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  “Hello, Olivia,” I heard, just as I had grasped it.

  Burnished, brandy-colored leather brogues stared me in the face. I froze as my eyes drifted up a long body and landed on David’s expressionless face. His hair was parted off to the side, gelled into one soft, cohesive wave. His sharp navy pinstripe suit looked as though it was made for him. It likely was, I thought. He wore the collar open with no tie so that I could glimpse the beginnings of his collarbone, and the sight of his exposed skin sent a shock through me that ended in a tingling between my legs.

  “D-David?” I stammered from below once I’d recovered. If I’d thought the office had seemed smaller before, it now felt microscopic, especially from my current position. His presence could barely be contained. I rocked off my heels and stood, smoothing my hands over my dress.

  “You’re surprised. Were you expecting someone else?”

  “Um, yes. Lucas Dylan?” I said, wiping excess lip gloss from the corner of my mouth.

  “Aha. Do you always do this much research before an interview?” he teased. “I go by my middle name.”

  I eyed Serena, who stood in the doorway, and then looked back at David. How could she make such an oversight? “I’m sorry, you’re right. Welcome.” I stuck my hand out awkwardly. Quickly, I attempted to sort through my thoughts, but all I could think was that I was glad I had heeded Beman’s advice. With a smirk, he took my warm hand in his icy one and squeezed it with a pump, sending a chill up my arm.

  “Sorry I’m so cold, it’s biting out there today.”

  “How about some coffee then?” Serena asked.

  “Sure,” I said absentmindedly, narrowing my eyes at David. Once she had stepped out and we were alone, I gestured to a seat as I returned to my spot behind the desk.

  “Mr. Dylan,” I began, carefully pronouncing his name. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

  His laugh was soft. “I should think not, after the way you ran out on me last night.”

  “Anyone else might take a hint,” I ribbed.

  “I love what you’ve done with your office,” he commented, gripping the arms of his chair. “Very colorful.” I hated its stark white walls and generic carpet. It was the matted and grimy type that you never wanted to touch with bare feet. The only indication that it had an inhabitant was a photo of Lucy, Gretchen and me that Lucy had taken, printed, framed and brought over my first week at the magazine. She even positioned it on my old desk herself.

  “Well, I’m just borrowing it,” I responded quietly.

  As he looked around the room, I took the opportunity to study him in the daylight. He was no less mysterious, but in the office, with the desk between us, he somehow seemed less threatening. And if possible, more handsome.

  “That’s right, it must’ve been Diane’s office. So I want to apologize if I came on too strong last night,” he said, affixing his eyes on me again. I glanced at the door. Lowering his voice and leaning his elbows on his knees, he continued. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You came here to tell me that?” I asked. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “It wasn’t hard.” He winked.

  My brows creased as Serena knocked lightly and entered the room.

  “Here you are, Mr. Dylan,” she cooed, offering him a steaming cup of coffee. She set the tray on the coffee table and handed me mine as well.

  “Thank you, Serena,” I said.

  David stared at me over the lip of the mug as he took a sip, and I shifted anxiously. He swallowed and cupped a hand around the heated drink, watching me like I was his next meal. In unison we glanced at Serena, who was lingering near the door.

  “Thank you, Serena,” I repeated more sternly. She smiled at David, even though his back was to her, did some sort of curtsey and left the room. Strange girl, I thought.

  “I’m not sure it’s such a good idea, your being here,” I said, straightening a pile of papers on the desk.

  “Why not?” he asked. “Nothing’s going on.”

  I felt silly for suggesting that something was. I tilted my head and, lifting my shoulder lightly, asked, “So you went out of your way just to tell me that?”

  “No,” he said simply. “Diane had asked me to do the article this year, and I turned her down. But I’ve changed my mind.”

  I stopped and set down the stack of papers. “Really?” I asked. “Why?”

