Chapter 4: Take Your Hand Off Her

Preston crossed the lobby in six long steps and took hold of my elbow.

"Claire. I've been calling you for an hour."

"My phone was in my bag."

"I came to bring you home."

The lobby was full of people.

Two security guards stood at the desk, and a row of staff waited for the elevators with their badges out.

Some of them were from my own department.

"I'm at work, Preston," I said. "It's nine forty in the morning."

"Mother's worried. You were upset on Thursday and you've been upstairs again. She wants you at home."

His hand slid down my arm and closed around my wrist.

It was the first time he had touched me on purpose in a year, and I felt nothing at all.

Not a flicker.

I stared at his hand.

I had shaken for a pen, and for a barista's change, and for a stranger's sleeve.

Nothing in me answered my husband.

"Let go," I said.

"Not until you come with me."

"Let go of my arm."

"You're making a scene."

A woman from accounting stopped with her coffee halfway to her mouth.

"You grabbed me," I said, loud enough for her to hear. "In the middle of my building."

Preston's face went red up to his hairline.

He tightened his grip.

"Take your hand off her."

The voice came from behind us, level and unhurried.

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