“Everything’s fine,” I lie. “See you Wednesday at the Maxwell Club? I’ll call you.” Even before I say the words, I feel like a louse. “And Bailey, I’m sure it goes without saying that you’ll keep the details of our encounter out of the press?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sebastian tense, but I’m not looking at him. I’m looking at Bailey, who has gone sheet-white with shock.
Fuck. I’ve screwed up. I should have never opened my mouth.
* * *
Sebastian:
I see the hurt on Bailey’s face as Daniel utters his ill-thought out words. Daniel does too, and his shoulders hunch and his expression turns bleak. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, his arms dropping helplessly to his sides.
Bailey quickly pulls her clothes back on, and glances at the door. “I should go,” she says, not meeting our eyes, her fingers fiddling with the strap on her embroidered bag. I can hear her discomfort in her voice. She clears her throat and looks in Daniel’s direction. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I understand your need for privacy.” She laughs, a false little trill that doesn’t sound like her at all. “I’m sure that NYU wouldn’t approve of what we did either…” Her voice trails off, and she stands up. “See you Wednesday, I guess?”
If you don’t know Daniel, his face is an unfeeling mask. But I’ve known Daniel for a long time, and I see the regret and the shame etched in his features. He knows he’s screwed up. Bailey is not like the women he’s dated half-heartedly in the last seven years. She’s not going to date him for publicity, and she’s not going to spill details of our tryst on social media. I can’t believe Daniel can’t see that.
I want to ask Bailey to stay, but her distress is obvious and I don’t want to cause more pain. “Come on,” I tell her, standing up. “I’ll take you home.”
“No, there’s no need. I’m fine,” she demurs.
As much as I want to respect her desire to be alone, I’m not going to let her take the subway or a cab alone in the dark. I had a deeply conflicted relationship with my parents, but they did raise me to be chivalrous. “I need to go home too,” I point out with a friendly smile. “Let’s share a cab.”
“Okay,” she says reluctantly.
I see her desire to flee in the set of her shoulders, in the hands clenched into fists at her side. So does Daniel. He finally speaks. “Bailey,” he says, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
She doesn’t meet his gaze. “I told you, Daniel,” she says in a deliberately neutral tone, “there’s nothing to be sorry for.” She turns to me. “I’m leaving now.”
I give Daniel a warning look. He’s done enough for the moment. Bailey had drawn into herself, and she’s too bruised to listen to anything he has to say. There will be another time to make amends. “Let’s go.” I grab Bailey’s jacket from Daniel’s coat closet and hand it to her.
Behind us, Daniel takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He’s tense again. Earlier this evening, as we’d eaten dinner and played pool and pleasured Bailey on the pool table, he’d become a person he hadn’t been in a very long time. Easy-going, amused, his eyes filled with ready laughter.
Now, that person has retreated once again into the shadows, and in his place I see Daniel Hartman, CEO of a Fortune 500 Company, ruthless businessman. And he’s miserable.
* * *
“You can yell, you know,” I tell her in the cab. The taxi driver has a cell phone pressed against his ear, in total violation of New York City laws, and is engaged in a heated argument with someone on the other end of the line. He’s not paying any attention to our conversation. “You’d be justified.”
“It’s not a problem,” she says tonelessly. “Like I told Daniel, I understand.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. She’s sitting on the far side of the cab, pressed against the door, and the gap between us right now seems huge and insurmountable. She’s not okay, not even close. “Bullshit. It was a dick thing to say, okay?”