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close to seven, she began rummaging for an outfit. She tried on and discarded black pants and a crisp white shirt; a flowy skirt and blouse; the same blouse with a denim pencil skirt.
    Finally, her bed strewn with clothes, she chose a coral sundress, burnished gold sandals, and gold hoop earrings. The dress was striking with her long brown hair and showed off a little cleavage. She felt slightly wicked—like she was sixteen and had just shoplifted a lipstick from the drugstore. Before leaving, she grabbed a lightweight trench, not sure what the weather would be later on.
    All the way down the West Side Highway, as the taxi’s AC hummed like white noise, she replayed the scene with Keaton in the conference room, his body just inches away from her. Was he just being his flirty self or did he want to take things further? Did she want to take things further? The thought of what further meant made her blush.
    As the cab exited at Canal Street, she remembered Hotchkiss’s other warning—about being followed—and glanced out the back window. There were no cars behind her cab. She half-laughed at her paranoia.
    She was the last of the group to arrive at Balthazar. The only seat left was at the foot of the table—next to Steve and across from Dr. Thomas Levin, the clinic’s other partner. Keaton was at the opposite end, next to Steve’s wife, Hilary. In between were Sherman; Dr. Catherine Hoss, the clinic’s senior embryologist; Hoss’s date; Matt Perkins, a doctor who’d recently joined the practice; Perkins’s preppy-looking wife; and Levin’s blond, Botoxed trophy bride, her arms lined with jeweled bangles. Keaton politely nodded his head in greeting, and that was it. In the cavernous French bistro with its whirring overhead fans, she couldn’t even hear the conversation at his end of the table.
    Lake pulled in a breath, trying to squelch her irritation. She’d imagined sitting next to Keaton, talking to him, maybe even accidentally feeling his leg against hers under the table. But it wasn’t going to happen. Suddenly she had little interest in conversation with a bunch of people she barely knew. Why had she bothered to come?
    But Levin soon made it easy for her. In the office he’d seemed arrogant and at times brusque, but tonight he let her see his suave, charming side. He was about the same age as Sherman and yet handsome, dashing almost—with thick gray hair, a hawklike nose, and unruly eyebrows that added a bohemian touch to the polished image. He wanted to know what had brought her to New York, where she had learned the best lessons about marketing, and what she thought really gave people an edge in business today. All the while he listened intently. Eventually Steve and Dr. Hoss’s boorish date joined in. As they swapped stories, Lake let herself relax against the red banquette, luxuriating in the taste of the great Bordeaux and the breeze from the overhead fan on her bare shoulders. At one point all three men seemed to be hanging on her every word. It had been ages since she’d enjoyed that kind of experience.
    As the appetizers were being served, she glanced slyly down to Keaton’s end of the table, thinking she’d catch his eye. But she didn’t. A few minutes later she tried again—with no luck this time either. She hated how disappointed she felt. Had he just been toying with her earlier? But then why suggest to Steve she join the group tonight? As she ate, she saw that Hilary had turned all her attention Keaton’s way, cocking her head back and forth like a titmouse at a bird feeder.
    After the main course, a few people asked for coffee. Lake let her eyes stray to Keaton’s end of the table again. This time, to her shock, he looked directly at her. He pulled his body back in his seat and held her eyes. Desire flooded through every inch of her.
    Now what? she wondered. She pretended to fumble in her purse for something but she was just trying to think. Finally she turned to Levin.
    “Excuse