“Business as usual. But I should get over to the site right away, stave off a meltdown.” He ran the back of his hand down her face and gently across the tops of her breasts. She’d put on her skirt, but was wearing only a bra, a new one, above it. She was completely unselfconscious around him, as if they were an old married couple, and still, she felt the warmth and texture of his hand every time he touched her, as if they were young lovers. The best illusions of both worlds: intimacy and ardor. In the waning days of their marriage, she’d been suspicious of everything he did and said, wary of his motives every time he kissed her. Now that she was in no position to judge or question him, she accepted everything gratefully: their time together in these rooms, his fingers against her skin, his advice, his money. Dale was, by nature, a lover not a husband, the way some men are built for basketball, others for racing horses. Maybe she wasn’t built to be a wife, an unsettling thought. She watched him cross the room as he took off his towel and dried his face with it.

“If you’re going to leave with me,” he said, pulling on his pants, “you’d better get ready. I’m sorry to rush off, but I have to be across town in twenty minutes.”

“I ordered a sandwich from room service while you were in the shower.” She’d ordered one for him, too, but there was no point in mentioning it now. She picked her blouse up from the chair by the window and slipped it on. “I think I’ll wait for it. I can’t remember if I had lunch or not and I’m starving.”

“I’ll bet you are, Janey. You’ve earned it.” He buttoned himself into a white shirt, knotted his tie, and shrugged himself into his jacket and overcoat. Every trace of the hour and a half they’d spent together was erased from his body and face. He kissed her on her raw, bruised lips, searched through his pockets for his watch, then headed to the door.

“How does the rest of your week look?” she asked, buttoning up her blouse.

“I’m not sure. I’ll call you at the office when I have a better idea.”

That was typically noncommittal. “You have my cell phone number, don’t you?” she asked. “I turn it off when I get home, but otherwise—”

“I’ll get it from you next time we talk.” He gave her a crisp, ironic salute and left.