Almost an hour later, they emerged in Grand Central Station. Teagan guided them briskly through the teeming crowds and into the smelly, humid streets of the city. Darcy had been here once before, for Fleet Week, but she’d been so blitzed the entire time that she could barely remember it. She decided that discretion was not telling Teagan about her own drunken escapades, and she pretended to be impressed by the skyscrapers and rush of taxis and buses through the busy Midtown streets as they walked a few blocks west to the middling-tall building that housed Teagan’s office.
Some people liked New York. She’d heard that. Some people loved living in the city: the crowds, the energy, the variety. Teagan’s expression said he wasn’t one of them. His face was set with grim determination as they rode to the twenty-fifth floor and emerged in a very corporate-looking lobby, with walnut paneling on the walls and cool cream stone on the floors that made every footstep echo, even Darcy’s boots.
In the lobby there was a knot of three women examining a large piece of art hanging to the left of the reception desk. It was another one of those grotesque naked women like the painting from Teagan’s living room, though this one was a cotton-candy blonde holding a slice of cake. The three women were appraising it with the coolly judgmental faces of grocery store shoppers browsing a stack of April peaches.
Teagan took a deep breath when he spotted them, paused, squared his shoulders, and turned in their direction.
Two of the women in the group were short and round and dressed in professional attire like Teagan. The third, a tall, slender brunette like Sloane but a couple of decades older, broke away to approach him first, face consciously assuming a bright, artificial smile. The woman wore flowing camel-colored trousers with a matching cropped sweater and carried a large leather tote bag that Darcy suspected of costing more than her car.
As Darcy grimaced suspiciously, the brunette kiss-kissed Teagan’s cheeks and drew back to examine him.
“Well, you look fantastic! I think you’ve gotten a tan!” she announced, flicking an imaginary strand of hair away from a perfectly made-up face. “How are you feeling?”
“Great,” Teagan said unconvincingly. He tried again. “I’m doing very well. It’s good to see you, Nora.” He looked past her to the other two women. “Rose, Modeline... good morning.”
All three women seemed to register Darcy’s presence at the same time. They shifted to face her, and Darcy looked back at them, putting Rose’s name, at least, with a face. Teagan’s office nemesis was barely five feet tall and had a cloud of black ringlets around bright pink cheeks. The five-inchblock heels and polite scowl she wore, however, matched her reputation.
Darcy flicked her eyes at Teagan and cleared her throat, because she wasn’t sure how he planned to introduce her or explain what she was doing there.
Teagan’s jaw worked before he spoke.
“Darcy, this is Nora, chair of our board of directors,” he said, indicating the tall woman with several carats worth of diamonds in her earlobes. “You’ve heard me mention Rose, the chief investment officer, who’s been running things in my absence. And this is Modeline, the programs officer.” The last was a Black woman in her fifties with an elegant fall of tiny braids running down her back, the only one whose look at Teagan bore any hint of sympathy.
“Hi,” said Darcy.
After a long blink, Rose took a step around Teagan and shook Darcy’s hand with her own small manicured one.
“Nice to meet you,” said Rose, seemingly prepared to let Teagan avoid any explanation of Darcy’s presence.
After a beat, Modeline did the same, smiling at Darcy with more welcome. Bemused, Darcy shook her hand as well.
Nora tilted her head and examined Darcy from muddy boots to messy ponytail.
“Are you interning at the foundation this fall?” Nora pointedly asked Darcy, expression a trifle dismayed as she took in Darcy’s jean shorts.
“No,” Darcy said, suppressing an eye roll. “I’m not.”
Everyone looked at Teagan again.
He briefly closed his eyes.
“Darcy is... my sober companion,” he said after nobody changed the subject.
“Your what?” asked Rose.
Even the receptionist was now paying close attention to Teagan. Darcy had the sudden urge to take Teagan’s arm, just to help hold him up, because he looked almost grayish under the florescent lights of the lobby. They probably should have walked through this. If he’d stayed at rehab as long as he was supposed to, they would have gone over reentry.
Modeline’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “All Rose told us was that you were out sick.”
Teagan’s mouth tightened as he shot an angry glance at Rose before addressing the group again. “I was in rehab, actually. For alcohol abuse,” he said in a rush. “So. Darcy is my sober companion. She’ll be here for the next... a few months, at least.”
All three women goggled at him, but Darcy was so proud she wanted to burst. That was the first step! That was a huge deal! As far as she knew, that was the first time he’d ever admitted it to anyone but her.
“Oh my God!” Nora said, laying a dramatic hand to her chest. “I had no idea you were an alcoholic. Just like Margaret.”
“Yes,” Teagan said, more smoothly now. “Just like my mother.”
“I never noticed that you had a drinking problem.” Nora’s expression was rapt and interested. “Oh my God, you poor thing.”
