Chapter 1: Charlotte
“There’s no such thing as perfect love.”
That’s what I keep telling myself, like a mantra, as I walk through Central Park. My heels sink slightly into the path, and the morning wind slips through my hair, determined to ruin my blowout. And yes, it’s doing an excellent job.
I cut south through the park, hot coffee in hand. Around me, the world looks innocent enough: runners wearing earbuds, dogs far too happy for seven thirty in the morning, a woman in flawless leggings running as though her life depends on her step count.
My life, on the other hand, depends on a married man. Minor detail.
This morning, I’ve gone for something a little more revealing than usual. The blouse beneath my blazer is sheer, and my high-waisted skirt hugs my thighs, showing off all the right curves.
Will he like what he sees? He usually loves it when I dress like this, “just to drive him crazy.”
Suddenly, one heel gets caught in a drain grate.
“Of course,” I mutter, hobbling as I try to free myself without breaking my shoe. I teeter for a moment, my heart in my throat, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
One sharp tug and my heel comes free. My coffee, however, chooses this exact moment to spill onto my tights, drop by drop, as if to remind me that perfection isn’t really my thing.
“Well done, Charlotte. Your coworkers would die laughing.”
I shake my head, trying to shake off that feeling of inadequacy. And possibly some of the caffeine.
Mostly, I’m trying to figure out what the hell possessed me this morning when I decided to walk through Central Park instead of taking the subway.
A twenty-minute walk. In heels. Genius.
The September sunshine fooled me. I wanted to breathe in the fall air, feel like a free, well-balanced woman.
Yeah, right.
I straighten my skirt, settle my foot back into my shoe, and glance around. No one seems to have noticed my little performance. Or maybe they have. In this city, someone’s always watching.
I sigh, then leave the park.
The noise hits me before the cars even come into view. A cab screeches to a halt inches from me. The driver rolls down his window and shouts something that, judging by his tone, isn’t a compliment on my outfit.
I smile. If New York doesn’t yell at you at least once a day, you’re not living fast enough.
I adjust my bag on my shoulder and keep walking as if nothing’s happened.
My phone vibrates inside my bag. I stop for just a second, long enough to fish it out.
It’s Kevin. I hesitate for half a second.
“Hello?”
“Are you at the office yet?”
His voice is low, controlled. As though every word has been carefully chosen.
“I’m on my way.”
A pause. Brief. But long enough to make me tense.
“Come straight to my office when you get here.”
It’s not a request.
“Kevin…”
“Right away, Charlotte. I need to… feel you.”
He hangs up. I stand still on the sidewalk for a moment, my phone still in my hand.
Traffic keeps flowing, people keep walking, the city keeps breathing.
I don’t. I let out a sigh. Maybe I have no idea where I’m going.
But I know exactly who I’m going to.
