He went to work because he didn't know what else to do. He sat in his office with the door open — he would not be closingthat door again — and stared at his laptop and accomplished nothing. The term sheet from Ruben was still on his desk. The board deck needed revisions. The Singapore team had sent a follow-up. He looked at all of it and saw Madeleine's face in the doorway of this office, the stillness of her expression, the evenness of her voice when she saidI came to bring your charger but I forgot you don't need it.
Victoria texted at noon:How are you doing? How did it go with Madeleine?
He stared at the message. He typed and deleted several responses. Finally he wrote:She's staying with a friend. She needs space.He put the phone down.
Victoria appeared in his doorway twenty minutes later. Her face was composed, the redness around her eyes gone, her makeup fresh. She looked like herself again. Polished. Put together.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure." He didn't look up from his screen.
She sat in the chair across from his desk, crossed her legs and studied him. "You look terrible."
"Thanks."
"Drew. Talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about. My wife left. She's at a friend's house. She asked me for time and I'm giving her time."
"She left because she saw me crying in your arms. Which is my fault. I keep thinking about that and I?—"
"It's not your fault."
"It is. If I hadn't fallen apart like that — if I'd gone to the bathroom or called my sister instead of?—"
"Tori. Stop." He rubbed his eyes. He hadn't shaved. He was wearing the same shirt from yesterday. "It's not about one moment. She's been unhappy for a while. I just wasn't paying attention."
Victoria was quiet. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Then she stood, walked around the desk, and leaned against the edge of it beside him. Close. Her hip near his elbow. The perfume — that custom blend from the 19th Street arcade — filling the space between them.
"You're being too hard on yourself," she said. Her voice had dropped, lower, softer. She put her hand on his shoulder. "You're a good man, Drew. You've always been a good man. Madeleine knows that. She'll come around."
Her thumb moved against his collarbone. A small motion. Almost nothing.
He looked at her hand. He looked at how close she was — perched on his desk like she belonged there, her body angled toward him, her face tilted down with an expression he'd seen a hundred times and always categorized aswarmthortrustorpartnership. But from this angle, with Madeleine gone, the penthouse empty and the wordcomfortingstill ringing in his ears, the expression looked like something else entirely. It looked like a woman who had been waiting.
"You should sit back down," he said.
"Why?"
"Because you're too close."
She didn't move. Instead she held his gaze, and something shifted in her face — a door opening that had always been slightly ajar, a permission she was granting herself. "What if I'm exactly where I should be?"
"Tori—"
"Drew, listen to me." Her hand moved from his shoulder to the side of his neck, her fingers cool against his skin. "We've been dancing around this for years. Both of us. You know it. I know it. And I've watched you go home every night to a woman who doesn't understand what you do, what you've built, what drives you. I've watched you shrink yourself to fit inside amarriage that was never big enough for who you are. And I've said nothing because I respected the line. But the line is gone now. She left. And I'm standing here telling you…”
She leaned in. Her hand slid to the back of his neck. Her mouth was inches from his, her eyes were open and certain.
Drew froze. And beneath his shock … he only saw his wife.
The Madeleine from Cape May, years ago, standing on the beach at dawn with sand on her ankles and his sweatshirt falling past her hips, holding two coffees she'd walked six blocks to get because the motel room didn't have a machine. She'd handed him the cup and saidI put cream in it, is that right?and he'd saidhow did you know?.She'd saidI pay attention,and she'd smiled at him with her whole face, blue eyes in the early light, and he'd known right then. Right there on that beach. That he would marry this woman. That he would never need anyone else.
Now, he caught Victoria's wrist. He moved her hand away from his neck. He rolled his chair backward, the wheels scraping on the floor, stood up and put the desk between them.
"Don't," he said.
Victoria's hand was still raised, hovering where his neck had been. Her composure cracked. Her expression changed from warm and seductive to frustrated. Angry.