  “Don’t make me answer that, or I might start to wonder the same thing.” His mouth kinked into a half smile, but I chewed the inside of my lip. This would mean working with him until the issue went to press, since he was all but guaranteed a spot. I wondered if I’d been wrong about him. Perhaps his visit was purely platonic. As if he could read my mind, he added, “I never mix business and pleasure. Ever. You have my word that I will be completely professional.” I narrowed my eyes at him without realizing it. “You don’t believe me,” he observed. “Do though, as I don’t like repeating myself.” My thighs constricted involuntarily at the way his tone dropped. Composure, Olivia. Composure.

  “I don’t really have a choice in the matter,” I pointed out, searching his face.

  “Sure you do, it’s your article,” he said. “Don’t worry about them,” he added, waving his hand. “I’ll say it’s a conflict with my schedule if you aren’t comfortable.”

  Part of me wanted to refuse, wanted to ask him to back out if it became too much to handle. But I didn’t know how to express that in so many words, and I didn’t want to make something of nothing. Not only that, but it would put me some steps closer to the promotion. “All right. Let’s do it,” I decided, straightening my back.

  He answered with a large, boyish grin, pure and unassuming. I flexed my hands against my thighs, digging my fingers into them; I’d never seen a smile like that before. It made me want to laugh and hug and kiss him all at once.

  “Let’s get started then,” I said, blinking away the dreadful impulse. I reached over the desk for his file, and he jumped from the chair suddenly. My head snapped up; his expression both darkened and enhanced his attractive features as his gaze fixed on my arm.

  “What the . . . Oh my God,” he stammered, and I followed his eyes to find fresh, purple bruises forming along my bicep and elbow.

  “Oh,” I said, my eyes flitting between the marks and him. I shook my head as he found the words.

  “Shit, Olivia, I am so sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair and stared, as if he was physically unable to look away.

  “No,” I insisted, shaking my head harder. “No, no, no - you didn’t do this. It wasn’t you,” I reassured him, waiting for his relief. Instead, his look grew menacing as his eyes crept up to meet mine. I sat back in my chair, nervously clutching for my sweater. He rounded the desk and gently pulled my wrist up so my arm was taut. I relished the careful touch of his fingers encircling my wrist. His thick eyebrows met in the middle while he examined the bruises.

  In a voice contrary to the feather touch, he demanded, “How did this happen?”

  “It doesn’t hurt,” I said in a small voice, although I knew he wouldn’t believe me. It didn’t, I hadn’t even noticed anything until now, but the marks were vivid nonetheless.

  “Olivia, tell me who did this. Was it me?” he asked with a wavering voice.

  I was reluctant to tell him. I hadn’t even had time to process it myself. But I could tell he wouldn’t back down and that his patience was wearing thin. I sighed and looked down. “Last night . . . after I left you, I was walking home - ”

  “What?” he bellowed, dropping my wrist. “You walked home last night? Christ, I never would have let you walk; do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

  I fluttered my eyelashes at him innocently, and his expression softened slightly. I started to tell him that I’d done it several times, but thought better of it. “Someone – a man, he . . . Well, he was drunk. He tried to get my attention, but when I ignored him, I guess it upset him. He grabbed me.” David’s eyes widened
visibly. “But,” I said before he could speak, “I used my purse to fight him off, and I’m fine. Here I am.” I shrugged, tucking some hair behind my ear.

  “I can’t believe you walked home, I never should have let you go,” he muttered.

  “You didn’t let me do anything, David. I’m not your responsibility.”

  He drew his lips into a straight line and looked at me guardedly. “Right,” he said. “What did your husband say? Did you call the police?”

  “He’s out of town.”

  David closed his eyes and shook his head. He opened one eye and appeared to brace himself. “You slept alone last night?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He exhaled forcefully. “What if he had followed you home?” he asked. I hesitated, avoiding his eyes. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?” He waited a moment. “Olivia.” It was a command, rumbling with warning, and it almost turned me to jelly. I wondered, if I didn’t respond would he say it again?

