Andrew shook his head and wondered what in the hell had happened to him. He'd said, "I love you too." Last night really must have been a psychedelic, mind-altering experience. When was the last time he'd told Siobhan he loved her and really meant it? He'd probably said it a thousand times in a completely pro forma way, but this morning he had meant every syllable of it. And he was fairly damn sure she'd meant it when she said she loved him, and he couldn't even remember the last time she'd so much as mouthed the words.
Oh God, maybe they had a chance after all.
The taxi driver said, "Mr. Martin, you getting out or we taking a tour of the city today?"
Andrew looked at the small bearded man with the greasy Greek fisherman's cap and then out at the sidewalk.
He realized he was at his office.
He literally had no memory of how he'd gotten there.
He knew he had to have stopped at the corner coffee and bagel shop where he stopped at every morning, because he was carrying the small brown bag with the sesame seed bagel in it (toasted, cream cheese, tomato, cucumber) and the cup of Earl Grey tea they always had for him. But he hadn't taken a bite of the bagel and the tea bag was still in the cup, which meant it was wildly oversteeped and probably bitter as a day trader at triple witching hour. Somehow he'd gotten a taxi — his usual morning taxi, the man knew where to find him every day, which was good, because Andrew didn't remember getting in or giving directions.
"Keep the change," Andrew said, and he handed the man a bill. It was a little more than needed, but Andrew did not care.
The man stared at the money before looking at Andrew again. "I will be outside your bagel shop whenever you need me. Day or night. Take my card."
Once out of the taxi, Andrew dumped the oversteeped and tepid tea in the nearest trash bin. As he walked in the front door of the building the doorman said, "Welcome, Mr. Martin!"
Andrew wondered, Does everyone know how amazing I feel right now? "Good morning to you!" he said.
The doorman looked puzzled for a moment, and then a huge smile burst out across the man's face.
Andrew greeted the front desk guard with a wave — the man did a double-take in response — and as he waited for the elevator he saw a young woman standing there, wearing a severe, very corporate outfit, her frizzy red hair tied back in a tight bun. She seemed rather young, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, so maybe she wanted to make up for her lack of age with an excessive amount of conservatism. She was holding on to her briefcase with whit knuckles.
"Remember to be grateful they're taking the opportunity to listen to you, but it's not life and death," he said to her. "You'll be fine."
She looked at him, clearly wondering who the hell this strange guy was. "Do I know you?" she said.
"I've been in the position you are now hundreds of times. Relax, take a deep breath, and smile."
When he said that, a grin crept across her face.
"That's it," he said. "You have a beautiful smile, don't be afraid to use it." He smiled back at her, as the doors to the elevator opened.
The young woman pushed the button for floor 12 — Quentin, DeRosa, and Schmidt; oh dear, well, perhaps she could use whatever presentation she was making for them as practice for presentations at other law firms — and smiled and waved at him as she exited the elevator. Andrew smiled to himself for the rest of his elevator ride up to the 35th floor.
Today was the start of something new. He felt great.
The doors opened and Mrs. Daley, the woman who'd worked the front desk for Martin and Charles for the last eight years gave him the same tight, perfunctory smile she'd given him every morning of those eight years. "Your hair looks lovely this morning, Deborah," Andrew said. "The highlights are very nice. Good color for you, not as brassy as last time."
She blinked at him as he sped by. In the reflection of the glass doors into the main offices, he could see her touch the side of her hair.
His assistant, Shawna, was typing things on her computer as he walked up. "When you have a moment, a cup of tea, please," he said.
"Of course, Mr. Martin." She stood up. "You haven't had tea in the office in years."
"Mostly because generally I've wanted a slug of Scotch as soon as I got here. But not today." He pointed into his office. "I'll be in here."
"Earl Grey, water just off the boil, steeped for three minutes?"
He gave her a thumb's up. "An American who knows how to make tea. I love you, Shawna. Don't ever change."
His assistant burst out with a giggle, then put down her headset to go to the staff room.
Olivia came charging out of her office. "Thank God, you're back from Chicago. We need to talk this minute."
He slapped the top of the counter by Shawna's desk for emphasis. "Whatever you need, darling Olivia."
Olivia stopped short, nearly tripping poor Shawna in the process. She glared at him. Apparently she was immune to his aura of happiness and contentment. Pity. "Your meetings in Chicago must have worked out brilliantly."
He couldn't stop himself before he grinned. "Never made it to Chicago. Norm and Franklin came to JFK. And yes, it was quite successful."
"You're in a good mood."
"I'm in an amazing mood, Olivia. Probably because I slept at home last night."
Olivia looked cross. "At home, hm?"
He nodded and tried to look serious. "I'm being a good boy and remembering our rules about not discussing our private lives in the office."
