“Or maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll come later,” he said, a devilish glint in his eyes, as he pressed down in his hand.

The vibrations stopped, and she nearly stumbled into him. Michelle wanted to curse him. She’d been so close. She was hovering now, but she wasn’t going over the edge.

She grabbed his jacket. “You cruel bastard,” she said, through narrowed eyes. She didn’t mean it as an insult.

He reached for her hand, threaded his fingers through hers, and guided her inside Avery Fisher Hall, the bells inside sounding that it was time for audience to find their seats.

“Did you enjoy ‘We are Young’?” Jack asked, as he led her to the balcony seats on the right side of the expansive auditorium. The hall was a rich, warm brown with soft lights that cast an inviting feel across the seats, almost creating an afternoon glow. What sounded like Mozart piped overhead as patrons took their places.

“I did. Very clever to play pop songs like that.”

As she sat down, Jack planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’m terribly cruel, I know,” he whispered, addressing her earlier comment.

“You are the worst.”

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” he said, flashing his winning smile.

Eventually, she wanted to say. Isn’t that the plan after thirty nights? To leave each other? Instead, she kept up the game. “Not yet.”

His expression turned serious as he ran his finger down her cheek, as if he was unable to resist touching her. “By the way, I wanted to let you know you were mentioned on Page Six with me,” he said, and she shot him a curious look. He dug his phone from his pocket and showed her an item from the tabloid, citing her by name. She read it, taking her time as she let the commentary about their “intimate pleasures” sink in. It was oddly surreal, and a bit disconnected. But then, that made perfect sense—she was being written about without being truly known.

“Wow. I think the only other time I’ve been in the papers is when I attended the Tonys with my brother a few years ago,” she said, still a bit shell-shocked to be thrust into the limelight like this.

“I’m sorry. I hate that they made some sort of insinuation,” he said, seeming contrite.

She flashed back to her conversation at her consulting group with Carla, who’d been spotted seeing It’s Raining Men, then to her own comments about having a life. “Look, it’s not as if we were caught on-camera fucking,” Michelle said in a whisper.

He laughed. “And there were plenty of chances to catch that.”

“We just need to be careful,” she added. She wanted to believe that she was allowed to have a life, to date, to even be seen out and about with a man in the public eye. She was a human being. She couldn’t live in a bubble, and it made no sense to pretend she had no life. “I’m not a nun. I’m simply a shrink. It’s fine. I’m allowed to date. Besides, we aren’t a secret. Our affair might be private, but we were never sneaking around. We’ve always gone to dinner and to bars and for walks. We’re adults, living in Manhattan. Remember the first night we had dinner?”