Page 107 of Boardroom Mask

The earrings from Bloomingdale’s are gold, simple, and elegant. My hair is half-dry, so I scrunch it with some product and let it do its chaotic red thing because there’s no taming it. More importantly, the chaos feels right tonight.

I spray Lost Cherry along my collarbones and wrists. The cherry and almond hit first, then the deeper notes underneath. Tonka, sandalwood. It smells expensive and reckless, which is exactly how I want to feel.

My heels are black with a pointed toe. They’re high enough to make my calves look good, but low enough that I can sprint away if the date goes sideways and I need to flee on foot. I’m nothing if not practical.

When my battle armor is fully assembled, I stand in front of the full-length mirror and take stock. It’s the unabashed openness of it all that shocks me most. I look like I want something and I’m not afraid to show it.

I’m nervous on the inside, though. My palms are damp and my pulse is racing. The men I’ve gone on dates with over the past five years were safe bets, low stakes. I chose them because I knew I’d leave before dessert. They didn’t matter.

Kirdoesmatter. I wish he didn’t, but he does, and I can no longer pretend otherwise. We’re both far too gone for that.

I grab my coat and my clutch and check the time. 7:32. If I leave now, I’ll get to Chelsea right on time.

I lock the door behind me and head for the stairs.

The corner of West 28th and 10th Avenue is dark, industrial, and worryingly empty. For a second, I think I have the wrong address. Then I spot him.

Kir is leaning against a brick wall under a dim awning, wearing a dark wool coat over a black button-down shirt. His hair is pushed back and his jaw is clean and gleaming in the low light. He looks like a dark dream—not a nightmare, but a sexy, twisting void full of shadows. A seductive kind of darkness.

He sees me coming from half a block away and pushes off the wall. I come to a stop in front of him. His eyes move down my body and then back up, slow, and his mouth opens just a fraction and then closes again. It’s a tiny gesture, but it makes me feel flushed and giddy all over.

“Hi,” I squeak.

“Hello, little fox.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out something white. He holds it out to me. It’s a mask. Not a ski mask, like the one he wears—this is a white, Venetian-style mask, the kind that covers the top half of your face and leaves the mouth exposed. Blank, featureless, and weirdly beautiful.

I take it and turn it over in my hands. “What is this?”

“Put it on.”

“Hold your horses, buster. Not until you tell me what?—”

He nods upward. I follow his gaze to the building behind him. Above the entrance, partially hidden by scaffolding and shadow, a sign I hadn’t clocked yet bears three words in blocky white letters:

SLEEP NO MORE

My brain goes blank for a second and then catches up all at once. “Wait. This is— Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Sleep No More?!”

“You know it?”

“Know it? I’ve wanted to see this foryears!” I’m holding the mask against my chest now, and I can hear the excitement in my own voice. I sound like a gleeful little girl on a field trip. “It’s an immersive theater production based onMacbeth. You wear masks and wander through a massive warehouse and the actors perform all around you and you follow whoever you want. It’s been running since, what, 2011? Rae and I have talked about going a hundred times, but something always came up.”

Kir is watching me with a look I haven’t seen before. Soft, almost. Amused, but also quietly pleased. “I know what it is.”

“The whole thing is nonverbal,” I say anyway. “The actors don’t speak. It’s all choreography and set design and—” I stop myself. “You already know all of this. You bought the tickets.”

“I did.”

“This is incredibly thoughtful.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Given the history of our relationship, I’d say my expectations were calibrated accordingly.”

He laughs. “I suppose that’s fair.”