Have You Seen Me?(57)

“Sasha, I know you want to do more writing, but it seems it would be smarter to focus on pitching solid personal finance pieces,” I say, unable to resist giving her some unsolicited advice. “And save the muckraking until you have more experience as a reporter. But whatever you decide, please don’t use my name again.”

“Fine,” she says curtly.

I sign off feeling flustered by her revelation. Damien’s a rule bender, sometimes a rule breaker, but he’s got scruples. Or at least I always thought he did.

I bite my lip, staring out the window. I’d toyed earlier with going down to the East Village later this afternoon, but I need to put that on hold for now. I have to do what Erling suggested—relax, pause my search for answers, and sit in a café with a hot cup of tea. This also means skipping a promised trip to WorkSpace to discuss book research with Nicole. I shoot her an email apologizing for not making it in today. I add that I spoke to Sasha about not tossing my name around in the future. Before I can change my mind, I ask her if she’s heard any buzz about Greenbacks lately.

We reach my building and as I dash into the lobby, I notice it’s begun to drizzle. It hasn’t rained, I realized, since the day I resurfaced at Greenbacks. Autumn’s rushing by and I’ve barely had a moment to savor it.

I can tell something’s off the moment I step into the foyer of my apartment. There’s a light coming from deep inside, seeping into the dimness of the great room. It means a lamp’s on in the bedroom or den, but I’m positive I turned all the lights off before I left.

Then I hear movement, and the click of a closet door closing. Footsteps. Is a maintenance person here? We haven’t put in a request, as far as I know.

I lurch backward and grab the front door handle, ready to bolt. But before I can spin around and flee, I see Hugh saunter into the great room, cell phone in one hand and a water glass in the other. He’s headed toward the island but stops short in surprise when he sees me.

“Oh god, you scared me,” he says, setting his stuff on the island top. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“And I thought you were a burglar,” I say, after exhaling in relief. “Why are you home so early?”

I slip out of my sweater coat, hang it in the closet, and stride into the great room.

“I’m not here yet for the evening,” Hugh says. He’s in a dress shirt, tie, and pinstriped suit pants. “Tonight’s when we have that toast for the partner who’s retiring. I ended up spilling an entire cup of coffee into my lap this afternoon, and there was no way I could show up in those damn pants.”

“Oh, gosh, that must have hurt.”

He grins, a Hugh grin that I haven’t seen in a while. “It wasn’t fun, but fortunately my manhood was spared.”

“Good to know,” I say.

“How was Dr. Erling?”

“I’ll tell you about it later. I’m sure you need to go. Who is it that’s retiring?”

“J. P. Ross. I mentioned it a few weeks ago, but maybe it’s one of those things that, you know, slipped away.”

“No, I remember now that you say the name.” The words sound more defensive than I intended. “The only things I don’t recall, Hugh, are those two days.”

He nods, lips pressed together. “Okay, let me grab my jacket. I should be home no later than eight. I wish I could whisk you someplace nice for dinner tonight, but I’m going to have to work again.”

“I’ll figure something out for us. Do you want me to drop your pants at the cleaner?”

“No, don’t bother. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

While he heads back to the bedroom, I move over to the kitchen island. I feel restless, still on edge from my appointment. My gaze wanders onto the countertop and is dragged by a gravitational-like pull to Hugh’s phone. I almost never have occasion to touch it, but my fingers move in that direction, seemingly of their own volition.

Before I can think about it, I snatch his phone from the counter. I press the four keys for his password—for practical reasons we’ve shared ours with each other—and check the last number in the call log. It’s an outgoing one to his office, eight minutes ago. Then I proceed to the address book, where I search for Sasha’s name, and exhale in relief when it’s not there.

“Speaking of the cleaner, your trench coat is back,” he calls from the bedroom, making me jump. “I sent it out last week.”

“Um, okay, thanks,” I call back. “I’m going to run out for a while and it will be good to have it in the rain.”

Next, with jerky fingers, I search for one more name. And with a jolt, I spot it there. Ashley Budd. Before I can determine if he’s called the number lately, Hugh comes striding down the corridor. I’m still holding his phone in my hand.

“Here, don’t forget this,” I say, thrusting it in his direction.

“I won’t,” he responds, eyes curious. He leans forward and kisses me softly on the lips. “See you soon.”

Okay, I tell myself as soon as he closes the door. It might not mean anything. She could have easily thrust her number on him when he bumped into her a few weeks ago at the Yale Club. Or he may have had it since law school.

Anyway, I can’t think about it right now. I have to relax, let go. Instead of tea, I decide, I’ll head to the bistro where I met with Roger and have a glass of wine.