Chapter 7: Two Coffees

I should have walked to my car.

I had the box on my hip and the ring in my pocket, and I had every reason in the world to leave her there on the wet sidewalk.

Instead I shifted the box to my other side.

"What's the coffee for, Sabrina?"

"Hugh and I have the gala run of show to get through. Saturday's very full."

"At six in the morning."

"He's an early riser." She smiled. "You'd know."

"I would," I said. "Come on. I'll ride up with you."

Her smile slipped for a moment.

She hadn't planned on a witness.

The doorman looked at the two of us and then at the ceiling.

The elevator was mirrored on three sides.

There were a lot of Sabrinas in it, and a lot of me.

All of mine had slept in their makeup and were holding a cardboard box.

All of hers looked like a magazine cover.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be," she said to the doors.

"I'm making it exactly as hard as it is."

The elevator opened straight into the penthouse foyer.

Hugh was coming down the hallway.

He was barefoot, in last night's white shirt, open all the way down, with the sleeves still rolled.

He had clearly pulled on his trousers in a hurry.

There was a red mark on his shoulder in the shape of my teeth.

He stopped dead when he saw us both.

"Sabrina," he said. "What are you doing here?"

That was something.

It wasn't enough.

She held out a coffee to him.

"The gala, darling. You said you'd look at the seating with me."

"I said I'd look at it on Friday. In the office."

"I was passing."

"From Russian Hill. At six."

I reached over and took the second coffee out of her hand.

It was an oat flat white, extra hot.

My order.

Of course it was.

She'd been in his kitchen enough times this month to see what was in the fridge.

I took a long sip.

"He's all yours," I told her. "The sheets aren't."

Sabrina went pink from the collar up.

Hugh made a sound that might have been a laugh if his life were going better.

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