John rolled his eyes. “You’re a partner at Goldman Sachs. You have two children. A husband. An elderly mother. You have more important things to worry about than your wardrobe.”
After he left the room, Rebecca closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. Bastard.
****
Goldman Sachs’ Gulfstream V landed at London City Airport the next day. The firm had splurged and sent Rebecca on its private plane, since they viewed her speaking engagement as a way to recruit new top talent in England. A black town car was waiting at the private jet center and took her from London’s east suburbs into the heart of the city. She was staying at The Savoy – one of London’s finest hotels that was also a mere ten-minute walk from the campus where she was speaking.
On her second day in town, Rebecca finished her speech, grabbed her purse from underneath the podium, and headed in the direction of the nearest subway stop. She had decided to take advantage of being in a foreign city by herself, and she rode the Piccadilly line to Green Park Station. Climbing up out of the underground tube into the cold January air, Rebecca smiled. In front of her was the massive Green Park, and on the other side of that sat Buckingham Palace.
Despite the dreary weather, Rebecca spent the entire afternoon being a tourist. She hit all the major spots: Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Parliament, and the London Eye. It was a fifteen-minute walk from the Eye back to her hotel. Halfway across the Golden Jubilee Bridge, Rebecca felt her cell phone buzz in her coat pocket.
I saw that you’re speaking at LSE this week. Why didn’t you tell me you were in town? Let’s grab a drink while you’re here. For old time’s sake. xx, R
FIFTY
At eight o’clock the next night, Richard walked into Rebecca’s hotel. His body tensed, recognizing sounds and smells from the many, many evenings he spent there years earlier. Richard didn’t want to meet Rebecca at The Savoy – didn’t want to associate her in any way with his torrid run through London’s dating pool. But she suggested the hotel bar, and he was so happy she agreed to meet with him that he didn’t want to do anything to mess it up.
The hotel manager recognized Richard and walked into the bar to say hello.
“How are you, sir? It’s been a long time.”
“It has,” Richard nodded. “I’m meeting a friend here, and she doesn’t know anything about my dating past. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Yes sir. Absolutely. Not a word.”
As the manager left the room, he walked past Rebecca going the opposite direction. She smiled at him and nodded in greeting, and Richard’s stomach spun into knots.
Good Lord. She’s more gorgeous than ever.
Rebecca was forty-four, but she easily passed for thirty-four as she walked toward Richard’s table. Tall and thin, she was wearing a knee length dress with a slit high enough to see her toned and sculpted thighs – the product of her frequent running. The bright blue color of the dress made Rebecca’s eyes pop, and she let her long black hair cascade over her shoulders. The only thing Richard didn’t approve of was the diamond ring on her left hand.
****
Rebecca reached his table, smiled, and threw her arms around Richard in a hug. Out of instinct, she breathed him in and was filled with warm, happy memories. Unlike her husband, who often smelled of tequila and cigars, Richard smelled the same as he did in business school: a musky, sandalwood cologne and a hint of peppermint.
Rebecca stepped back from Richard and gave him a once over. “How are you? You look great, by the way.”
“Not as good as you,” he replied. “You might be in even better shape now than you were at HBS, which is hard to believe.”
Rebecca shrugged her shoulders and sat down in her chair. “I still run a lot. Keeps me in shape and helps relieve stress.”
“Hmm, maybe I should take it up again.” Richard paused as their server arrived with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “I ordered for us. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. You’ve always known more about wine than me.”
Rebecca picked up her glass and held it in the air. “What should we cheers to? Old friendships?”
Richard nodded. “That works. To old but renewed friendships.”
They clinked their glasses together and Rebecca took a sip of the wine. “Oh wow, that’s delicious. What is it?”
Richard grinned. “Caymus.”
“Aww, Caymus. I loved that dog. He was so sweet.” She drank more of her wine, and added: “I wish we could get a dog, but John’s allergic.”
Richard tensed at the mention of her husband, and Rebecca kicked herself for bringing him up. “Do you have any pets?” she asked, trying to find a happy subject.
“I do. A yellow lab named Buddy. If you ask my campaign manager, Buddy is the reason I won. Hard to say no to that goofy smile of his.”
“I bet,” Rebecca said with a laugh. “Dogs are the best.”
A silence fell over the table, and neither one of them knew what to say. So much for things never being awkward between us, Rebecca thought. She took another sip of wine and noticed that Richard had already finished his glass. I guess he’s nervous too.
Richard broke the ice by asking about her speaking engagement, and they talked business for a few minutes before Rebecca mentioned her kids.
“It’s Sarah and James, right? How old are they now?”
“Sarah and Jonathan. Sarah is fourteen and full of raging hormones. Jonathan is twelve and plays sports year-round. It’s basketball season right now.”