Olivia crossed her arms and stood staring at him for a moment. "Oh dear God. This is bad. This is very bad."
Andrew did not make physical contact with Olivia very often. For one thing, they were business partners, and just because Olivia was a woman didn't mean he should take any more physical liberties with her than he would with a male business partner. For another thing, she was a woman, and contact like that tended to be misinterpreted. But she seemed so upset his instinct was to touch her — lightly — on the arm. "What is it? What's wrong?"
She waved him off, appalled. "Not me. You. I need to talk to you. It's important. And it's very, very bad."
He had no idea what she could possibly want to talk to him about. "All right."
"Not here. Not —" Olivia looked at Shawna's retreat down the hallway, and then back at her own assistant. "Privately."
They went into Andrew's office and Olivia shut the door behind her. Andrew sat on one of the armchairs by the window, as Olivia took the couch. "What's this about?" he asked.
"It's about your wife," she told him. "And Henry Butler."
Siobhan and Henry? What? "My wife is none of your concern, Olivia."
"She is after what I overheard yesterday."
"Let's not go through any of this again. You don't like Siobhan. You've never liked Siobhan. You've never made any secret of that."
"No, I haven't liked her. Because she treated you like crap." Before Andrew could interrupt, Olivia held up a hand. "Oh no, not before you were married. Before you were married, she was attentive and loving and sexy, and whatever the hell else you needed in a wife. And then you marry her and all of a sudden, what happens? Suddenly she has no time for you and you have the coldest goddamn marriage I've ever seen and that's a neat trick given the parents I've got."
"Yes, you were ever so caring as to tell me you thought she got pregnant as a way of saving our marriage."
"After yesterday, I'm fairly certain she got pregnant as a way of ensuring easy access to your money for the rest of her life. And I'm also damn sure you'd best do a DNA test on that kid when he arrives."
What in the hell… "Get out of my office," Andrew said, no longer feeling his good mood.
Olivia ignored him. "Yesterday at Cafe Grumpy, Siobhan met Henry Butler. He called her things like 'Sweetheart' and talked about how she was having his baby."
Andrew stood up. "This is not funny."
"It isn't meant to be, Andrew. Siobhan, for her part, acted like she couldn't stand him and told him to fuck off. Well, more or less, not those words exactly. Told him to go home and concentrate on his marriage and leave her alone. But trust me, Henry was very clear that he was talking about their baby and she didn't deny it. They've been having an affair, Andrew, I'm sorry."
No. There wasn't a chance. The woman in his arms last night would not have slept with Henry Butler. "Siobhan wouldn't do that," he said.
I'm not the woman you think I am.
You're the only woman I want.
"For God's sake, Andrew, they were so wrapped up in their little psychodrama in the corner they didn't even see me standing there." She raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow and crossed one perfectly sculpted leg over the other. "And I'm hard to overlook."
If he were going to be fair to Olivia — not that he much felt like it at the moment — he had to say she had a teeny bit of a point about how his marriage to Siobhan had been. She had been the most wonderful creature on Earth right up until the wedding ceremony, and afterward they were living every sitcom cliche known. She didn't listen to him. She made fun of him when he talked about business. She wanted to spend oodles of money and never wanted to hear criticisms of what she spent it on.
And sex? After they were married, she had headaches almost every night or she wasn't in the mood. On the rare occasions they did have sex, she wanted the lights off and the positions missionary.
Until six, eight weeks ago? When out of nowhere there was that gleam in her eye again when she looked at him. No, not again. Like never before. Siobhan had started looking at him like she couldn't bear to spend a moment away from him, like he was the most interesting man she'd ever met. He had thought that maybe it was the baby, because some people said that hormonal changes caused all sorts of personality changes too. But he was beginning to wonder if it wasn't something else.
I'm not the woman you think I am.
You're the only woman I want.
There was an easy explanation for this. There had to be. There was an answer that he could stomach. A story that wouldn't make last night, the best goddamn night of his entire marriage, a complete lie.
Andrew stared out the window for what could have been five seconds or five years. Then he turned to Olivia.
"Do you know of a good private investigator?" he asked.
"Oh thank God, I thought you were never going to ask. Yes, I do." She stood up. "He's going to be here at ten o'clock."
Jesus, Olivia could show some cheek. Scheduling something like that without asking him. Well, they'd become partners because they were both smart and didn't wait for permission, so he couldn't say he was surprised. Nevertheless: annoying. "Next time you might want to involve me first."
"I made the appointment ahead of time, Andrew. Because if you aren't going to find out who you're married to, I sure as hell am. I'm not losing everything I've worked on because some tart decides to carve up your soul with her fingernails."
Olivia opened the door to the office and stalked away.
Andrew picked up his phone and dialed Siobhan's number. Her voicemail picked up. "Shiv, love," he said. "We need to talk. Call me as soon as you get this."