Twenty-eight
Wes lay in bed with his arms folded behind his head, Erma purring on his chest, and thought so hard his brain started to disintegrate.
He had slept with Nadine. Or Nadine slept with him. Either way, people had been mutually slept with.
How could he be simultaneously filled with so much regret and lack of regret? Wes lifted his head to stare at the bedroom door, wishing for X-ray vision that could pierce walls so he could see what she was thinking. The thing was, he knew about Nadine’s views on everything from the polarization of the political landscape (bad) to the Oxford comma (good), but he didn’t know how she felt about casual sex.
Or him.
At the moment, both of those were more important than her thoughts on the need for better media literacy training in schools (vital), because Wes had never been fond of casual sex. He liked to get to know someone before seeing them naked, and he loved the intimacy of the next morning, when sex was more of a confirmation of where the relationship could go rather than a beginning and an end all wrapped up. Sex without those things could be good—often great—in the moment but left him hollow after.
He groaned and Erma leapt off him with an offended trill, digging her claws into his chest to emphasize her disapproval.
Realistically, there was only one adult way to handle this. He texted Caleb the situation and his brilliant solution.
The reply came almost instantly. You can’t seriously think leaving the country is a good idea.
The city then , Wes wrote back.
People do this all the time. Chill.
Easy enough for Caleb to say. Until he’d met his now-fiancée, Caleb was the master of the one-night stand. He hadn’t seen it as a big deal and chose partners with the same attitude. A bit of fun and no hard feelings.
Unless you like her , came Caleb’s next message. Then you got to talk.
How do I know? Wes texted back.
You know when you know. With that useless advice, Caleb was gone, leaving Wes to his own thoughts. “You know when you know.” What the hell did that mean? He stared at a bubble in the green glass of a bottle that looked as if it might have come from the Queen Anne’s Revenge . What did he know?
Did he like Nadine? He’d thought he disliked her for so long, it had become an assumption he’d never had to analyze. The sun rose in the east and set in the west, and Nadine would get on his nerves or screw him over.
Except all the things that used to provoke him, he realized with a start, had become almost endearing. He knew he enjoyed working with her, but the pleasure in talking with her about Dot’s clues, or anything, was new. The fighting was more out of form than any desire to win. He let his mind trace the edges of what he’d suspected for a few days but hadn’t been willing to admit. He didn’t like Nadine. He liked her. More than that, he might be falling for her. Nadine was smart and industrious, but he’d known that for ages. Witty, he knew that too. Pretty. Correction, incredibly hot, especially the moment when she’d wrapped those full thighs around him and those big eyes had gotten bigger.
He covered his face. This was not the time to relive one of the high points of his life. He had serious contemplating to do.
He’d always thought falling in love would be more of a sledgehammer to the head rather than this slow infiltration. A fall rather than a light downward drift. Two months ago, he could barely stand to think of Nadine without animosity. That had changed since they’d been in Dot’s house and he’d allowed himself to see her the way she really was. He wanted to be with the woman he saw. He wanted to hold her hand, all that stuff. He wanted more.
This could be hormones speaking. Most likely sex and the resultant oxytocin had worked their magic. He needed to take some time to carefully test where he was on the spectrum of crush, like, or maybe more than like, especially while they had to work together.
He would get dressed and go about his day as if nothing had happened. No, as if what had happened last night was fun but no big deal. That was better.
He gathered his clothes and was about to go wash when he heard Nadine’s door open. Cursing himself for not picking a room with an en suite, Wes halted midstep. She couldn’t see him with messy hair and unbrushed teeth. He at least needed to be groomed.
Wes waited until her footsteps faded, then ran to the bathroom. It was going to be a hell of a day.
***
Nadine woke up early and instantly freaked out.
What had she done? What had they done?
It was a mistake, obviously. They were a tiny bit tipsy and in a grotto, for God’s sake. It was a recipe for friskiness.
Too bad she was having trouble seeing it as a misstep. Last night had felt good, that was for sure, but more than that, it had felt right. She’d kept waiting for it to get weird, and it never had, not even when he’d gotten up to go to his own bed. Nadine had been dozing when he’d given her a kiss on the forehead before he left, and she’d been grateful he’d taken the choice of asking him to stay or go out of her hands. It also gave them time to think, which she needed.
Because she was having feelings about last night. Conflicting feelings. Big feelings.
