Mommy Tracked (25 page)

Grace took a sip of her tea and made a face. She’d been so absorbed in her paperwork, it had gone cold.

I’ll just nuke it for a minute
, Grace decided. With the mug in hand, she stood up, turning toward the microwave.

But before she could take a single step, the awful dizziness returned. It came on so quickly and forcefully, and overtook her so suddenly, that all Grace could do was wait helplessly for it to pass. She watched, as though from a distance, as the mug dropped from her hands.

It’s going to break
, she thought fuzzily, watching the ceramic mug fall in what seemed like slow motion. It was her favorite mug. Molly had painted it at a pottery store and given it to Grace for Mother’s Day last year. It was pink and purple—Molly’s signature colors—and there was a kitten with a bubbly head and big triangular ears painted on one side.

Black spots speckled Grace’s vision, and a low thrum filled her ears.

I’d better get Louis
, she thought.
Or maybe I should just sit down for a minute, until the dizziness passes….

And then everything went black and still and quiet. Grace didn’t even hear the mug when it finally hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

fourteen

Juliet

W
e’re home,” Juliet
called out, as she came in through the back door into the kitchen. It smelled like vinegar and lemon; apparently Patrick had been cleaning in their absence.

“We’re home! We’re home!” the twins echoed, as they kicked off their shoes.

“Hey! How was the fountain park?” Patrick asked, coming out from the office. The twins streaked by him, running upstairs to change out of their wet bathing suits, sending him careening into the counter. “Whoa! What’s the hurry, shorties?”

“Mom said we could watch
The Little Mermaid
,” Emma yelled back over her shoulder.

“If…?” Juliet called out.

“If-we’re-good-and-promise-not-to-whine-when-it’s-time-to-go-to-bed,” Izzy parroted back.

Juliet and Patrick exchanged a smile—a rare occurrence, these days—both charmed by their silly, sweet girls.

“Just remember that when it’s lights-out time,” Juliet said.

The twins scampered up the stairs, giggling as they went.

“I have to go in to the office for a little while,” Juliet said, and braced herself for the inevitable fight this announcement would cause.

But Patrick surprised her.

“Fine. What time will you be home?” he asked. His voice was polite, almost cool, but not argumentative. Which was a definite improvement.

“Not late. I’ll be home for dinner,” Juliet said. And then, to strike a conciliatory note, she added, “Do you want to go out? We could go to Cosmo’s.”

The twins adored Cosmo’s, an Italian restaurant that served thick wedges of buttery garlic bread and mountains of meatball-topped spaghetti.

Patrick hesitated, then nodded. His face was inscrutable, his feelings shuttered away from Juliet’s view.

“All right,” he said.

And with this détente reached, Juliet left.

Juliet was surprised to find the office deserted. Even Neil was gone, which had to be a first. He was always there, bent studiously over his desk, working away in an office lit only by the dim light of a fluorescent lamp. It was refreshing to actually be completely and totally alone for once, free of the distractions of voices, coughs, and ringing phones.

Juliet sat down behind her desk, switched on her computer, and got to work. Richard had written a memo on the Patterson case that Alex—to Richard’s barely concealed fury—had asked Juliet to review and change where necessary. And then she had to write a status memo on the dead-baby case. A settlement offer had come in from the defense. It was low—too low, Juliet thought—but still, it had to be considered.

Absorbed in these projects, Juliet quickly lost track of how long she’d been there. Between the airless quality of the office and the tinted windows that effectively masked the color of the sky—it always looked dark and gray out, no matter the weather or time of day—she often felt suspended in purgatory while she worked.

“Juliet.”

Juliet started, dropping her pen, and looked up to see Alex standing at the door of her office. He was dressed casually, a white sweater draping over the muscular curve of his shoulders and jeans skimming his hips in a way that made Juliet very aware of his physicality. A jolt of excitement shot through her, warming as it rushed outward from her stomach.

Alex crooked his eyebrows in a question, and for a brief, awful moment, Juliet wondered if he knew what she’d been thinking.

Oh, God. Please don’t let him have seen me looking him up and down
, she thought, averting her eyes quickly.

But then Alex said, “What are you doing here so late on a Saturday?”