  “He was looking for Bill.”

  “Your husband?”

  I wondered if he had actually forgotten Bill’s name or if he didn’t want to use it. “Yes. He’s a lawyer, and it’s related to one of his cases.”

  “Is that so.” His jaw looked tense enough to snap. “So he was looking for him but found you instead. Do you know how?”

  “It was in front of my apartment.”

  “He knows where you live? But you still slept there?” He rolled his head back and said something under his breath. He took his phone out of his pocket and checked the screen. “Shit.” I hadn’t even heard it ring.

  “Dylan. Yes. No. No. How is that an emergency?” David looked at me as he listened. “I see. Okay.” He hung up the phone, never taking his eyes off me. “I have to go.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “It is, just a fire I have to put out. Are you safe here?”

  “Yes,” I said with fake confidence. I had no idea, but I wasn’t about to admit that. “It’s not as big of a deal as it seems. I’ll be fine.”

  “It is a big deal. What about tonight? You can’t stay alone.”

  “Bill thinks I should go to New York, where he is, but I haven’t decided. I’ll have to clear it with Beman.”

  David appeared to relax, but his guarded expression remained as we stared at each other. Knowing that I could sit and drink him in all day, I turned away and held out my card. “E-mail me, and we’ll do this another time.”

  CHAPTER 8

  STATELY SILVER BUILDINGS, glowing in the last light of the setting sun, filled the tiny airplane window. Beman wasn’t pleased about my personal emergency, but I had assured him that I could work remotely. His annoyance was tempered by the news that David had agreed to be in the issue. Leaving the apartment was an overreaction, I was sure, but the idea of getting out of town for a few days had won me over. And Bill had pointed out that I hadn’t taken a break in over a year.

  I’d bought myself a ticket, thrown some things in a suitcase, my laptop in my carry-on and hopped in a cab to the airport. It had all happened so suddenly, that I hadn’t had a chance to sort out much more than that.

  I thought back to Bill’s and my conversation earlier in the day. The Alvarez brothers were dangerous. Bill had known instantly why I was being threatened, but had no idea how Lou’s brother Mark had found me.

  When Bill had worked as an assistant state’s attorney, his final case had been trying Lou Alvarez for drug possession with intent to sell. He and Mark had been arrested together. Bill had successfully proven that Lou’s crimes were gang-related, and it had added almost a decade to his sentence. But Mark’s prosecutor couldn’t make that same link. He was only sentenced to two years but Bill had heard he’d been released for good behavior after thirteen months. He assured me that it was the empty threat of a druggie, but we agreed that it was best to play it safe.

  Now in New York, the yellow cab dropped me in front of Bill’s hotel. I stopped at the front desk, where I found a key and a note with a time and address for dinner.

  “Is this far?” I asked the concierge, handing him the paper.

  “26th Street? Not at all,” he said and explained the route. I hadn’t been to New York in years and was looking forward to wandering anonymously among the crowds until dinner. I thanked him, and after a quick refresh, left the hotel.

  Boutiques had lowered their gates for the night, shielding exquisite works of art parading as clothing. As I headed down a side street, bass thumped from behind opaque glass. Two young women, models I guessed, laughed casually, cigarette smoke wafting from between their fingers. Between their exposed belly buttons, long slinky hair and black studded booties, it was obvious that they were regulars of New York nightlife.

  I huddled into my coat. I hadn’t fixed my hair or make-up before leaving the hotel, and I felt suddenly underwhelming. Though I was nearly as tall as them, I wasn’t sure I possessed the graceful movements that painted them as gazelle-like. These were the sorts of women that belonged to handsome, wealthy, charming men. Men like David, I thought before I could stop myself.

