Natalie is acting as if she has every right to be here; she sauntered out of the back room and greeted Marissa as if she were the owner of Coco and Marissa were someone who’d just wandered in off the street.
“What are you doing here?” Marissa’s voice is shaking.
“I came to pick up the auction items.” Natalie lifts up the bags. “We were all supposed to drop them off at the school yesterday. Remember?”
Marissa finds her backbone: “Obviously I didn’t remember or else I would have done it!”
Natalie smiles, seemingly pleased she provoked a rise in Marissa. “Look, it’s okay.” Her tone is sugary sweet and a touch condescending. “You seem like you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, so I decided I would just come get them myself. No biggie.”
Marissa watches as Natalie sets down the bags and runs her hand over a faux-fur throw draped over the back of an accent chair. The gesture seems oddly proprietary.
Marissa whirls back around to face Polly. “What is wrong with you? You let a stranger into the back of my store?”
Before Polly can answer, Natalie, her full lips curving up into a smile, steps closer to Marissa. “Marissa, I don’t know why you’re getting so bent out of shape. I’m not a stranger to Polly.”
Natalie smiles at Polly, who gives her a tentative smile back.
Marissa feels as if her head is going to explode. Natalie and Polly know each other?
“In fact, I’m the reason Polly is working here.”
Marissa’s legs feel wobbly. This can’t be true: She vividly recalls the first time she met Polly. Polly wandered into Coco, gushing about how much she loved the store. Polly knowledgeably discussed the hand-stitched detail on the decorative pillows and the thread count of the luxurious bedsheets. She asked if Marissa had ever considered hiring an assistant. Marissa’s former employee had just left for another job, a higher-paying one, at Saks.
Polly’s timing was impeccable.
“You two are friends?” Marissa’s head swivels between the women.
But even before she finishes asking the question, she knows Natalie is telling the truth. Natalie had offered up a clue. Why did Marissa never follow up on it?
“I wouldn’t have let just anyone in the back, but I knew you had all the auction stuff there, and I was with that customer when Natalie showed up,” Polly explains.
“I’ve got to run.” Natalie scoops up her bags and heads toward the door. “See you soon!”
Marissa watches her go, then twists back to look at Polly.
Polly appears on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry,” she blurts.
Marissa isn’t swayed by Polly’s meek act—if it is an act. Marissa’s phone vibrates in the side pocket of her camo pants but she ignores it. There is no one she wants to talk to at this moment other than Polly.
“Natalie suggested you work here?”
“No, that’s not how it happened. I was temping for the real estate agency where she worked before I started here.” Polly’s words come out in a rush. “My dad’s old college roommate is a bigwig there—he hired me. I was a receptionist, and it was only for a couple weeks. They really didn’t need me, he was just doing my dad a favor.”
That would be a plausible reason for leaving it off her résumé, Marissa concedes.
“But I didn’t know Natalie well at all. She was mostly out showing houses. I just saw her a few times when she stopped by the office. I figured it was a total coincidence when she showed up today.”
Marissa’s phone buzzes again, just once, tickling her thigh. She folds her arms across her chest. “Go on.”
“But Natalie acted like she expected to see me here. She gave me a hug, as if we were friends, and said her daughter went to the same school as Bennett. She told me she’d come to pick up the auction items. I thought you knew she was dropping by.”
Marissa almost believes Polly. Almost. But there’s a giant hole in her assistant’s story. “If you and Natalie barely knew each other, why would she tell you about the job opening here?”
“She didn’t. That’s the strange thing.” Polly looks bewildered. “My dad’s friend—I think he’s Natalie’s boss—anyway, he’s the one who told me to apply here. I had no idea you and Natalie knew each other.”
Marissa sinks into the accent chair, her mind whirling.
Natalie must have told her boss that Polly could be a good fit for Coco. It’s possible she knew Marissa’s old assistant had moved on; Marissa had asked a few other moms at the school if they knew anyone who might be interested in working at Coco, and perhaps word had spread to Natalie.
But why wouldn’t Natalie have ever mentioned this connection to Marissa?
Polly clears her throat. “Are you mad I let her take the auction stuff?”
Marissa bites back a harsh laugh; Polly’s query is so off the mark, it’s ridiculous. “Let’s go back to the question our mutual friend Natalie interrupted: Why have you been gossiping about me to Skip?”
Polly spreads out her hands. “I don’t know anyone named Skip. I swear it, Marissa.”
Liar or cunning actress? Marissa thinks again. Natalie could be the link between Skip and Polly. Hadn’t Skip just said last night that Natalie might be involved with the sales of his town homes?
“I could never do anything to hurt you, Marissa. The truth is, I haven’t just been looking after the store. I’ve been trying to look after you.”
Marissa wants to scream. “I don’t need you to look after me!”
Polly wipes her eyes. “Please don’t be mad at me. It isn’t my fault!”
Marissa grits her teeth. The promising candidate from GW is coming in on Monday, she reminds herself; Marissa will hire her even if she’s less than ideal. Anyone would be better than Polly.
The store phone rings. “I’ll get it!” and Polly turns.
“No!” The word comes out harshly. “Polly, we’re not done talking.” Marissa rises and walks to the checkout desk, thinking, If Skip is the one who kept trying my cell and is now calling the store, I will completely lose it.
The number on caller ID flashes. It’s her home line. She snatches up the receiver. “Matthew?”
“Hey, I tried you on your cell but you didn’t pick up. Were you in my home office earlier?”
“No, why?”
“The cleaning woman wasn’t here, was she?”
“No, she never comes on Saturdays. What’s wrong?”
“Did you leave the window behind my desk open?”
“Of course not.” Marissa rarely goes into Matthew’s first-floor office—the last time she did, it was just before their date at Mon Ami Gabi—and she would certainly never leave the window open. One of Matthew’s prized possessions is a small original Picasso sketch that his mother gifted to him when he graduated from law school. It hangs between the two windows in the room. If moisture got through to it, the artwork could be damaged.
“I just went in there to grab my laptop because Bennett wanted to look up dinosaur pictures for his diorama. The window was open a couple inches.”
“Oh my God. Did someone break in while we were all out?”