The instructor in front of her was gorgeous: ripped, with longish hair he kept brushing off his square-shaped jaw, a sheen of sweat covering every inch of exposed skin. Every thirty seconds or so he would lift his head and look directly at Emily and give her that smile, the one that confirmed she was the only one in the room. Which of course she was, because she was riding on Karolina’s Peloton, and the hot instructor was on the screen, and his direct eye contact with Emily was actually shared with 1,294 other home riders. No matter. She could sweat with him and his alt-country playlist all night long. She had no idea what had inspired her to get off her ass in this beautiful, empty house and get on the bike at ten o’clock in the evening, but she was going with it. This beat SoulCycle any day of the week: no people, no socializing, and she could spin in her sports bra and a pair of ripped spandex shorts. Plus, no one would have a word to say about the fact that she planned to enjoy a vodka soda during the cooldown and stretch.
Her phone rang. She wouldn’t have answered it for anyone except the cop, which was whom caller ID showed was calling.
‘Belinda?’ she said, jabbing ‘speaker’ on her phone while simultaneously lowering the volume on the bike’s screen. ‘What’s up? Do you have an update for me?’
‘Ah, Emily Charlton. The one and only. I’m delighted you picked up.’ The voice that came through the line was male. Older and refined. Supremely confident.
‘Who’s this?’ Emily asked, trying to hide her surprise. Her legs began to slow.
‘I’m surprised you don’t know. Perhaps you should check one of your Dropcams.’
‘Drop—’ Emily nearly dropped the phone. She stopped pedaling and unclipped from the bike.
‘I’ll save you the suspense, since I’m sure you’re wondering. Your friend Belinda, if that’s really her name, has nothing to offer you.’
‘Is this Graham Hartwell?’
‘Senator Hartwell. Show some respect.’
His voice was so authoritative, Emily actually almost apologized. Then she remembered whom she was talking to and she laughed. ‘Whatever, Graham. I’ll show some respect when you do something to earn it.’
There was a beat before he said, ‘I don’t know who you think you are with this little plot of yours, but it took all of three seconds to figure out. Next time you want to send a former New York City police officer after me, I will press charges. Do we understand each other?’
The line disconnected. Emily was grateful no one was there to see how badly her hands were shaking.
Dammit. That did not go well. And if Emily were being honest, she should predicted that very outcome. Graham was no teenage-starlet idiot. She’d vastly underestimated him.
She walked to the kitchen and helped herself to a can of cherry-flavored seltzer she found in Karolina’s fridge. After a few sips, she poured it into a glass, tossed in some ice cubes, and added enough vodka to fill it to the top. Difficult times called for extreme measures. She took a long, deep sip and, realizing it tasted like cough medicine, poured the rest in the sink. The clock on the microwave read 10:28. Where could she get a decent drink at this hour in this damn town? Were there even any actual bars? She texted Karolina, who was in Bethesda for the night visiting Harry, and the answer came back immediately:
No clue. Why? I have enough booze in that house to intoxicate a football team.
Emily wrote back: Please never put that in writing again.
Sorry, forgot I’m supposed to be a recovering alcoholic … !!!!
Emily texted Miriam next. Her reply was also instantaneous: I can’t meet you at eleven on a Tuesday night for a drink. Who do you think I am?
Not inviting you per se – just asking where I can go.
Ah, thanks. In that case, try the Italian place by the train station. Haven’t ever been later than dinner but I’ve heard they stay open until midnight.
Thnx. LMK if you change ur mind.
Nope.
Decades of habit forced Emily into the shower and a decent pair of jeans with a cute silk T-shirt, an open cardigan, and a swipe of lip gloss. Her only concession was her hair: if she sprayed it with enough dry shampoo to degrease an ocean oil slick and wrapped it on top of her head, hopefully no one would notice how badly it needed a wash. She waited outside for her Uber driver, a much too chatty older woman whom Emily had to ask to stop talking, and within fifteen minutes she was contentedly settled on a high stool with an admittedly excellent dirty martini in hand.
‘Can I get you anything else?’ the bartender asked. He was in his thirties and cute enough. ‘Maybe an appetizer before the kitchen closes?’
Emily offered him a real smile. ‘Thanks, I’m good with this. I’ll be asking you for another soon.’
‘I look forward to it,’ he said and walked to the other end to help another customer. Was he flirting with her? Was she even still flirt-worthy? Alistair had seemed to think so, but then he’d dropped off the face of the earth. Don’t think about it! she willed herself, to little effect. Ugh, she cringed just thinking about the Photoshopped boob pic, texted to him right after her own husband hadn’t even bothered reacting to it. And nothing. Nothing! It was mortifying. She’d checked a hundred times to make sure she’d sent it to the right person, but their text history didn’t lie. And if that weren’t enough, he had his freaking read receipts turned on. It hadn’t vanished into the ether; it had gone exactly where it was intended and been opened and evaluated and then … nothing. Not so much as a fucking thumbs-up emoji.