She didn’t like Wes. Or did she? She thought back to their interactions. She’d resented Wes at the same time as she admired his work and his work ethic. She mistrusted him, but that hadn’t prevented her from thinking about him for years, although their paths barely crossed.
Did she…like Wes?
Impossible.
Or was it? What if she did? What would that mean? Would it be that bad? She knew Wes, after all. They were—somewhat—getting along. He was, in many ways, the kind of man she hoped to have in her life.
What was the matter with her, picking out kids’ names after one night with a guy? It was sex, that was it. They didn’t need to talk about it because they were two consenting adults who had known each other for a long time and were in close quarters. And who had developed a mutual desire to get off with each other.
They could pretend this never happened or be honest and talk about it. She’d take her cue from Wes, she decided, then got out of bed with a resolute attitude that didn’t match the way her pounding heart prevented her from taking full breaths.
In the kitchen, she boiled water while casting nervous glances at the door, almost queasy with tension. When he finally appeared, she scrutinized him for any changes in attitude. Was he more awkward? Avoiding eye contact? Did he seem like he regretted last night? He looked the same as always, although she couldn’t help but see him in a different way now that she knew what was under the ironed cotton shorts.
She couldn’t take the pressure. She had to get in front of this.
“We need to talk,” she said, summoning her best ice queen self.
“Okay,” he said, eyes wide. “Good morning.”
The ice melted at his expression and left her instantly exposed. “You start.”
He shook his head frantically. “You brought it up. You start.”
“That’s not how a conversation works. I said words, so you have to respond with more and different words.”
He snorted. “If the words are we need to talk that rule goes out the window.”
“Fine.” Nadine held out her fist. “Rock, paper, scissors.”
“Seriously?”
She shook her fist at him, and he gave in and held out his own.
“One, two, three, go.”
They checked each other’s outstretched palms. “Again,” she said.
After the fifth matching round, Wes rubbed his bicep. “Jesus, we’re going to be here all day. Can I at least get some coffee?”
“I’ll allow a break.” She peeled a banana and passed him half. “Here. It’s our last one.”
Wes paused his multistep brewing process. “But you like them.”
“So do you.” She wasn’t going to hoard a banana.
“Oh.” He looked at the banana, then gave his head a shake. “Look, fine, I’ll start. Last night was…”
He hesitated, and Nadine jumped in, knowing what he was about to say and unable to hear the words out loud. “A mistake,” she said. “I agree. It was unprofessional of us.”
Wes’s face froze. “We should concentrate on work?” he said.
It sounded like more of a question, but Nadine nodded. “That makes sense.” She shuffled her feet a bit. “Uh, why don’t I leave you to finish the coffee, and I’ll get started?”
His eyes were focused on measuring the scoops into the cafetière, which he’d brought from home and Nadine wasn’t allowed to touch after he caught her plunging the filter up and down to mix the grounds. “Sounds good.”
She hoped he wasn’t upset. Surely he had to know it wasn’t a rejection of him but the situation. Plus, he’d been the one to say it was a mistake first. Well, not exactly, but that was what he was going to say. This was the best and most workable scenario.
Then why was she disappointed, especially since she brought this on herself?
To her relief, Wes seemed normal by the time he met her in the library with two cups of steaming coffee. This confirmed that she’d done the right thing, although it felt unresolved, like there was more to say but neither of them knew what. They separated to various spots in the house, Nadine’s mind half on the search and half on Wes. Or ninety percent on Wes and ten on work if it was a boring drawer, which most of them were.
She was sorting old holiday cards when Wes came in with a matcha latte that she took with gratitude. It must be eleven o’clock. They’d started taking turns to make midmorning drinks and outdo each other with the presentation. Her glass had a green sprinkle on top of the foam that resembled a cat. Yesterday, she’d given him fruit tea decorated with ice she’d frozen petals in.
“Holiday cards?” he asked.
“Nothing useful.”
Wes looked stunning, with a pair of black cotton pants and a white T-shirt that was tight enough to show off everything she’d run her hands over last night. He went back out, and her gaze drifted down. On the walls were old group photos made up of individual portraits, and she bet those fine ladies would take one look at Wes and cheer her on. She sighed and went back to the cards.
“Erma!” Her concentration was broken by Wes reprimanding the cat. “Bad cat.”
“What did she do?” she called.
“Knocked my notebook down.” Wes blew his breath out in frustration so loud she heard it across the hall. “This cat will be the death of me, I swear.”
