She had cleared the closet and stacked the boxes on the back porch when the doorbell rang. Puzzled but not thinking too much of it, she opened the door to a pretty, younger woman with a heart-shaped face and light-brown hair. Taller than Holly, which would bother her later, as would her much larger breasts and curvy hips.
Her face was neatly made up, but her eyes were red from crying. She held a small bouquet of flowers to her chest.
And looked utterly shocked to see Holly.
“Is this . . . does Mitch Wright live here?” she asked, suddenly unsure of herself. “I might not have the right address.”
Everything became clear in an instant. “Mitch” had a piece on the side, whether in Chicago or somewhere else. They’d fought, or broken up, who knew—and somehow, she’d found his address. Come there to apologize. Make up. Make love.
What stayed with Holly most, perhaps, was how calm she’d been. How, as the moment elongated, she’d thought quickly of so many people—Jack, their daughters, their unborn son, her parents, their friends—and thought about what would happen if the truth came out. Though it would take months and years of rage and self-doubt, somehow in that moment she had already decided she wouldn’t let this woman tear her family apart.
“I’m sorry,” she told the woman simply. “There’s no Mitch Wright here.”
At home, she confronted Jack—so he’d know she knew—and endured his weeping explanation that he’d been drunk, that it had been a onetime thing, an accident he desperately regretted. He cried convincingly as he said he couldn’t get the woman to leave him alone and she’d stalked him until he threatened her with a restraining order. Holly let him believe she accepted it—and let herself believe he would be too chastened to repeat himself.
No one else had knocked on their door, at least.
Against her better judgment, she asked the woman’s name, and he told her it was Kim. Which for some reason Holly found disappointing.
Dessert came, along with the coffee everyone insisted they needed to stay up past midnight. The plan had been to bundle up and watch the fireworks over the Chicago River, but Holly begged off, saying she’d promised to meet Jack at home to at least pop a bottle of champagne. The other couples, suddenly disconnected by the departure of their mutual friend, debated whether they should just call it a night, too. Holly urged them not to let her be the reason the evening ended, but she truly didn’t care.
As she said good night and collected her coat, as she waited half an hour for the Uber that would deliver her back home, she knew this time Jack’s cheating was different. Because this time he’d brought it to work. Actually hired his mistress—whether the relationship began before or after Jessica started at Cancura, it was as far from a drunken one-night stand as it was possible to get.
Holly also knew she was going to do something about it. Even if she didn’t know what, exactly, that would be.
They were rolling along the Kennedy Expressway when she got a text. Not from Jack, apologizing.
From Brian. With a little emoji of toasting champagne glasses.
Happy New Year.
Chapter Nineteen
LARK
Celebrate each success with every member of the team.
—“How I Lied about My Name and Discovered My Truth,” a TED Talk by Jon M. Wright
Lark hung up the phone, pounded her desk until her palms hurt, and let out a yell that probably startled the shit out of someone upstairs.
She picked up her cell and called Trip. Straight to voice mail.
She texted, TARGET SAID YES!!!!!
A moment later, she added, 22,000 units, and more if they start moving.
He didn’t answer right away, which meant he was on a flight. It was frustrating how often he was in the air lately. And now, finally, she had good news to share!
Unfortunately, Sandro, her part-time assistant and first hire—he hadn’t even met Trip yet—wasn’t in the outer office because he was on an audition. Highly personable, hyperarticulate, and fanatically organized, he was also a talented dancer trying to piece together a living in show business. Lark knew he would have been more than happy to toast the first big success of Larkspur Games, but he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning.
Lark grabbed her phone and keys and practically jogged out of the office. She texted Callie as the elevator made its slow, one-story descent.
Meet me at my office ASAP. Big new$!!!
Her response came after Lark had made it down the block, turned the corner, and was crossing the street to the liquor store.
Congrats! So exciting! Just got home . . . was going to put my feet up for a few.
Callie’s job as an apartment leasing agent had irregular hours. Lark suddenly wondered whether she could hire Callie to do something. Larkspur would definitely need more people right away, and her roommate—who happened to have a degree in marketing and communications—deserved a reward for putting up with her this whole time. She would definitely have to think about it. Meanwhile: celebration.
Girl PLEASE?!? This is HUGE. I mean it!
Callie responded with an emoji of an arrow hitting a target and a question mark.
Lark, standing in front of the liquor store, which looked kind of sketchy now that she thought about it, sent her a wink.
After a beat, Callie replied, Be there as soon as I can.
YAY!!!
Lark felt a twinge of regret at cajoling her roommate into coming out when she was tired, but good news like this didn’t arrive every day. It might happen only once in a lifetime. And she didn’t want to celebrate at home—she wanted to celebrate in her new office. After
