EMILY, AS WAS OFTEN the case, turned out to be right. Smith & Wollensky was an excellent choice for the men from Nissan and their potential lawyers.

“So happy not to eat sushi and sushi and sushi. Excellent beef is delicious alternative,” one of the prospective clients said as she and Cliff helped three of them into a waiting London TownCar.

“Well, we’re happy you enjoyed it. We did too,” Emily said. “I’m also happy that Cliff-san decided to take you to a steakhouse.” She distinctly heard Cliff whisper, “Asshole.”

“We will be in contact tomorrow,” said the same Japanese gentleman, and then, as Emily bowed from the neck and Cliff waved, the car took off.

“We got it!” Cliff shouted. “We fucking got it!”

“You really think so?” Emily said. As always, she was amazed by her boss’s confidence and swagger. In a way, it was impressive.

“I know we did,” Cliff said. “When you started in on the environmental restrictions for carbon compounds versus full-electric cars, they thought you were the senior senator from Michigan. For a minute there, so did I.”

“I read the material three times,” she said, and could feel herself blush.

She noticed that she and Cliff were walking east on Forty-ninth Street, toward the United Nations building. Not good.

“Let’s stop at the Beekman Hotel. Celebration drink,” he said.

“Let’s wait till we get the business, Cliff.”

“We’ve got it. C’mon. Don’t jinx us, Em. One drink. Call it a pre-celebration.”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten. I have an apartment, here in the city. I have a husband. I’ve got a life beyond Dale, Hardy.”

He stopped walking. So Emily stopped too.

“No, you don’t,” he said with a grin. “You absolutely do not.”

“What are you talking about, Cliff?”

“You don’t have another life. Dale, Hardy is your life. The firm is your husband. The firm is your life. You spend eighty percent of your time there. You work like an animal. You don’t have another life, Emily.”

She didn’t contradict him. His facts were at least partially correct. She didn’t even engage in a discussion.

“Cliff, I’m getting a cab uptown on First Avenue,” she said. She began to walk away.

“Emily!” he called out. “Hold on! Please, wait.”

She froze in place, but she didn’t turn. Cliff was making her nervous now.

Suddenly his arms were around her shoulders. He bent forward and nuzzled her neck. Then he kissed her cheek, and the side of her mouth.

“I’m getting a cab,” Emily said. But she didn’t move.

“Let’s get that drink first,” he said. “The Beekman’s only a block or so away.”

“I’ve got to get going.”

He kissed her on the neck again. For a moment Emily thought: If you don’t respond, if you don’t acknowledge it, if you don’t move, then it really didn’t happen. Right? Then she thought, No. Not right at all. This is definitely happening. Now what do I do about it?

“You’re over the line, Cliff. There’s a cab over there,” she said, and then moved quickly toward First Avenue.

Run, Emily. Run.