Iris realized she’d fallen into a dead silence. “So. What specifically do you want to see?”

His warm brown eyes twinkled with amusement at her nervous stream of babble. “I need to see a typical office area to get a sense of the furnishings and the finishes.”

She held his gaze a half second too long. Color rose in her cheeks. She turned away and pointed to a wall sconce. “Have you seen these fixtures?”

“They’re beautiful,” he said behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder, and he wasn’t looking at the walls. He was looking at her. Damn it. Why does he have to be so attractive?

“I really need to see the upper floors.”

“Okay. I haven’t gotten past the fourth floor yet, but I’ve seen a few offices.”

She led him up the monumental main stairwell instead of the emergency egress stairs. They weren’t as direct but they were certainly prettier, with their marble and wrought iron. She felt herself swaying her hips more than usual as she climbed the steps in front of him.

They poked around the fourth floor for over an hour. Nick took pictures with his camera while Iris took more measurements and notes on her clipboard. The fourth floor contained mostly file rooms with doors marked “Deposits” and “Lending.” She’d lost track of him for a while until she heard him yell, “What the hell is up with this?”

She followed his voice into John Smith’s office of abandoned filing cabinets. “I have no idea. I guess they needed more file storage.”

“Huh. These are all still full?”

“Weird, right?” She began to worry that her tour was a flop and he wasn’t getting enough photos of furnishings or whatever. “Here, come check this out.”

Iris led him around the file cabinets and into the fancy bathroom. “This is the ‘Executive Washroom.’ Can you believe this stuff?” She motioned to the gilded mirror and the marble shower stall.

He shook his head, slowly surveying the room.

“I mean, it’s gorgeous but kind of messed up. Like the rich guys needed to be separated from the filthy masses or something.” She was babbling again.

Nick took a couple pictures.

“Okay. I’m going to . . .” Iris paused, realizing she would have to squeeze past him to get to the door. The room was narrow, and Nick was right in the way. She took an awkward step toward him, hoping he would get the hint. “Go get back to my drawings.”

He just stood at the sink, not budging. He had stopped taking pictures and was watching her with an amused grin. She would have to practically rub against him to get past. Maybe that was the idea. His eyes held hers for too long.

“Um. Are you gonna . . . ?” The word “move” got caught as his smile faded and his eyes fell to her lips. The room was suddenly quite small and hot. They were completely alone. No one even knew where they were in the empty high-rise or that they were together.

His gaze fell to her T-shirt, which now seemed too tight. Iris’s pulse jumped. This was beyond flirting or joking around. Shit. She took a step back and nearly tumbled into the shower behind her. He caught her by the waist.

“Whoops! Thanks, I . . . I’d better go.” Her voice fell to a whisper.

“I don’t think so.” He pulled her to his chest and kissed her squarely on the mouth. Her lips had a mind of their own and kissed him back. When they came up for air, she felt drunk and dizzy. Even the voices in her head were speechless. He kissed her again, harder, and she felt her knees buckle beneath her. Oh God. She wrenched herself away. Iris had strict rules. She never took guys home from the bar. She never slept with a boy on the first date, not that she ever went on dates.

“Wait. Nick. What are we doing?”

“Something I should have done the other night,” he breathed, pulling her back and kissing her again. The kiss was deeper. Her blood was madly rushing everywhere but her brain. She’d never been kissed that well before.

She barely broke free. “What? But we can’t.”

“Sure we can. Who’s going to know?” His fingertip traced her breast as he kissed her again. A tidal wave of heat rose up inside her.

“Nick. I don’t . . .” But his lips found her neck, and it was all over.

Her knees and everything else rigid and principled in her entire body melted to the floor. She couldn’t string two thoughts together, it all happened so fast. They were on the ground. His hands and lips stripping her defenses one by one along with her clothes. His naked skin pressed hot against hers. He was relentless, until every thought in her head shattered into a million blinding pieces.

When she came back to her senses, they were lying side by side on the ground, struggling to catch their breath. Iris pulled herself up on one elbow. Their clothes were scattered around the dusty floor like a bomb had gone off. Her thighs were still trembling. Jesus. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before. None of the three college boys she’d been with had done anything close to that. She was mortified. We have to get dressed. What if someone at work finds out? What if Ramone finds us like this? What if he heard us? She might have been screaming; she had no idea. Blood flooded her cheeks. She laughed nervously, teetering on the edge of hysterics.

“What’s so funny?” Nick was lying peacefully with his eyes closed.

She had to say something. “Oh, I was just wondering if this is what the company had in mind when they said they were looking for ‘synergy’ in the younger staff.”

“Maybe we should make a suggestion. I know I’m feeling like a real team player right now.” He stretched and ran a leisurely finger down her back as she struggled with her bra. Had this been his plan the whole time? She swatted his hand away.

They pulled themselves to their feet and peeled their clothing off the floor. She stopped buttoning and stole a glance at him. He was at least five years older than her. He’d probably done this before. He caught her looking and tousled her mussed hair. It was something a big brother would do. She glared at him for a moment while he tucked his shirt into his jeans.

Of course he’s done this before, she thought, eyeing the torn wrapper on the floor. He walked around with condoms in his wallet. He had done things to her that no one had ever done. He was a grown man. And she suddenly felt like a stupid young girl.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You look pissed.”

“I . . . uh . . . don’t do stuff like this.”

“Me neither.” He winked and kissed her on the cheek.

Liar.

She went to the gilded mirror to smooth down her hair. Little gold cherubs were watching from their perches. They’d seen it all. She turned her back on them and wondered how many other women had been in the room and under what circumstances.

CHAPTER 21

Monday, November 27, 1978

It was past noon when Max and Beatrice stumbled out of the Theatrical and into the winter sun. Fresh snow sparkled blindingly between the long rows of plowed slush. Beatrice recoiled in the light.

“Let’s go back to your place for a little while,” Max said, leading Beatrice to the bus stop at the corner. “We’ll swing back by the office later tonight and see what we can find out about your aunt’s deposit box.”

Beatrice was already reconsidering the idea but was too drunk to argue. As much as she wanted to know why Doris had letters from the bank and what was in Box 547, she knew it was wrong. Doris would never forgive her. She’d have to tell Max, but not now. Later.

By the time they reached Doris’s one-bedroom apartment, Beatrice was dead on her feet. She dropped her bag next to the door and collapsed on the couch. She hadn’t slept much since her aunt was admitted to the hospital. Alone at night in the apartment, Beatrice jumped at every little noise. The last thing she remembered was offering Max a beer from the fridge.