“Everything okay?” Polly asks me.
I meet her gaze. “You know what, it turns out I had them in my bag all along.” I shrug and lift up my aviators.
I walk out of the shop without another word, feeling Polly stare after me.
It’s easy to reconstruct the events that led to the note landing in her possession. Marissa had it yesterday while we spoke by the broken fountain. She returned to Coco after our conversation. I can see her tearing up the paper, then crumpling the pieces in her hand and throwing them into the trash, while Polly surreptitiously watched. Polly must have taped the letter back together before concealing it in her purse.
I reach my car and climb inside, but I don’t turn on the engine yet. Marissa is probably with Matthew right now, and I don’t want to disturb them, so I send her an email instead of a text, requesting that she send me Polly’s résumé as soon as she can.
I just bombarded Polly with a dozen questions, partly to keep her off-balance and partly to learn more about her.
I’ve got another one, but instead of asking Polly, I’m going to find the answer myself: Who are you, really, and what exactly are you up to?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MARISSA
MARISSA APPROACHES THE LOBBY of Matthew’s office building holding a small white bag from his favorite bakery, and a cardboard tray loaded with two hot drinks.
Dustin, the guard who has manned the security desk for nearly three decades, hurries to open the door for her. “Hey, Mrs. Bishop. Nice to see you again.”
“You, too.” She realizes it has been ages since she’s seen Dustin, which means she hasn’t visited Matthew at his office since … the annual holiday party? No, one of the Bishop, Simms & Chapman partners hosted the last celebration at his home, so it has been even longer than that. It must have been Matthew’s birthday in May, nearly a year ago, when she met him here before going out to dinner at Marcel’s.
She and Matthew used to occasionally meet for lunch in Lafayette Square. Marissa would pick up sandwiches from Balducci’s, and they’d spread out on a blanket. But they haven’t enjoyed a picnic together in ages. Marissa also used to come downtown once in a while to meet Matthew for drinks on the rooftop of the W or the bar at Old Ebbitt Grill, but lately, life has seemed too busy. No, not just lately, Marissa mentally corrects herself. It has been years.
Avery’s instructions had at first mildly irritated Marissa. Now she has the eerie sense that Avery can see more deeply into the dynamics of her marriage than Marissa herself.
“I thought I’d bring Matthew—and you—a little treat.” Marissa hands Dustin one of the lattes from her tray. It’s a tiny bribe, designed to soften him up for the request she’s about to deliver.
“Aw, that’s so nice of you. Exactly what I needed.” Dustin reaches for his phone. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Actually, would you mind just letting me up? I’d really love to surprise him.”
Dustin hesitates. Ever since an employee at Bishop, Simms & Chapman was fired and subsequently caught trying to break into the building, security has been tight. Visitors now go through a metal detector, and Dustin has an emergency button beneath his desk.
Marissa smiles, hoping Dustin sees her for what she truly is: a wife eager for a few stolen moments with the husband she loves.
He returns her smile. “Of course.”
Marissa’s stomach flutters as she enters the elevator and presses the button for the sixteenth floor. Her visit feels a little illicit and daring. She already knows the words she will say to flatter her husband, and the napoleon in the bakery bag will be a sweet reminder of their trip to Paris, during which Bennett was conceived.
The elevator doors slide open and Marissa steps into the lobby of Bishop, Simms & Chapman. The gorgeous space has floor-to-ceiling windows and bold, colorful artwork adorning the walls. Marissa helped select those pieces, as well as the onyx-and-cream color palette for the office.
Marissa waves to the receptionist, who is busy on a call, then walks directly to Matthew’s corner office, which is on the far side of the floor, with a stunning view of the Washington Monument. As she approaches, Marissa sees that Matthew’s office door is closed and his secretary, Ginny, is bent over her computer, typing intently. Only when Marissa gets closer does she realize the dark-haired woman isn’t Ginny after all.
Their coloring is similar, but their features aren’t, and this woman is at least ten years older.
Maybe Ginny is out sick, or on vacation, Marissa thinks as the woman lifts her head and looks at Marissa with a questioning expression.