“Fine. Yeah. Long day, Skip. Go home. You’re going to be holding down the fort for the whole holiday, so you better get some sleep while you can. See you in the New Year.” He gave us both a short wave.

“Thanks. Have a great holiday! Safe travels.” I started to organize the papers on my desk as though I was preparing to go home, not stopping until I was certain he was gone.

Peter looked at me, cocked his head to the side, and relaxed his body. The green in his eyes darkened to hazel as I felt a tension creeping toward me and then flooding me.

“It’s late,” I said, craning my neck to stay above the rising tide.

“Yes,” he said, unblinking.

I watched as Anna packed up her things and gave me a wave as she headed toward the elevator. Then I gave Peter a slight nod to indicate he should shut the door, which he did before sitting again with a smirk.

I crossed my legs and leaned back in my chair as though stretching before calling it quits for the night, looking at him as neutrally as possible, almost begging him to leave. But he didn’t. Nor did he move toward me. He was smarter than I was, more controlled, more evolved. He just sat there, legs slightly spread apart, his white shirt impossibly crisp under his blazer. I bit at my lower lip and felt his eyes on my mouth. I pretended to ignore him and look at my computer for a moment before turning back to him. And still, he sat. I felt a stirring below my stomach.

“It’s late,” I repeated.

He just looked back at me. I stood up, my head light and my legs shaking. As I walked toward Peter, it occurred to me that my brain had just capitulated to my body. I made my way slowly around my desk and stood directly in front of him, inches away but not touching. I leaned against the desk and rested on it.

For a moment I feared that he wouldn’t do anything, but he reached for me, placing one hand on each of my hips so gently he was barely touching me. His thumbs rested on my stomach, right where my skirt met my blouse, and his other fingers wrapped around to my back. I felt that he had complete control over me, that he could will me into any position or direction he liked, but he wielded this power so subtly, exploring rather than commanding, feeling rather than forcing. In that moment, I realized the futility of pretending I didn’t want him.

His fingers tightened, coaxing me into him, almost in between his knees, and he finally leaned into me. I was shocked by the intimacy of it, of how I felt him need me as his cheek rested on my stomach, his arms around my waist. I reached down and touched his hair, combing through the thick strands, then pulled slightly at the electricity that passed between us.

He stood slowly—painfully slowly—his hands still at my waist, his face inching up my torso toward my mouth. His lips passed my breasts and brushed them. Everything in me came alive—too alive. I felt as though I would crumble. He came to eye level with me, and then his lips passed mine as he stood straight. I couldn’t bear to look up at him just yet, but I placed my hands on his chest and slid my fingers between his shirt and his blazer. I pushed the blazer over his shoulders and down his arms. He let it fall onto the chair behind him.

I put my hands back on his chest and fingered his top button, feeling the charge from his heart course through me but still not looking up at him. I undid the next button. And then the next. I let my hand rest on the brass buckle of his belt. I stopped there, too afraid of where it might lead. He ran his hands slowly down the sides of my arms, letting them slip over my silk shirt, then started back up.

I finally looked up at him then, unable to help myself, begging him with my eyes to kiss me. He didn’t obey, though he knew precisely what I wanted. He put his hands back around my waist, lifted my feet off the ground and dropped me onto my desk, where my feet dangled off the floor. I stole a glance at the closed door. He saw my gaze. He registered the fear of being caught, of the affair, of what I felt for him, in my eyes. I shut my eyes and breathed as he finally kissed me. He pulled his lips away and locked eyes with me. I gave him a short, sad smile—a silent apology to Sam, to the world, for escaping into him. He worked my skirt up to my waist and I took a sharp breath in.

He pushed my head down toward my desk so my back was flat against my mess of papers, then dropped to his knees and put his mouth on me.

I clamped my hand over my own mouth. Just as my back relaxed out of its arch and the world formed definite shapes around me again, he was on top of me. He smiled, taking a piece of paper from next to my head, crumpling it up and shoving it in my mouth. I let the paper muffle my cry of pleasure.

We lay on my office floor, the rough industrial carpeting scratching deliciously at my back. I clasped his hand in mine, staring at our intertwined fingers. I ran the index finger from my free hand over the small lines of his scars, recalling that first meal we had had together, contentedly imagining little Peter shucking oysters, basking in the New England sun. We looked up at the ceiling and out at the other lit-up Manhattan buildings. I wondered how many other interoffice affairs were happening in those little cubes of light, and how many of them had just watched ours. He rolled away from me and began plucking up his clothes from around my office.

“I leave for Hawaii tomorrow,” he said, buttoning his shirt. “Catch you in the New Year, kiddo.” He winked at me. I had known he was leaving for vacation before I slept with him, but it somehow now felt like he was getting on a plane to leave me personally. I forced a smile through the mental images of him with his wife and kids on a beach in paradise. I wanted him to tell me that he’d miss me. I wanted him to tell me he didn’t want to go. But he touched my chin and lifted it to him, giving me a short kiss, and left me seemingly without hesitation. I felt suddenly that I might cry.

Alone in the room, I set out to destroy all evidence of the encounter in an effort to wrest control of my emotions. I swept every piece of paper on my desk into the bin with one arm, gasping to see that the wrinkled statement of intent was now streaked with blood. I got a tissue and slipped it up my skirt to see if it was coming from me. It wasn’t.

I grabbed the Windex again and scrubbed the surface of my desk until it shone, then called reception to order me a car home. On the way out, I ran to the restroom, where I brushed my teeth and spit out a bit of blood. I inspected my tongue and found a raw paper cut on the tip. I used mouthwash and relished the sting—as though it were my punishment for the transgression. As I walked through the lobby, I gave Lincoln a friendly wave, searching his expression for evidence that he was aware of my indiscretion. If he was, he didn’t let on, smiling warmly as usual. I slipped into the black town car that was waiting for me.

“You’re Alex Vogel?” The driver eyed me cautiously in his rearview mirror as he pulled away.

My heart sank. Did all our company drivers talk to one another? Had Peter’s driver told everybody about the night at the Pierre? “Yup,” I said and nodded, making brief eye contact. As we drove on, I noticed him looking back at me every couple of minutes. I attempted to move closer to the window and out of his view, but the mirror seemed to follow me.

“You’re a girl.”

Relax, I told myself. He’s not going to do anything to you. Klasko has his name, and his employee ID, and they know you’re in the car. “Yup,” I said again, staring out the window. I took my phone out and unlocked it, ready to use it in case of emergency. My legs shook wildly. Was this my punishment for cheating? I had only ten blocks to go. I began to pray.

“Look, I’m just saying, as a woman you gotta check yourself.”

“Excuse me?” I allowed my eyes to meet his.

“I didn’t know you was a woman. That’s just . . . I got daughters. And I would. I think you need to look in the mirror and check yourself.”

“I think you have me confused—”

“I can’t wait to tell everybody back at dispatch that you’re a woman. Pinky is going to FREAK out. He hates that diner run.”

My mind raced. I had absolutely no idea what the man was talking about, but he seemed angry, and I didn’t think it would help my case to ask any questions. I unfocused my gaze, willing the car ride to be over, and when he finally pulled up in front of my building, I exited and slammed the door without saying another word to him. I guess if that was my punishment, I thought, it wasn’t so bad.

Chapter 17