CHAPTER ONE

CATE

Twitchy after a long afternoon of meetings, I opened the closet in my office. I changed out of my workday uniform of jeans, white shirt, and black blazer, stepped into stilettos, and zipped myself into a snug black dress. Grabbing the same blazer and my purse, I took the elevator to the parking garage, where I unplugged my orange roadster. With the Seattle rush hour long over, I pulled up outside the Four Seasons on First Avenue less than ten minutes later. A cold February wind kicked up off of Elliott Bay as I handed my key to the valet.

I headed for the bar and took my usual seat at one end, from which I could see who came and went. It’s a sleek place, all shiny wood and blown-glass lampshades, and it was just the right amount of crowded, full of people in expensive black fabrics. Men and women on quick trips, complication-avoidant but not immune to the seductive effects of a change of scenery. Outside the window, a rainbow of LED lights flashed from the Great Wheel, casting a glow over the dark bay. Jesse, my favourite bartender, was on duty, and as soon as he saw me, he brought me a glass of mineral water with a couple of ice cubes and a twist of lime.

Ignoring the jitter of the phone inside my purse, I sipped my water and watched the patrons while a dozen questions whirlpooled in my mind, surfacing people and events from my early teenage years. Old faces flickered briefly, dredged up by the report I’d read nine hours earlier. Needing to detach myself from the questions that had preoccupied me since then, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them, I spotted two prospects right away. A frisson passed through me, calming and exciting at once. One man, I guessed, was in his mid-forties. Dark-haired, a little shaggy, at ease with himself. The other was probably close to my own age, mid-thirties, and subtly out of place. His sandy hair formed a widow’s peak and curled around his ears. He seemed overly alert, already glancing my way. Maybe noticing my long, bicycle-toned legs or the collarbone that had so fixated my ex, Gabriel. Though getting seen, I find, is mostly about behaviour. Being alone with good posture and open to the world, rather than hunched over a device. Meeting another person’s gaze. Sometimes—sitting here or in a bar in some other city, after yet another meeting with investors—I imagined myself as a wizard with a wand, making those around me dance.

I ran my hand through my hair, irritated again that my business partner, Jia, had decreed I not cut it short again until after the sale of our company went through. It was chin-length, an accidental bob. I almost never wore my hair this long, but we’d had a recent spate of publicity, with lots of photos of me involved, and she said there was too much at stake for me to alter my image now.

The shaggy forty-something was the more obvious choice. He was handsome in a five o’clock shadow way, like Gabriel, who’d been gone for more than a year and now lived in Mexico City. The dark-haired fellow looked at ease, and the perfect age: young enough to still be taut under his shirt, old enough to have his own business to mind.

But the younger guy was sidling in my direction. His suit was cheaper than many of the others in this bar, but he wore it well. I could turn, rifle through my purse, make him go away with a simple movement. I could hold out for the other prospect, or someone else entirely. But I needed something easy after today, after my discovery up at the university in the morning and an afternoon of legalese. Jia was no doubt at her lakefront home sipping a cold glass of white wine, and I deserved my relaxation no less. I tucked my stupid blond bob behind my ears and smiled.

“Which conference were you at?”

“I’m meeting a friend,” I said.

He cocked his head like a dog detecting a sudden noise. Hearing my voice for the first time, deciding if he liked its low timbre.

“A girlfriend,” I clarified.

“Can I get you another one of those?”

“That would be lovely.”

He signalled to Jesse, who set another mineral water down in front of me with a wink. He ordered a fresh whiskey for himself.

“I’m Nate.”

“Cate.”

“Cate and Nate. That’ll give us plenty to talk about.”

“Should cover at least five minutes.”

“Then we can move on to where we’re from, favourite flavour of ice cream, and phobias.” He had a crooked smile and a trace of an accent.

“Where are you from?”

Originally Melbourne, he said, but now he lived in the Bay Area.

“What brings you to Seattle, Nate?”

“Terribly boring things.” He waved his hand vaguely around the room.

“Work?”

“Yes.”

His reticence intrigued me. Men always wanted to talk about their work.

“What about you?”

“I live here.”

“Meeting a friend. Right.”

He looked at me and looked around. I looked back at him, willing him to challenge me.

“What do you do for work?”

I thought of making something up. Crane operator. Mortician. “Can I just say ‘terribly boring things’?”

“Already used that line.”

“I work in biotech.”

“Very exciting.”

“Sometimes.”

“How did you get into the field?”

“I studied neuroscience.”

“You must be very clever.”

You don’t know the half of it, I thought. I didn’t need or want to talk about work; I had people with whom I conversed about work all day, who had vastly more interesting things to say about it than Nate possibly could. And Jia’s cautionary voice inside my head told me to stay away from the subject.

He sat on the barstool facing me now, and I noticed the way his thighs strained against the fabric of his trousers. I imagined putting my hand on his knee. That would be premature, but it was titillating to think about. I uncrossed and recrossed my legs, forcing him to glance down.
“If your work is so boring, what else do you like to do?”

He said he played soccer. Though I find team sports beyond tedious, I encouraged him to talk about the subject for a few minutes. Weekly practice, good way to meet people, story about a missed goal.

“Must be how you stay in such good shape,” I said, almost making myself laugh.

Nate blushed: sudden pink flare-ups in both cheeks. He was not experienced at picking people up in bars, so why was he talking to me?

I liked not knowing. It was like funnelling mystery elements into a beaker. Any kind of pop or fizz might result.

“We haven’t covered phobias yet,” he said.

“You go first.”

“Terrified of sharp objects.”

“Sounds like common sense.”

“I get spooked just seeing a chef’s knife on the counter. Like it can fly up and get me.”

I wondered if this was true, unsure why someone would reveal such a vulnerability to a complete stranger.

“What about you?”

“Closed-in spaces. I’m claustrophobic.” I jiggled the ice in my glass.

“Do you know why?”

The best fabrications are rooted in truth. “I had some bad experiences with closets.”

He looked concerned, and I wanted to keep the mood light, so I said, “I went looking for Narnia and ended up trapped in a bunch of coats.” This led to a discussion of children’s literature, which made me think of Grandma Ida, who always made sure I was well supplied with books, sending me packages at the institute every month.

“You’re not really meeting a friend, are you?” Nate eventually asked, and I silently cheered his boldness.

“No,” I said, head down, false sheepishness. “I just wanted an excuse for an out.”

“And the fact that you’re telling me this is . . . promising?”

“Sure.” I smiled up at him sideways.

Hesitation hung in the air, like he suddenly didn’t know who he was.

“Nate, why don’t you tell me about your hotel room.”

“My hotel room?”

I imagined sweat beads flying off his head in surprise.

“Maybe I misunderstood—”

But he spoke before I could continue. “It’s at the Ace.”

Not of the managerial classes, then.

“Isn’t that a glorified youth hostel?”

“Emphasis on the ‘glorified.’ I have my own bathroom and everything.”

* * * *

Outside in the Four Seasons driveway, I hugged my blazer around me against the salty breeze while we waited for my car.

“You’re okay to drive?”

“I don’t drink.”

He fell awkwardly into the low bucket seat on the passenger side.

“This is stymieing my plan to put the moves on you in the back of a taxi.”

“I guess you’ll need a plan B.”