“I’m exercising the control you evidently can’t,” Benji says. “Keeping my business and my private life sequestered. Cris is a close friend and a professional. If I came on to her, she’d—”
“Faint dead away,” I finish for him.
“No. She’d—”
“Orgasm instantly.”
“Jesus, Nate.” He sounds perturbed, but not because of my lewd comment. If you ask him, he’ll say he doesn’t like to think of Cris that way. If you ask me, I think it’s because he very much likes to think of Cris that way. It’s a shame he won’t let himself have nice things.
What Benji lost as a kid was unwarranted, unexpected. Devastating. His parents were professionals—his mom was a nurse and his dad was a doctor. Talk about two people who should live as long as possible.
Meanwhile my parents were destroying themselves and the people around them. How long were a junkie and his codependent wife meant to live? Who were they helping? Not long, and no one are the answers. Anyway, Benji has a wound and it keeps him from letting himself be too comfortable.
“Vivian’s an orphan,” I say before I mean to. “She mentioned she was parentless at dinner, but she was an adult when it happened.” Whatever “it” was. I didn’t ask. I haven’t shaken the idea she’s hiding something from me, but why does it matter? Like Benji, I should keep my personal life and business life sequestered.
Unfortunately, I like amalgamation.
“A woman who works at CRBI is destined for a frumpy husband who sells insurance.”
I make a face like I ate an olive—I hate olives.
“If you saw her, you’d never say that,” I grumble. I don’t like the idea of Vivian with a frumpy anything. Including her wardrobe. She dusted off her finest frock for our dinner together. I noticed, but didn’t mention it. She wanted me to notice, but not mention it. I was merely obeying her wishes.
“I took her to Villa Moneta,” I tell my brother as I drive.
“Villa Moneta.” Benji whistles. “Fancy place if all you were trying to do is keep her in your pocket.”
“I wanted to observe her in that environment.”
“Harsh, Nate. If you wanted to make her uncomfortable, why not invite her to the Owen house for dinner?”
“That’s just it,” I say, my mind on her behavior at dinner. “She wasn’t uncomfortable. She wasn’t impressed. She didn’t ask what a single item was on her plate. She casually mentioned the wine. The label was in French and the name of it rolled off her tongue.”
Sexiest words I’ve ever heard in my life.
“So city employees can’t be sophisticated?”
“When have you known me to be a snob?”
“Never.” He shakes his head.
“That’s right. Never. As a guy who came from nothing, I recall vividly how difficult it was to learn the ropes of high society. She was comfortable. An eight-course meal didn’t ruffle a single one of her fine feathers.”
“Cris didn’t grow up in wealth either, and she’s comfortable in those sorts of circumstances. Maybe Vivian used to work with a wealthy family.”
“Maybe.” But the idea of something bigger and more secretive won’t leave me alone. I want to know more about her. I have since the moment she stomped onto my work site. I know I should leave it alone, but when it comes to her I can’t seem to help myself.
“I was upper middle class, you were dirt poor, and we do fine blending in with these people.”
“Benji, we are these people.” I pull to a stop in front of Club Nine. We’re picking up Archer for an Owen brother powwow before his club’s grand opening. “Speaking of, a cigar has had our name on it since you skipped having one on Lainey’s birthday.”
“No can do. Cris doesn’t like to smell cigar on me when I go back to the office.”
I keep my pot/kettle comment to myself.
Chapter Nine
Vivian
The Stargazer function began at seven. I arrived at six o’clock with Daniel, feeling awkward for several reasons. Firstly, we looked like we arrived together as a couple even though I drove separately, and secondly, this crowd is a blast from my past.
My father dragged our family to who-knows-how-many business functions to celebrate his accomplishments. Whether it was a dinner or there was a podium or it was an excuse to get hammered like this one, they were basically the same. Rich folk like to see and be seen. They like other people to know who they are. I was one of them before my father went down in a blaze of shame. There’s a thought.
I sweep my hand down my dress and consider I’d fit in better if it had six more inches of length and fewer sequins. I stand out, but not because my dress is gaudy. Because it’s fun. No one here is dressed for fun.
It took two hours and a lot of sifting through racks before I found a dress that wouldn’t break the bank. The top is sleeveless, black sequins leading down to a skirt cut high in some places, low in others. It reminds me of the dress my salsa instructor wore when I was into that sort of thing. It’s a bit over the top for this event, but I couldn’t help buying it after I tried it on. It moves with me when I walk, the layers of skirt floating behind me. Pretty, if a little showy.
I didn’t pair it with the Louboutins. In the event Nate shows up tonight, I don’t want to appear overeager. I popped into a Lowz Shoe Depot and bought a gold pair of high-heeled sandals that loop at the ankle. They’re killing my feet, not gonna lie.
My hair is down and wavy, and my lips are muted pink. I’m approachable and friendly. Daniel meanders away from me, off to the side, and busies himself checking his cell phone every thirty seconds. He really is bad at this.
An hour into the event, I wish I would’ve worn the butter-soft Louboutins over the cheap, plastic-but-made-to-look-like-leather pair. This is the price of pride, people.
There are no chairs or tables, so guests mill around, drinks in hand and small-talk. I’ve been mingling for an hour. I’m bored, but not particularly pained by it. Evidently it’s like riding a bike.
“What was your name again?” Bob Londers asks me. He owns the golf course that’s been a Clear Ridge staple for over sixty years. He’s opened several courses in Florida. He once played Augusta. I nodded politely through each of his stories. I secretly wonder if he ever played on one of my dad’s golf courses. Walter Steele built several with his stolen money. Bob is trying to impress me.
“Vivian,” I answer. “I’m in the process of being certified as an inspector for the city, but I’ve been with the bureau for a while.”
“Well, you belong somewhere more regal if you ask me.” He smiles and a similar frisson of panic laces through me as when Nate said something similar. Am I so obvious? But then he continues and I realize he’s not calling me out. He’s hitting on me.
“I’m attending Jazzfest here in two weeks.” Bob’s eyes dip to my cleavage. “Will you be there, dear?”
“Ah, sorry. Jazz isn’t my thing.” I signal Daniel to save me but his eyes are on his cell phone.
“If I wasn’t married.” Bob shakes his head, his beady eyes traveling down my body. A pity date from a seventy-something golf course owner. Go me.