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10
Three dayslater she was at the gallery, surveying the photographs on the brick wall. Morris’s show was two weeks away and Nina still wasn’t sure the order wasright.
She stepped forward, removing a picture of a half full bottle of water, the plastic partially crushed and laying on dirty concrete next to a crumbled newspaper, the words “Destruction” and “Poverty” visible on the paper only if you got close enough to reallylook.
The piece was titled Drought. She set it down and paced to the white wall on the other side of the gallery, looking for a picture to replace the Drought on the brick wall. She was reaching for an image of discarded candy wrappers when Moni spoke behindher.
“You swapped those twoyesterday.”
Nina turned around. Moni was leaning on the desk at the back of the gallery, the frosted glass doors open on either side of her. “DidI?”
Moni nodded and looked at her more closely. “Youokay?”
“I’m fine.” She returned to the brick wall and put Drought back in its original place. It would be too bright, too spare, on the white wall. She’d been right the first time: the warmth of the brick was a necessary offset to the piece’s brightness. She crossed back to the white wall, scanning the configuration for anything that neededadjusting.
It wasperfect.
She returned to the office and picked up her coffee. It was cold but she finished it anyway, then picked up the manila envelope holding her mystery photographer’s pictures. She opened the envelope and flipped through them for the hundredthtime.
“You sure?” Moni asked. “You seem a little…off.”
She’d been antsy ever since returning from Paris, a condition exacerbated by Jack’s desire to see her every night, the black car driven by Reggie idling outside her apartment every day when she got home fromwork.
The gallery, once a cozy refuge from the world, had begun to feel confining, and Nina had passed the hours when there were no customers rearranging office supplies, cleaning coffee cups, and sweeping the floor for the fifth time in one day. She’d started watching the clock, desperate for the day to end so she could escape to Jack’sapartment.
So she could escape into the intense sexual pleasure hedelivered.
She’d done nothing but move between her apartment, the gallery, Jack’s car, and the penthouse at the Mandarin Oriental. She suddenly wanted to beoutside.
She shoved the pictures back into the envelope. “You know what? You’re right — I do feel a little edgy. Must be cabin fever.” She picked her bag up off the floor and shoved the envelope into it. “I think I’m going to try to find ourstalker.”
“The photographer?” Moni asked. “In thepark?”
Nina nodded. “I feel like walking, and you’re right: I should at leasttry.”
“Good for you,” Monisaid.
Nina picked up a pad of Post-It notes and dug in the filing cabinet for the duct tape, shoved them in her bag, and slipped on her coat. “See youtomorrow?”
“I’ll be late. I’m going to stop in and check onTobin.”
Nina laughed. “Goodluck.”
She headed for the door and stepped onto the street. She texted Jack before descending to the subway station, not wanting him to bother picking her up. She would take the subway to his place after she hit thepark.
It felt good to be moving, to be with the rest of the city’s residents pushing their way through the turnstiles and crowding the platform to wait for the L train. She felt like she’d been in a bubble since the moment Jack had told her to get herpassport.
She wished she’d thought to wear something more practical — her legs were cold under her coat and traversing the city in heels still wasn’t her favorite — but she’d dressed that morning for her night with Jack, not a trek through the park to hunt for her mysteryphotographer.
It was one of the hazards of spending her nights at the penthouse — and not the most dangerous one. As difficult as it was juggling her wardrobe and her schedule, stopping at the apartment first thing in the morning to change for the gallery and running upstairs to feed and pet Virginia — it was nothing compared to the peril of getting too attached to JackMorgan.
And she wasattached.
He hadn’t been quite as open since they’d returned to the city as he’d been in Paris, but he was gentle and solicitous everywhere but in bed. There he’d become increasingly passionate and demanding, exploring her body with a thoroughness that would have been embarrassing if it hadn’t been soerotic.
She was happy to lay in his arms afterward, listening to his heart beat under her ear, a reminder that he was a man even when the defenses he’d built around himself seemed to indicateotherwise.
She tried not to think about the future, to wonder whether what they had was sustainable, whether Jack would grow tired of her realness. It was okay to enjoy the experience, to see where it took her, and she’d become protective of the details, not wanting to invite criticism from Karen, and especially Moni, both of whom had had front row seats to the aftermath of the fiasco with Jack andLiam.