“Sounds like they keep you busy,” Richard said. He poured himself another glass of wine and offered some to Rebecca, but she shook her head no.
“I have some emails to catch up on tonight. I promised myself I’d only have one glass.”
Richard nodded. “Smart. As usual.”
“What about you?” Rebecca asked. “What keeps you busy these days, aside from work?”
“That’s about it, unfortunately. Work and Buddy and the occasional game of tennis with Geoff. Although he doesn’t play much anymore now that he’s got a wife and three kids.”
Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. Ask him, she thought. You know you want to. “Why didn’t you ever settle down?”
“I think you of all people should know the answer to that question.”
He can’t mean . . . ? Surely not? Rebecca smiled nervously. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve always been serious about you.”
“That was twenty years ago. A lifetime ago.”
Richard shrugged his shoulders and drank a large gulp of wine. “They say true love lasts a lifetime, right?”
True love? Rebecca felt a cool, tingling sensation rush through her body. It seemed as if the rest of the room went silent as the pair looked into each other’s eyes.
A minute later, Rebecca blinked and the moment was lost.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “I’m married. I have children. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“Of all the things you shouldn’t do, being here with me is one you absolutely should.”
Rebecca shook her head and turned around to grab her purse off the back of her chair.
“No. No. I have a husband. I have children.”
“Do you love him?” Richard asked.
Ignoring his question, Rebecca stood up from the table and placed her purse strap over her shoulder.
“Goodbye, Richard.”
For the second time in his life, Lord Dublinshire watched Mrs. Lewis-Bailey walk away from him. It was a calmer exit this time – walking instead of running; words rather than tears; a public audience instead of a passionate riverside kiss.
But still . . . she’s gone.
Richard let out a long, frustrated sigh and motioned for the waiter.
“Double bourbon. Neat.”
The waiter nodded. “Will the lady be returning?”
“No. She’s gone.”
FIFTY-ONE
New York, New York
2016
Cristina Dominguez smiled as she walked the busy streets of New York’s West Village. The day was cloudy and gloomy with an approaching rainstorm, but Cristina was all smiles. Twenty-six years old with dark, wavy hair and bold brown eyes, the native of Puerto Rico skipped past skyscrapers and apartment buildings. Her good mood continued as she entered a small preschool at the corner of Greenwich and Barrow Streets.
“Hi Gloria,” she said to the receptionist at the front desk. “How’d my boy do today?”
“Wonderful, as always,” the older woman replied in a strong New York accent. She pressed a button on the speaker in front of her. “Nito’s mom is here.”
“What’s got you all happy today, honey?” asked Gloria.
Cristina smiled even wider. “I got a job!”
“Oooh girl, congratulations! What are you gonna be doin’?”
“I’m an assistant at a catering company. I don’t have to cook or anything – I just help organize who is working when and where and all that. It’s only part time, but it’s something! I’ve been trying to convince Nito’s dad to let me work for so long. He finally said yes, and I’m so excited to have something to do while Nito is at school.”
“That’s great, honey. You’ll be great at that.”
Both women turned as the door to the classrooms opened. “Here’s the little man,” Gloria said. “We’ll see you both tomorrow!”
Cristina bent down to be at eye level with her son. “¿Qué tal la escuela, mijo?”
The little boy gave her a big, toothy grin. “¡Muy bien!” he exclaimed, telling his mom that school was great that day. “Escuchamos mi cancion favorita: Wheels on the Bus.”
Cristina smiled and grabbed hold of Nito’s hand. “I love Wheels on the Bus, too. Do you want to sing it for me while we walk home?” She looked back over her shoulder, smiled, and winked at Gloria.
“Hasta mañana, Señora Gloria,” said Nito as he followed his mom out the door. The three-year-old – three and a half if you asked him – began singing the warbly tune as he and his mom walked south on Greenwich Street and then turned left to head east on Morton.
Cristina smiled at her son and at the passersby who were amused by the little boy’s singing. With his mom’s olive complexion and curly brown hair, and his dad’s bright green eyes, Cristina had been approached several times by talent scouts wanting to turn little Juanito into a model. His father refused. “I will not have my child displayed on billboards and Facebook ads for all the world to see.”
It was hard enough convincing him to let me work outside the home, Cristina thought with a sigh. He’ll never agree to modeling, not in a million years.
Ten minutes later, the pair arrived at their home: a tan-colored brick building with a donut shop on the ground floor and five levels of apartments above it. Cristina, Juanito, and Juanito’s dad lived in a two-bedroom unit on the third floor. Forty-five minutes later, after a snack and an episode of Thomas the Train, Nito laid down for his nap. Cristina called her mother in Puerto Rico to celebrate her new job.
