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She waved at the front desk attendant as she led me to the elevator, mashing the topmost button. The elevator doors slid open to reveal a breathtaking view of the Chicago skyline and a newly identical replica of her penthouse in New York.
“Did you hire the same designer?” I teased.
“Why mess with success? The people atArchitectural Digestloved it.” She set her purse on a table by the door and slipped off her heels, padding into the kitchen. She stood on her toes to retrieve the six-thousand dollar bottle of whiskey from above the microwave, as casually as if she’d picked it up at a cheap liquor store. “I’m glad you came up.”
She pulled a wooden box out of the freezer. Some fancy artisanal ice made from a Fjord in Norway and stamped with a Viking symbol for prosperity or something equivalent. I took a pair of tumblers from the cabinet and set them on the counter next to her.
“Yeah, well, someone’s got to make sure you don’t bust your ass in the lobby and end up in a gossip column.”
She clinked a single massive square cube into each tumbler, nearly filling the glass before splashing too much whiskey on top, overfilling her glass with easily a hundred dollars worth of liquid. I sighed, taking away the bottle before she emptied it on the floor.
She picked up her glass, sipping the excess off the top and nodding toward the living room. I followed her, sitting on the end of the couch. She crowded in beside me, her knees brushing my thigh.
“What’s up, Payton?”
She gave me a flirtatious wink. “I know what you’re doing, Andrew. I’ve got your number.”
“Do you?” I asked, baffled. Maybe I should have stopped drinking a bar earlier.
Her hand touched my knee. “I just wish I’d thought of it sooner.”
I sipped the whiskey, eyeing her hand. “I’m not following at all.”
She leaned in close. Her lips brushed my shirt collar, and her breath was hot on my neck. “Remember back in December?”
How could I forget?
Brad’s holiday party reminded me more of a frat party than a Christmas celebration. He’d rented out a super yacht off the coast of Miami and offered gambling, drinks, and probably a fair bit of drugs. In the early hours of the morning, Payton and I kissed. Just a single kiss, pulling apart when some CEO shuffled onto the deck to piss off the side, leaving us both in hysterics and breaking whatever temporary spell we’d been under.
“We said that was a mistake.”
Or, in hindsight, I’d said the kiss was a mistake. Payton agreed.
“Now you have a wife at home. A wife who doesn’t expect you to be with her. It’s perfect. We can see where this goes under the radar. My dad will never know.” She smiled at me, running a fingertip down my cheek. “Give me a shot, Andrew.”
CHAPTER26
Nora
The professor wrotea long string of numbers on the board; a list of problems due in two days which I wrote into my planner with a groan. Hopefully, someone in my study group could make sense of the math that had just sailed over my head for the past hour. Or maybe I should have taken pre-pre-calculus instead.
At his dismissal, I packed my things and checked in with my classmates, ensuring I wasn’t the only one left clueless by the class. With an hour until my next class, I went to a local coffee shop, ordering a drip. A better student would have worked on their homework, but I was not a better student. Instead, I pulled out my phone and enjoyed my drink while scrolling through Instagram, catching up on Thea’s newest fashion show in Boston and Millie and Len’s latest hike.
I scrolled past Becca’s pre-game pictures in Dallas and stopped on a couple. I squinted my eyes, making sense of the familiar face in an entirely unfamiliar scene. Andy, I realized with a jolt, at some bar in Chicago. My chest clenched. He stood in front of a neon pink light with the words “Sip, Relax, and…” something. Andy and the brunette clinging to his side obscured the rest of the sign.
I turned my attention to her, taking a moment to slot her into place. I hadn’t seen the woman in a month, but a woman like Payton Sexton was impossible to forget. She had a powerhouse presence, even in a dumb, cliche Instagram post at a swanky bar. She oozed charisma and, even as I recoiled at her wrapped around my husband, I couldn’t blame the thousands of commenters gushing over the shot, over her.
How had this shown up in my feed?
Right, I followed all Andy’s colleagues in some ill-conceived notion to get to know them better and look engaged.
Of course, Payton hadn’t followed me back. Why would she? She followed a dozen pseudo-celebrities, all of whom followed her back, and nobody else.
I took a deep breath and set down the phone, the picture mocking me. While Andy globe trotted with sophisticated, sexy women with fancy blowouts, impeccably manicured nails, and fire engine red lipstick, I attended community college, had a dog named Trashcan, and went to bed alone.
I sipped my coffee, tapping the screen so it wouldn’t fade to black before picking up the phone again. I opened Andy's last string of text messages, not finding so much as a word regarding Payton.
Sure, he said drinks, but drinks covered all manner of things: a quick nightcap at the hotel bar, a late-night discussion with co-workers. Not a midnight rendezvous with stylish women in Instagram-worthy bars.
