The Other Daughter

"How old is she?" I asked.

"Nineteen. She's studying art history in London."

I tried to fit a daughter into the life I thought I knew. His calendar contained flights, meetings, dinners. I had never heard him mention a school holiday or birthday.

He set the photograph down facing us.

"Her mother and I were twenty-one when she was born. We separated before her second birthday. Rachel eventually married an architect and moved to London when Lily was twelve."

"And you let her go?"

His jaw tightened.

"Lily wanted to go. Her stepfather is a good man. I had no decent reason to make her unhappy merely because I would miss her."

That admission sounded costly. I pictured him younger, standing in an airport while a little girl walked away holding someone else's hand.

"We managed for a while," he continued. "Summers here. Christmas there. Then my father had a stroke, and I took over everything."

He glanced toward the closed door. Everything meant more than the company.

"I missed an exhibition. Then a birthday dinner. There was always something urgent. I would send a gift and tell myself I would make up the time."

"Did she stop answering?"

"Not immediately. She stopped telling me things first. By the time I understood the difference, she had become very good at saying she was fine."

His fingers curled against the edge of the desk.

"I haven't seen her in fourteen months."

I wanted to reach for his hand. The impulse startled me enough that I folded mine together.

"Does she know about your family?"

His eyes sharpened.

We had spent two years using careful language. Now there was no carousel or child to give us somewhere else to look.

"Yes," he said. "So did Rachel."

"Was that part of why they left?"

"Rachel wanted a life in which the person waiting outside a restaurant was simply waiting for a table. I couldn't give her that."

I remembered Thomas moving in front of Mia.

"What did Bellini want on Saturday?"

"To remind me that my uncle dislikes being told no. He chose his moment badly. He won't approach you again."

"You say that very confidently."

"I spoke to my uncle."

There was something final in his tone. I had heard it in meetings, but never understood its full meaning until now.

He watched me absorbing it.

"The agency is legitimate, Claire. Your work is exactly what you believe it is. The rest of my life isn't something I will insult you by pretending away."

"I wasn't asking you to."

"Most people prefer that I do."

I looked at the photograph. "I think Lily might prefer that you call her."

He gave a humorless breath. "I call. I ask about university. I ask whether she needs anything. She tells me she doesn't."

"What painting does she hate?"

He blinked.

"You said she studies art. Ask her about something she has an opinion on. Something you can't fix with a transfer."

"You think she wants to discuss ugly paintings with me?"

"I think she might want you to be interested."

His expression made me wish I had spoken more gently.

"That wasn't fair," I began.

"It was accurate. I dislike those occasions."

I laughed softly, and some of the tension eased.

He moved around the desk. At this distance, I could see a pale scar near his thumb, a faint silver thread at one temple. He smelled of clean wool and something dark I had begun noticing far too often.

"Thank you for asking," he said.

"You don't need to thank me."

"People usually ask about the money."

"I know what your money looks like. I approve the photography."

This time, his smile reached his eyes.

I left with the figures still in my hand. Elena sent me back for his signature, mercifully saying nothing about my face.

That evening, Mia asked why I was stirring an empty saucepan.

I put it down.

"Mr. Kane has a daughter," I told her.

Her eyes widened. "He already knows the pancakes?"

"We haven't established that."

"How old is she?"

"She's nineteen."

Mia considered this solemnly. "Then he has had a lot of practice."

"Sometimes people need more."

"That happens with my spelling. Does she live with him?"

I explained London. Mia asked whether Gerald would need a passport, and the conversation moved safely into stuffed-animal travel requirements.

Over the following week, Blackwell signed. Serena told me the board had approved a broader East Coast creative division for the summer. If our campaign succeeded, I would be considered to lead it.

I walked out of her office almost dizzy.

Adrian was waiting by the elevator. His gaze moved over my face.

"Good news?"

"Potentially very good news."

"Then I am glad."

He didn't ask me to explain. That restraint made me want to tell him everything.

Instead I asked, "Did you call Lily?"

He showed me his phone.

An exhibition photograph appeared above her message: This chair apparently represents mortality. You would hate it.

His reply read: Is it at least comfortable?

She had answered: Unfortunately, that would ruin the art.

I laughed. Adrian looked down at the exchange as though it were considerably more valuable than the building around us.

"She sent that this morning," he said.

I touched his wrist before thinking. "I'm glad."

His hand turned beneath mine. For one suspended second, his fingers almost closed around them.

Then the elevator opened.

We stepped apart, but I felt the unfinished touch all afternoon.

At six, he came to my office. Everyone else had gone. Beyond the windows, the city was turning gold.

"Have dinner with me," he said.

I set down my pen. "We already had lunch."

"I remember. Mia conducted an inventory of my clothing and stole my food. I enjoyed myself enormously. This invitation is for you."

My heart beat harder.

"You're my boss."

"Serena already directs the agency's creative work. If we go out, she will handle your reviews and compensation independently. I discussed the reporting arrangement with her today. Your answer changes nothing about your position."

"You seem very prepared."

"I have been thinking about dinner for several days."

I stood. It put us closer than I intended.

His gaze dropped to my lips, and this time he didn't conceal it.

I wanted to say yes so badly that fear arrived first.

"I need to know something, Adrian."

He waited.

"Are you asking because you miss being somebody's father, or because you want me?"