‘I’ll be right back,’ Emily told the bartender with a wink, placing a napkin over her martini, although there was barely a sip left. She was heading toward the back of the restaurant, looking for the ladies’ room, when she noticed a couple tucked into a booth with high wooden walls. In front of each of them was a plate of heavenly-looking pasta and bowl-size glasses of red wine. There was a personal lamp mounted on the wall right above the table, and the glow lit up the man’s face at the exact same second that he glanced up and looked directly at Emily. It was Alistair. Jesus Christ. What were the freaking chances?
‘Emily,’ he murmured with a smile that she couldn’t quite read. ‘What a surprise seeing you here.’
‘I could say the same,’ she said, sneaking a peek at the woman he was with. Brunette and attractive. She was dressed in a nicely tailored suit, probably Theory, and her hair was in need of a highlights refresh, but her skin was perfection. Why did she look familiar?
‘Haven’t I told you that I come here three nights a week for dinner?’ Alistair said, his dimples showing. ‘Tonight’s a bit later than usual, but we both had late meetings.’
For a moment Emily figured they worked together, but then something clicked: this woman wasn’t his coworker, she was his ex-wife. Granted, Emily had only Googled her briefly, just long enough to know she wasn’t still a threat, and yet here she was, tucked into a cozy booth with her supposed ex-husband, sharing a romantic late-night meal.
‘I’m Emily Charlton,’ she said with a broad fake smile. ‘You must be Alistair’s ex. Don’t worry, he only has nice things to say!’
The woman made a face like she’d spotted a dead rat. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Oh, it’s not like we sit around talking about you, but he showed me pictures of the kids and said what a great mom you are.’
‘Emily.’ Alistair’s voice was grave, as if he were announcing a death. ‘This is Louisa. She is not my ex. And we are on a date.’
Emily’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘But they look … so … My God, when they say men have types, it’s really accurate.’
‘And you are?’ Louisa asked. She had regained her composure and looked like she sensed a fight and wasn’t planning to back down.
‘I’m Emily Charlton,’ she said.
Alistair helpfully explained, ‘Yes, Emily is married to a friend of mine. Miles is a good bloke. Haven’t seen him in a while. Tell him not to be such a stranger, okay?’
Emily felt her mouth fall open. That asshole. Who did he think he was? And more to the point, how did he know?
Alistair turned back to Louisa and clinked his wineglass to hers. As Emily continued walking to the bathroom, she could hear him say, ‘She’s a little mental, that one. But she means well.’ Louisa’s laugh tinkled like a wind chime.
She’d barely finished washing her hands when her phone lit up with a text.
You’re not the only one who can Google
Followed by a thumbs-up emoji. Emily tried not to scream.
She had no choice but to walk past the happy couple on her way back to the bar and was irritated to overhear them discussing Trump’s Russian involvement. Louisa was engaged with current events too? How lucky for him.
‘Can I get you another now?’ the cute bartender asked.
Emily drained her drink and pushed the glass toward him. ‘Yes, please. And an IV if you have one.’
‘Is this seat taken?’ The voice behind her was a whisper; the only reason she could hear it at all was because it was so close to her ear. She whipped around and nearly fell off her bar stool.
‘Miles? What are you doing here?’ She jumped off the stool and threw her arms around her husband’s neck.
‘I couldn’t let my baby drink alone,’ he said, helping her back on her stool and then taking the one next to her. He tucked his overstuffed garment bag at their feet and placed his laptop bag on the bar.
‘Oh my God. This is crazy! When did you get here? How long are you staying? And how did you know where to find me?’
He grinned and Emily thought: He is really freaking good-looking. Why am I always forgetting how much I want him the second he’s out of sight?
‘I landed at JFK an hour ago. I wanted to surprise you. I’m here for two nights. And I showed up at Miriam’s house with a giant bouquet of baggage-claim flowers, but she said you’re staying at Karolina’s, and that I could probably find you here. I left the flowers for her after one of the kids came downstairs crying. I think I woke them.’
‘Why are you only here for two days? How can they do that to you? It’s not even long enough to get over the jet lag.’ Emily took his hand in hers.
‘Because I’m not here for work. I missed my girl. I have a meeting on the twelfth that I can’t miss, so it’ll have to be a quick visit.’ He leaned over and kissed her, and Emily immediately felt her body respond. ‘Is Karolina going to mind if I stay with you tonight, or should we get a hotel room for some privacy?’ Miles murmured.
‘Karolina is in Bethesda for the night. The place is all ours.’
This time when he kissed her, he slipped his tongue in her mouth and lightly bit her bottom lip the way he knew she loved. ‘That is very good news.’ And then to the bartender: ‘Check, please.’
Emily took his hand and followed him to the door. She couldn’t help but give one final look around the restaurant.
‘Did you forget something?’ Miles asked, holding her hand with one of his and slinging his bags with his other.
‘What? No, of course not. Come on, let’s get back home and I’ll show you this new lace thingy I got. Only there’s not much lace. And the crotch seems to be missing …’