“She likes you,” sang out Nadine to cover her jealousy. It was a hit to her ego to be rated second best by the cat.
Wes came in holding Erma so her limbs stuck out and put her where Nadine was working. “Enjoy.”
The cat stared at Nadine, hoisted her hind leg, and began grooming.
“Have some respect,” Nadine said, nudging the cat with her knee. “Who fed you this morning? Me.”
But Erma’s memory was short and her conscience pure, because instead of doing anything that could have remotely been interpreted as gratitude, she jumped on a desk and then to one of the mannequins, where she perched on the narrow shoulder of a fancy seafoam dress with lace and black bows.
“Erma!” Nadine scolded.
“She likes you,” called Wes in the same voice she’d used on him. “Shit, that’s not good. Erma, get down. Not like that! Erma!”
The cat leapt from one mannequin to the next, toppling both over. Wes made a desperate grab to steady them by their tiny nineteenth-century corseted waists, but it was too late. They fell on Nadine in a flurry of very expensive and delicate fabric.
Wes swore from above her. “Stay still,” he said.
As he pulled up the mannequins, Nadine saw a small box under the skirts. “Hold on,” she said, reaching under the layers of embroidered white silk. She fished out the varnished wooden box as Wes inched the second mannequin back in place.
“I saw that when we were searching for the cat and thought it was part of the base,” he said. “Good eye.”
Nadine accepted the compliment with a nod and opened the box. Inside was a single piece of newsprint, and her first instinct was to cry. Another clipping. How many more were in this house?
Then she picked it up to give it a quick scan. Blackmail attempt by former senator staffer was the headline. It was written by a Herald staff reporter.
A former staffer attempted to blackmail Senator John Wilson, said the senator’s office today. Monica Olway threatened to discredit Senator Wilson with allegations of financial and professional misconduct after she was fired with cause from her position last week. Olway told the senator she wanted a new job and compensation or she would release private and, according to the senator’s office, falsified information.
Senator John Wilson said he was shocked at Olway’s blackmail threat. “As a public figure, my integrity is my shield,” he said. “I have nothing to hide. This is part of a targeted harassment campaign, and I will defend myself with vigor.”
“She lied on her résumé,” said a source in the senator’s office. “God knows what else she lies about.”
“John Wilson. A politician. A potential scandal .” Wes tapped his lip. “Wait. In Thirty Pieces , the bad guy was James Walton. JW. The initials.”
She jumped up, holding the scrap in the air. “We have something!”
“We do.” Wes grabbed Nadine by the waist, lifting her and spinning her around. “Incredible find,” he breathed as he put her back down. “God, I love you.”
Nadine froze. “What?”
***
Nadine’s eyes were comically huge, and then as if to underscore the severity of Wes’s fuckup in real time, thunder shook the house.
Why?
Why?
Why did he have to go and open his big mouth? Things were going so well between them. Then he had to ruin it.
He didn’t realize he was edging away from Nadine until his back bumped against one of the mannequins, forcing him to fumble it straight, which he managed by grabbing the bust with both hands. Just spectacular.
“You what?” she repeated. She didn’t sound angry or confused. If anything, she sounded completely emotionless, and Wes couldn’t tell if that was better or worse. It only took a second’s more reflection to decide it was definitely worse.
If he was lucky, he might be able to get through this with a minimal amount of humiliation, like only five years of shame nightmares instead of a full decade. A psychologist he’d once interviewed told him someone’s feelings about him were none of his business, which Wes had found condescending and absurd, although Rebecca loved it. However, it could be reversed. He’d made his feelings Nadine’s business, and in the middle of a job. That wasn’t cool.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words sticking in his throat. “I didn’t mean it. It was a slip of the tongue.”
Nadine’s expression didn’t change. Wes’s brain was on its fourth internal chant of Please say it’s okay so I can die in peace , when she finally blinked. How could any woman’s eyes be so clear? They saw right through him, and at the edge of his vision, he saw her rubbing her thumb on her hand. The thin sundress—even in the depths of his disgrace, he could kiss the person who created that style—showed the quick rise and fall of her chest.
Then she said, “Okay.”
“Okay?” he repeated.
“Sure.” She laughed like it was a great joke. “Don’t worry about it. I called Daniel ‘Dad’ once, and you wouldn’t believe the look on his face.”
Wes looked at her suspiciously, but she was already rereading the clipping about Monica Olway. Good. She knew he didn’t mean anything by it.
Nothing at all.