  I was hundreds of miles away, yet I couldn’t seem to break the pattern that was beginning to form. The rate at which my heart skipped had proliferated since we’d first made eye contact. I shook my head and rewrapped my scarf around my neck, as though doing so might shield me from the direction of my thoughts. I pushed the women and everything they represented from my mind.

  At the restaurant, I was pleased to find that Bill was also early and waiting at the bar. I sneaked up behind him easily since his eyes were transfixed on a television that sat behind stacked bottles of liquor.

  “Come here often?” I grinned, tucking a piece of loose hair behind his ear.

  He jumped at my touch. “Hi.” He glanced at his watch and then back at me. “Huh, I didn’t realize the time,” he said. “I missed you.” He snaked an arm around my waist and planted a peck on my cheek. I nestled in against the barstool awkwardly. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he added, giving me a squeeze.

  “Shall we eat?”

  The hostess showed us to a cozy table under dim lighting and handed us our menus. After I had decided, I looked up to find him watching me.

  “I’ve been worried,” he said.

  “I know,” I replied, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

  “What were you even doing out that late by yourself?” My mind flitted back to our phone conversation, where I had skillfully avoided the question. He wouldn’t let me get away with it again. Knowing that Lucy would be a hard sell on a Sunday night, I went for Gretchen. How I would get her to lie for me, I didn’t know, but I knew she would.

  “Gretch and I went out for a couple drinks, nothing too crazy.” With my right hand, I spun my wedding ring around my finger under the table. “We walk around Lincoln Park at night all the time,” I proffered.

  “Together, yes.”

  “I’ve done it alone,” I countered.

  “Whatever, Livs. I’m just glad your safe, and I’ll have to give Gretchen a talking to about this.”

  “Ah,” I gasped, “please don’t. She feels just awful and blames herself even though it was entirely, one-hund-red per-cent my fault. Please don’t bring it up with her.”

  He studied me warily until defeat crossed his face. “Yeah, we’ll see,” he said, but I knew I’d won; he didn’t typically challenge me when I was adamant about something. “You’ve been drinking with them too much,” he added, crossing his arms on the table.

  “Can we drop it?” I pleaded, inching the chair out from the table. “Order me the crab cakes, I’m going to the restroom.”

  ~

  The next morning, Bill left me at first light with his credit card and for the first time since we’d been married, instructions to go shopping. When the door clicked shut, I climbed back into bed, thinking about his reaction the night before, and his pained expression as he kissed the marks. His mooning had irked me more than anything.

&
nbsp; In bed, I flipped over to the window and then back again. After twenty minutes of staring at the wall, I decided to get some work done.

  Outlook popped up on my laptop, and the program pinged steadily while it updated. As the e-mails filtered in, I saw David’s name flash by and forced my heart steady as it threatened to leap. I started from the bottom, meticulously reading through each e-mail until I could no longer concentrate and skipped ahead.

  From: David Dylan

  Sent: Mon, April 23, 2012 04:26 PM CST

  To: Olivia Germaine

  Subject: Your safety

  Olivia,

  What did you decide about New York? Please let me know that you are safe tonight.

  How is Friday morning for our interview?

  DAVID DYLAN

  SENIOR ARCHITECT,

  PIERSON/GREER

  I smiled inwardly at his concern, resolving that he’d probably figured out I’d gone to New York. I proceeded to read through the rest of my e-mail, but curiosity gnawed at me, and I was finding it hard to focus. I opened the search browser.

  ‘D-a-v-i-d D-’

  David Dylan. There he was. Not high on the list of autocomplete results, but in the first round of David Ds. The first link was to the Architectural Digest magazine article. I opened it to see David’s stern face staring back as he stood in front of his latest masterpiece. I scanned the three-page article, noting that his firm, Pierson/Greer, was within walking distance from my office. It discussed his impact on modern architecture, stating that he was one of the most in-demand architects in Chicago. They have to say that, I thought, rolling my eyes. I hit the ‘Back’ button and scrolled down through a couple more work-related links.