“No,” she says. “You can learn as we go along.” She worries it sounds like she’s flirting. Coke’s eyes are resting on her throat, and then they travel down the front of her body.
“There is something I want to ask you about the master bath,” Coke says. “I have a friendly enemy, a competitor of mine over at Bank of America, who told me that his master bath has an accent wall of lunar rocks.”
“Lunar rocks?” Jennifer asks. “Rocks from the moon? The actual moon?”
“Come, let’s look at it,” Coke says. His hand lands on the exposed bare skin of Jennifer’s back. The halter blouse she’s wearing is one she bought specifically to please Patrick upon his return from prison. Coke leads Jennifer into the next room, the bedroom, which is empty save for a California king platform bed and a black lacquered dresser. The master bath is on the far side of the bedroom, but Coke stops Jennifer in front of the south-facing window, from which one can see Washington Street, the theater district, Chinatown.
Jennifer is now very, very sorry she agreed to this meeting and even sorrier that she wore such a seductive outfit. The music changes to John Mayer singing the world’s sexiest song. It’s then Jennifer realizes that Coke intentionally laid a trap and Jennifer has fallen right into it.
She clears her throat and says, “Well, there’s no arguing with the view—” But before her words are fully out, Coke is pulling her toward him for a kiss. His hand runs down her spine.
She can’t believe this is happening. When his lips meet hers, she panics. What should she do? She pushes against the front of Coke’s beautifully tailored shirt.
“No,” she says. “I’m sorry, Coke, I can’t. I’m happily married.”
There is one instant when Jennifer thinks things might still be okay. Coke can laugh it off, apologize, blame his forwardness on the alcohol. He can promise to behave himself from here on out so that they can have a drama-free working relationship, and Jennifer can collect her half a million in fees and be the decorator for the most prestigious project in Boston.
But instead Coke pulls Jennifer in even closer and places his mouth on the sensitive skin just below her ear. He bites her lightly and says, “Come on, Jen. We both know you aren’t that happy.”
“What?” Jennifer says. Coke’s voice is that of her inner demons. She’s not that happy. But sleeping with Grayson Coker isn’t going to help; it’s going to make things far, far worse. Jennifer struggles to disentangle herself without actually striking out at him, but he won’t loosen his grip. She can still feel his breath on her neck. “Please,” she says. “Let me go. Let me go right this instant.”
He pushes her away and she stumbles in her boots, but thankfully doesn’t fall. She steadies herself and hurries into the other room, where she pulls on her coat. She should never have taken it off! She should never have worn this blouse! What was she thinking! She snatches up her bag.
“I’m leaving, Mr. Coker,” she says. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this job will work out for me.”
Coke stands in the doorway, shaking his head as though she’s a disappointing child. “It’s your loss, Jen.”
“Jennifer,” she says. “My name is Jennifer Quinn.” With this, she storms from the apartment onto the elevator and prays he won’t follow her.
Walking home, Jennifer is shaking, addled, confused. How did that meeting go off the rails so quickly? Was it her fault for agreeing to the late hour, to the empty apartment, to the drink? She had worn the wrong outfit, and she should never have gone for a cocktail at Carrie Nation. She shouldn’t have worn makeup or perfume, a skirt or high-heeled boots.
Then Jennifer stops herself. It wasn’t her fault. Coke misinterpreted her body language or her nonverbal cues, maybe even the tone of her voice. Jennifer asked him nicely to stop; she was firm and clear, and still he persisted. He was in the wrong. Jennifer’s only choice was to walk away from Grayson Coker and his fabulous project and all his money.
It’s your loss, Jen.
She can’t help feeling he’s right. She and Paddy needed that money. Needed it badly.
Jennifer arrives home a few minutes before Paddy and the boys, which gives her enough time to change out of the cursed outfit into her yoga pants and Patriots T-shirt. Paddy looks happier than he has in weeks, maybe months; the time alone with the kids cheered him up. He has barbecue sauce on his cheek. Jennifer wipes it off, and he kisses her.
“How was the meeting?” he asks.
She hears the boys happily roughhousing out in the hallway.
“Fine,” she says.
Patrick leans farther in and kisses nearly the exact spot by Jennifer’s ear that Coke bit. Jennifer tries not to cringe. She likes to tell Patrick everything—or nearly everything—but she knows there is no way to share this story without ruining the night and creating a scene. It will be beyond a scene, as two issues are at stake: Jennifer’s honor, for one, and the lost money, for another. Jennifer can easily imagine Patrick deciding to walk over to Millennium Tower with a baseball bat, prepared to threaten Grayson Coker. And what if Jennifer takes partial responsibility? What if she shows Patrick what she was wearing?
“I Googled the guy,” Patrick says. “He’s the sixth-richest man in Boston.”
“I’m not sure it’s the right project for me,” Jennifer says.
“I thought we went over this,” Patrick says. “If you don’t stretch, you won’t grow. It’ll be good for you to try something different.”
Jennifer can’t find the words to refute him, and so she hugs Patrick close and nods against his chest. She’s going to have to tell him the job is gone, but she won’t do it tonight.
“I’m going downstairs,” she says. “I need to make the lunches.”
The next morning, despite a slight hangover from the scotch, Jennifer decides to meet Leanne at barre class. She needs to pulse out her anxiety. She thinks she might even tell Leanne what happened with Grayson Coker and ask her advice about how to handle it with Patrick. What Jennifer needs is a friend, a confidante.
What she needs, she thinks, is an Ativan.
She’s crossing the Public Garden when her phone pings. She gets a funny feeling and thinks: It’s Grayson Coker, apologizing. But when she sees the alert, she stops in her tracks.
It’s a text from Norah Vale.
It’s as if Norah Vale has read her mind or sensed that this morning of all mornings is when Jennifer is at her most vulnerable.
Jennifer plops down on the nearest park bench. She should delete the text without reading it, she thinks. Because what could it possibly say?
Well, Jennifer reasons, it doesn’t automatically have to be about drugs. Jennifer hasn’t seen or heard from Norah since the previous Christmas, when Norah kindly switched ferry tickets with Jennifer so that Jennifer, Paddy, and the boys could get to Nantucket in time for Kevin’s wedding. Kevin’s second wedding—because Kevin’s first wedding had been to Norah herself. Norah Vale should have been the last person to offer to help, but she did so anyway.