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“Too many for me to know the exact number,” he says, and raises an eyebrow. “What do you think about this hotel?”
I look away from the intensity in his eyes. “Stunning. It has a mellower feel than your main location in New York, lighter in color. It feels more… business and less vacation. People come here to recharge after a day of work, not after a day of boozy sightseeing. But it’s still built to impress, just in a way that’s less glamorous and more stately.”
“You have a good eye, Miss Bishop.”
“Sophia,” I say. It slips out. “Please call me Sophia, when we’re… well. I prefer it.”
“Sophia,” he murmurs. “All right.”
Nerves make my next words quick. “Thank you for dinner the other night, and the cab home. The tasting menu was incredible.”
He shakes his head and signals for the bartender. “Brandy, neat. Sophia will have…?”
“Another glass of Chardonnay, thank you.”
He drums his knuckles against the bar. “Also, two glasses of water—still.”
“Of course, sir,” the bartender says, already reaching for my now-empty glass.
Isaac clears his throat. “There’s no need to thank me for the food. It was research. So, which suites did you and your colleagues get?”
“The standard,” I say. “It looked lovely at check-in.”
His mouth tightens. “They’re decent.”
“Decent? There’s a pillow menu next to my queen-sized bed and a fully stocked minibar.” I smile at him. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but this is a five-star hotel.”
He snorts. “I hadn’t, actually. Did you do a lot of research before you booked it?”
“Oh yes. I spent a solid hour reading reviews and compared this place to every hotel on Pennsylvania Ave.”
“And what made you choose us?” He leans back in the chair. “You know, customer satisfaction is our main priority.”
My hand curls around the stem of my new wineglass. “Well, the reviews mentioned excellent personal service. It convinced me.”
His lips curve. “You want a personal touch?”
“Yes, I do.”
There’s a long beat of silence between us, and Isaac looks down at the brandy that’s appeared in front of him. His long fingers curve around the tumbler and I catch the hint of stubble along his jaw.
“You know,” he says, “I’ve never seen you before.”
“Before? Do you mean before we met in your lobby?”
He nods. “You were married to Percival Browne. Surely I would have run into you both together somewhere. Manhattan is small, and Percy went to school a few years behind me.”
“Oh.” I run a hand over my neck, finding my ponytail. I ease out the tie and let the hair spread around my shoulders, considering my answer.
Manhattan isn’t small. It’s enormous.
But just like my ex-husband, Isaac usesManhattanas the name for their social circle. The small, insulated group of people that never live further than a few blocks from Central Park.
“Well, we didn’t go to a lot of parties together after our first couple of years. Percy preferred meeting his friends at the golf course or the club.”
“Ah,” Isaac says, and there’s a world of meaning in the word.
I sigh. “Yeah. It didn’t exactly help me make friends in the city.”
