“Is Lance like Richard?”
“No. I mean, there are a few things that are similar, but—”
“Like what?”
“Just the way they carry themselves. Like they’re totally comfortable in their own skin.”
She barks out a laugh. “Richard? No way. He is one of the least confident men I’ve ever met. He puts on a good front though. I was just in Texas and they have the perfect expression for it—all hat and no cattle.”
Savannah has a thing for quirky idioms she picks up from her travels.
“Really?” A frown of confusion burrows between my eyes.
“Yes. And I’ll bet that’s why he treated you like the hired help. You’re smart and creative and everything you’ve achieved, you’ve done all on your own. Meanwhile, Richard is a glorified pencil-pusher who only has a job because Mommy and Daddy own the company.”
“That’s not true,” I disagree. Richard might not have inherited the design talent of his parents, but he’s incredibly organized and efficient. He never missed a single detail, and Abbott Interiors was only able to grow at the pace it did because Richard made sure the bills were paid on time, vendors and contractors were held accountable for their budgets and timelines, and clients were kept informed of every aspect of their projects. “He’s the glue that holds that company together.”
“Oh, honey.” Savannah shakes her head. “No one remembers the glue. Only the stars.”
For a moment, I feel a ripple of sympathy for Richard. Savannah’s right. Richard will never be featured in Architectural Digest or the Style section of the New York Times, like his parents often are. And maybe that’s what he craves. Recognition, and the financial rewards that come with it.
Abbott Interiors is successful, and Richard is compensated well. But there were times when I could see his cool smile falter and something like envy twist his lips instead. He might be able to rent a house in the Hamptons, but definitely not an oceanfront property like this. And not for two whole months.
“Look.” Savannah draws my attention back to her. “Don’t throw up a wall with Lance because of your douche of an ex. And besides, Lance isn’t actually paying you. You’re doing him and his friend a huge favor by making this house into a knockout. The way I see it, you two are even. And if this guy’s as amazing in bed as he was in the pool, it would be a tragedy not to spend the rest of the summer enjoying every minute.”
Chapter 19
Lance
59 DAYS UNTIL LABOR DAY
Most of my work with RiskTaker can be handled remotely, but not all of it. Some situations require a more personal touch. And with Tripp juggling a wife, an almost-teenaged daughter, and a new baby, that person is me.
The situation in Nebraska took two days to resolve, but the ransomware attack was foiled and Network Tech’s systems are running smoothly once again. I arrive back in the Hamptons, where Tripp and Jolie are waiting for me.
“I’m dying to hear all about your new girlfriend,” Jolie says as I get into the back seat of their Range Rover, which isn’t nearly as roomy as it should be, especially with the car seat buckled behind Tripp.
Ken Kendrick, one of the richest men in the country, is hosting a barbecue at his estate in East Hampton today, and he’s our first choice to join the newly established board of the RiskTaker Foundation, the charitable initiative Tripp and I launched a little over a year ago, which so far has only three members. Tripp, Jolie, and me.
To expand our pilot program nationwide, we need a team of wealthy and well-connected philanthropists to join us.
“There’s not much to tell.” And Vivienne’s hardly my girlfriend . . . though after implying to Tripp that she was more than just an unexpected arsonist inhabiting my house, I’ve definitely warmed to the idea.
“Where’s she from? How’d you two meet? What’s she like? Come on, I’ve barely left the house all week and my most interesting conversation today was the hour I spent on the phone with my lactation consultant talking about Joey’s nipple confusion. Help a girl out, would you?”
“For fuck’s sake. Jolie, you know I adore you. But I want to hear about your nipples about as much as you want to hear about my balls.”
She laughs. “I’ll trade you. No more nipples for a rundown on your new girlfriend—what’s her name?”
“Vivienne.”
“Vivienne. I like the sound of her already. Keep going.”
“How much longer until we get to the Kendrick’s?” I ask Tripp pleadingly.
“You have about six minutes before you’re free.”
Jolie adds, “Quit stalling.”
Do I even know enough about Vivienne to fill six minutes? “We met through my real estate agent. She’s helping me with the house.”
“Helping you . . . how?”
“She picked the paint colors, furniture. She’s making it look nice.”
“Your girlfriend is an interior designer?”
I think so. “Exactly.”
“You hit the jackpot, Lance. When can we meet her?”
“Hey,” Tripp cuts in. “Is she staying with you? We could swing by to pick her up. It’s no problem.”
“No. She already had plans,” I say quickly. Even if Vivienne is free tonight, it will be obvious I’m stretching the truth (cough, outright lying, cough) before we pull out of my driveway.
“Oh.” Jolie makes a disappointed sound as we stop at the gated entrance of the Kendrick estate, the engine idling while a security guard in a white polo, khaki pants, and a side holstered Glock checks our IDs. Once we’re waved through, I count half a dozen similarly attired men patrolling the perimeter of the hulking, Nantucket-style behemoth where Ken Kendrick and his wife spend most of their summer weekends. I’m sure there are more guards inside and at the rear of the house as well. Besides the combined wealth of their invited guests, the Kendrick’s art collection is worth billions.
Two servers stand sentry inside the front door, one holding a tray of champagne flutes, the other copper mugs. Jolie goes for the champagne while Tripp and I each accept a Moscow mule, then continue into the heart of the house where double sets of French doors have been flung open to a vast stone patio and manicured garden. There are plenty of people inside, but most are congregated outside, taking full advantage of the afternoon sun and priceless ocean view.
Kendrick is holding court on the patio, but he breaks off when the three of us walk up. “Jolie and Tripp, so good to see you.” His eyes, dark and wide-set on his broad face, flick to me. “And is this the wunderkind from the West Coast I’ve heard so much about?”
I extend my hand. “Wunderkind’s a mouthful. My friends call me Lance.”
We make small talk for a few minutes before Jolie gets stolen away by one of her friends. Ken says, “Word on the Street is that RiskTaker is getting to be more than just a powerhouse on the cyber scene. I’ve been hearing that you’re doing some pretty incredible things in the city. Ever think about expanding your reach?”
Tripp and I share a glance. “Actually, that’s exactly what we’re hoping to do.”