“Is it late?” Juliet checked her watch. Five o’clock. How had she been there for four hours and not noticed the time passing?

“Let’s go grab a drink,” Alex said. He tilted his head to one side casually.

Juliet hesitated. They’d gone out for drinks before, but always with the whole team, usually to celebrate a big win. Never alone. And never on a Saturday night.

“Come on,” Alex said. “You’ve worked enough for one day.”

Maybe it was the fact that Alex wasn’t asking. Or maybe it was simple curiosity. Or maybe it had something to do with the excitement that skittered through her stomach whenever Alex’s eyes rested on her.

“Okay,” Juliet said. She stood, remembering only then, as she leaned down to pick up her briefcase, about her dinner plans with her family.
Shit
. She glanced up at Alex, who was leaning against the doorway, his pale eyes alert. “Just give me one minute. I’ll meet you down by the elevators.”

Alex nodded and left. Juliet picked up her desk phone—and then put it right back down again. Instead, she pulled out her cell phone and typed in a text message to Patrick:

WRK CRISIS. RUNNING LT.

And then, on legs shaking with nerves, Juliet walked out of her office, switching off the overhead light as she left.

The Sands was a newish hotel on the beach. It had been built in a modern style—all glass and chrome on the exterior, and slate-gray floors, Lucite chandeliers, and dark wenge wood accents on the interior. The hotel bar was quiet and spare, with sleek black leather chairs set around round metal tables and dimmed lights. Soft jazz music played in the background.

Alex and Juliet sat at a corner table, away from the other patrons, and ordered vodka tonics from the waiter. He placed the drinks and a white dish heaped with shelled pistachios in front of them before discreetly withdrawing.

Juliet held her glass with both hands and waited for Alex to say something. But he’d been unnervingly quiet since they’d arrived. She finally broke the silence.

“Are you still covering those depositions in the Patterson case on Monday?” she asked. She stirred her drink with a plastic swizzle stick, mostly to give her hands something to do.

Alex took a sip of his drink and then shook it gently, so that the ice cubes tinkled softly, before he finally spoke. “If I’ve learned one thing over the years, it’s this: It never pays to tiptoe around an issue. If you want something from someone, you should just ask for it, straight out. Some people find that a bit”—he waved his hand—“strident, I suppose. But in my experience, being straightforward saves a lot of time and avoids misunderstanding.”

What the hell is he talking about?
Juliet wondered. But out loud she said, “I agree.”

“Do you? That’s good,” Alex said. And then suddenly he leaned forward and lightly grasped Juliet’s hand. “Because there’s something I want from you.”

Juliet looked down at the table, watching as Alex turned her hand over in his and trailed his fingers over the inside of her wrist. Goose bumps sprang up on her arm, and she shivered.

“I very much want you to go upstairs with me,” Alex continued, his voice low. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated. Whether you say yes or no, this won’t affect our working relationship or your future at the firm.”

For a moment, Juliet couldn’t move. Or breathe. Or think. All she could focus on was the gentle pressure of his hand against hers, as the meaning of his words sank in.

He’s asking me to sleep with him
, she thought.
Alex is asking me to sleep with him. Is this really happening?

When she looked up at Alex, she saw that he was gazing at her intently. For a moment she felt pinioned by his pale eyes.

“What do you say?” Alex asked.

Juliet hadn’t been aware that she was holding her breath until she spoke.

“Yes,” she said.

Juliet finished her drink, trying to steady her shaking hands, while Alex went to get a room. As she sat, the cold warmth of the vodka sliding down her throat, she felt oddly disembodied, as though she were on the outside of herself, watching the evening unfold with a detached interest.

What am I doing?
she suddenly thought, as a sharp jolt of fear hit her, grounding her back in reality. But then Alex was suddenly there, reaching out for her hand, guiding her up and out of her seat, and the moment of indecision was lost.

He kissed her for the first time in the elevator, as soon as the doors slid shut. Alex reached for her, cupping one hand behind her neck and pulling her toward him, pressing his mouth onto hers. There was nothing remotely soft or romantic about the kiss; it was all heat and need.

When the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, they broke apart. Juliet felt almost dizzy and unsteady on her legs. But Alex’s hand was firm on hers as he half-led, half-pulled her down the hall.

