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“Not tonight,” she implored.
“Tell you what. Let’s compromise.” He pulled her around to face him and smiled affectionately. “I think this might be an important meeting.”
“Nadia always makes it sound not just important but imperative.”
“Granted. But this time I don’t think she’s exaggerating.”
“What’s the compromise?”
“I’ll make your excuses. I’ll tell Nadia that you have a headache or an early breakfast appointment tomorrow morning. Have the driver take you home. After one drink, I’ll follow you. Half an hour, max. I promise.”
She slid her hand inside his tuxedo jacket and stroked his chest through the stiffly starched shirt. “I have a better compromise, Mr. Reed. I’ll tell Nadia to take a flying leap into the East River. Then let’s go home together. Those jammies I mentioned? They can be dispensed with.”
“You ended your sentence with a preposition,” he noted.
“You’re the writer. I’m a mere editor.”
“I’m a former writer.”
“There’s no such thing.” She took a step closer and aligned her thighs with his. “What do you say? About the jammies.”
“Noah? We’re waiting.”
Nadia Schuller approached with the bearing of a military general about to address the troops, except that she was better dressed and had her phony smile in place. She was skilled at turning on the charm at will—to intrude, disarm, and promote herself. Many fell for it. She was a frequent and popular guest on talk shows. Letterman loved her, and he was just one of her celebrity friends. She made it her business to be photographed with actors, musicians, supermodels, and politicians whenever possible.
She had elevated herself to heights that Maris felt were undeserved. She was a self-appointed, self-ordained authority with no meaningful credentials to support her opinions on either writing or the business of publishing. But authors and publishers couldn’t afford to offend her or they risked their next book being slammed in her column.
Tonight her arm was linked with that of a bestselling novelist who looked a little dazed. Or stoned, if the gossip about him was true. Or maybe he was only dizzy from being propelled through the evening by the turbo engines of Nadia’s personality.
“They won’t hold our table forever, Noah. Coming?”
“Well…” He hesitated and glanced down at Maris.
“What’s the matter?” Nadia asked in a voice as piercing as a dentist’s drill. She addressed the question to Maris, automatically assuming that she was the source of the problem.
“Nothing’s the matter, Nadia. Noah and I were having a private conversation.”
“Oh, my. Have I interrupted one of those husband/wife things?”
The critic could have been pretty if not for her edge, which manifested itself in the brittleness of her smile and the calculation in her eyes, which seemed to miss nothing. She was always impeccably dressed, groomed, and accessorized in the best of taste, but even arrayed in fine silk and finer jewelry there was nothing feminine about her.
It was rumored that she went through men like a box of Godivas, chewing up and spitting out the ones who didn’t challenge her or who could do nothing to further her career—in other words, the ones with soft centers. Maris had no problem believing the gossip about Nadia’s promiscuity. What surprised her was the number of men who found her sexually appealing.
“Yes, we were having a husband and wife thing. I was telling Noah that the last thing I want to do is join you for a round of drinks,” Maris said, smiling sweetly.
“You do look awfully tired,” Nadia returned, her smile just as sweet.
Noah intervened. “I’m sorry, Nadia. We must decline tonight. I’m going to take my wife home and tuck her in.”
“No, darling,” Maris said. She wouldn’t play the wounded wife in front of Nadia Schuller. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from this obligation.”
“It’s hardly that,” Nadia snapped. “More like a rare opportunity to talk shop with one of publishing’s most exciting novelists.”
The exciting novelist had yet to utter a peep. He was bleary-eyed and seemed oblivious to their conversation. Maris gave Nadia a knowing look. “Of course it is. That’s what I meant.” Back to Noah, she said, “You stay. I’ll see myself home.”
He regarded her doubtfully. “You’re sure?”
“I insist.”