Several hours later, Cristina heard keys rattling by their front door and called out to her son, who was playing in his room. “Mijo, Daddy’s home.”
When the door opened, Dr. John Bailey of New York-Presbyterian walked inside.
****
Over two hundred miles away, at a non-descript office building in suburban Washington, DC, a young political intern knocked on his boss’ door. Cameron Birdsong was in his second year at George Mason University, and he spent two afternoons each week working at a consulting agency. Mostly running Google searches to find dirt on clients’ opponents.
He knocked again.
“Yes, yes, I heard you. Come in.”
Cameron peeked his head around the door, still not wanting to show his boss the results of his latest research. He knew this information was huge – life changing, really – but his supervisor was a frightening, middle-aged man who believed interns should be seen and not heard.
“Stop standing there like a dumbass, Birdsong. What do you want?”
“I finished the oppo research on Rebecca Lewis-Bailey.”
“And?”
Cameron stepped all the way into the office and handed the other man a manila folder. “She’s clean,” he said, “but her husband isn’t.”
“Drugs? Money? Whores?”
Cameron shook his head. “He has a whole second family. A mistress and a kid in the West Village.”
His boss sat up straight in his chair and started reading the folder’s contents. “Are you sure? This is the third check we’ve run on Lewis-Bailey . . . nothing has come up before.”
The intern nodded. “Yes sir. It was hard to find, but once I knew what I was looking for, all kinds of stuff popped up.”
“Such as?”
“I did all the traditional name and address searches but didn’t find anything. So I did a reverse image search for Mrs. Lewis-Bailey, her husband, and her kids. The husband showed up on a ‘Donuts with Dad’ post for a preschool’s website. I called the school and talked to a receptionist named Gloria. She broke like ten different privacy laws telling me all about the boy and his parents.
“It was easy after that,” Cameron continued. “The boy is three. He has his mom’s last name, but they call him Juanito, or John Jr. I have a friend who is working for New York City this summer and she got into the public records database. John Bailey is listed as the father on the birth certificate. The apartment was paid for in cash and is in the mom’s name. He covered his tracks well. It’s all in there,” he said, motioning toward the paperwork.
“Thank you, Birdsong. That’ll be all.”
FIFTY-TWO
The manila folder holding John Bailey’s dirty little secret was stamped with ‘HIS EYES ONLY’ and traveled from one suburban Washington office to another under lock and key. Inside the second office, the leading candidate for President read the report with a look of shock on his face.
“This is impossible. I know John Bailey. He delivered two of my grandchildren. He’s the best. There’s no way.”
“We triple checked the sources, sir. Even spoke to a few neighbors who know the mistress and the boy. Unfortunately, it’s true.”
The presidential candidate let out a frustrated sigh. “Does the other side have it?”
“Not that we’re aware of.”
“Good. I want her to hear it from us, not some sleezy reporter.” He picked up the folder and handed it back to his aide. “Tell her, then let her decide if she still wants the job when we win.”
His assistant nodded and couldn’t help but smile. There wa
s no doubt in his boss’ mind that he would be the next President of the United States. Which also meant there was no doubt he wanted Rebecca Lewis-Bailey to become his chief financial advisor.
****
In New York City, Sarah Bailey walked from Starbucks to her office at 200 West Street in Battery Park City. The twenty-four-year-old was the spitting image of her mother – blue eyes, black hair, tall, and thin. More than one man on the street turned to stare as she walked by, but Sarah ignored the looks and catcalls like her mom taught her to.
Walking into the tall skyscraper, Sarah nodded hello to her coworkers and scanned her Goldman Sachs employee badge to open the security gate.
“Frappuccinos today?” the guard asked.
Sarah nodded. “Double shot for the Boss. One of those days.”
The Boss was her mom. When she first started at Goldman Sachs as one of Rebecca’s assistants, Sarah was fresh out of college at Princeton and not well-liked by the other employees. Everyone knew she got the job because she was the Managing Partner’s daughter, and they treated her poorly because of it. But after two years of hard work, friendly smiles, and very, very long hours, Sarah had earned the respect of her peers and was a valued member of the team.
When the elevator reached the forty-fourth floor, Sarah stepped out into the executive suite and scanned her badge once again. Only those with special clearance were allowed past the bullet-proof glass and into the leadership offices.
“Here you go, Jamal,” Sarah said as she handed her mom’s senior assistant a cup of coffee. “Extra caramel sauce.”
“You’re an angel,” he replied. Jamal was five years older than Sarah, a Cal-Berkeley grad, and had taken her under his wing when she started at the investment firm. He was also her best friend in the city and considered a rising star at their company. His attention to detail and strong business acumen led to him leaping over more senior assistants to land the job supporting the top boss.
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