The hotel room was expensively spare—the furniture was all dark wood and low to the ground, and an enormous round paper lantern hung from the ceiling, suffusing the space with a soft light. The platform bed was dressed in a stark white duvet, and a gray cashmere blanket was thrown casually over one end.

Things happened quickly. Alex pulled Juliet’s striped boatneck shirt up and off and reached down to cup her breasts. Her nipples hardened at his touch and jutted out through the thin white nylon of her bra. Alex leaned forward and kissed them through the fabric, then reached behind Juliet to unhook her bra. Juliet, still standing, heard herself gasp as heat flooded down and out through her limbs. His excitement fueled her own, and she tugged at his sweater, wanting it off, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin pressing against hers. Alex helped her pull off his sweater, and then pulled her down toward the bed, rearing up over her as he slid his hand down over her bare stomach, toward the zipper of her jeans. Juliet sucked in her breath and closed her eyes.

An electronic rendition of Beethoven’s
Fifth Symphony
rang out. Juliet’s eyes popped open.

“My phone,” she said.

“Ignore it,” Alex murmured. He lowered his head again, trailing kisses down over her breasts and stomach, his hand reaching down to unbutton and unzip her jeans.

Juliet gasped as his hand slid down under the waistband of her panties, and she tried to ignore the still-ringing phone. Finally, it stopped. And then, almost immediately, it began to ring again.

“Wait,” she said to Alex, her breath coming in quick little puffs. “I have to check that. It might be important.”

Alex rolled onto his back, lacing his hands behind his head, and watched Juliet as she scrambled off the bed, trying to get her briefcase open. She grabbed the cell phone and flipped it open, just as it stopped ringing. The screen read:
CALL MISSED
, 5:45
P.M. PATRICK
.

Juliet stared down at the phone. It let out a beep, and then the message icon began to blink.

Patrick.

Patrick—who was home with the twins.

Oh, God, the twins. Home.

What the hell am I doing?
Juliet wondered.
I’m in a hotel, about to fuck my boss, while my family is home, waiting for me to go out to dinner with them. How did this happen? How did I
let
this happen?

She shivered, this time from fear. No, it was more than fear: It was revulsion. Juliet wrapped her arms around herself, all too aware of her nakedness.

“I have to go,” she said, her voice wooden.

“Now?”

Juliet turned to look at Alex, who was now sitting up on the bed, staring at her incredulously. He looked incredibly sexy, his muscular bare chest covered with a swirling pattern of reddish-blond hair. Shirtless was a good look for him, Juliet thought, and she felt such a wave of wanting that she hesitated.

Alex, sensing her equivocation, got up and moved toward her, ready to pull her back onto the bed with him.

But Juliet took a deep, steadying breath and stepped back out of his reach.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to retrieve her shirt from the floor. “I have to go.”

Juliet sat in her car in the driveway for a few minutes, examining her face in the rearview mirror. The skin on her neck was red, rubbed raw by Alex’s stubble.

Maybe Patrick won’t notice it
, she thought.
And if he does, I’ll just tell him I must have gotten some sun today at the fountain park.

Juliet closed her eyes briefly, hating that she had to sit here thinking up cover lies, hating herself for sinking so low. It took several long moments for her to work up the nerve to go inside. It was only when she was halfway down the front walk that she realized the minivan wasn’t in the driveway.

Did Patrick park in the garage?
she wondered. Odd. He didn’t usually.

“Who’s ready for spaghetti and meatballs?” Juliet called when she walked in the door. Her voice sounded oddly shaky to her, and she took a minute to draw in a deep breath and steady herself.

Just keep it together
, she thought.

But then it occurred to her that the house was unnaturally quiet. She couldn’t hear the girls laughing, or the blare of the television, or Patrick’s heavy footsteps upstairs. “Patrick? Emma, Izzy?”

Juliet kicked off her shoes and walked from room to room, but her family wasn’t there. The girls weren’t in their bedroom or playing in the den; Patrick wasn’t at the computer, browsing through the online news. She frowned. Did they go to the restaurant without her? If so, why wouldn’t Patrick have mentioned that in his voice-mail message? All he’d said was to call him back. But when she’d tried to reach him on his cell phone, it had gone straight to voice mail.