We pull up to his address, and I hand my keys to the valet before taking Vivienne’s hand. “Ready?”
She manages a faint smile. “Nervous.”
“Don’t be.” My other hand glides to the small of her back as we walk inside. “It’s just a party. Cocktails and small talk.”
“I hate small talk.”
“Now you tell me.” Lowering my voice to a whisper, I incline my head to her ear. “Shit, I should have hired a different girlfriend.”
My teasing has the intended effect. Vivienne’s laugh is an amused chime. “Sorry. You’re stuck with me for the night.”
“Longer than that, I hope.”
“Right. Until Labor Day.”
Our eyes lock for a long moment, breaths stilling. The end of summer suddenly seems very close.
When the front door swings open, I think we both jump a little. But for the next hour, we mix and mingle. Like the Kendrick’s barbecue, this one also takes advantage of the outdoor space, and eventually, we find ourselves on the patio. A band is playing, and illuminated spheres float on the surface of the pool.
I catch Vivienne looking in that direction, and from the way color rises on her cheeks, I know exactly what she’s thinking.
When the breeze blows a piece of her hair across her face, I give in to the urge to tuck it behind her ear, my fingers lingering on Vivienne’s smooth skin as my gut clenches from wishing we were alone right now. Just the two of us, beneath a gorgeous starry sky.
No pressure to make small talk with strangers.
No need to pretend to be anything we’re not.
“Lance Welles, right?” I turn toward the man in a pink polo shirt, swallowing my irritation at the interruption. “Good to see you again, I’m . . .”
Vivienne whispers in my ear, something about going to find the powder room. It takes herculean effort not to chase her as she slips away. My hand tightens around my glass as I make casual conversation. I just want to get a few minutes with Jacob Chambers and then go back to the house with Vivienne.
Maybe I can convince her that this arrangement doesn’t have to turn us into adversaries. That we can still be . . . whatever we were before. It didn’t have a label and it was fucking great.
“Excuse me.” The voice at my ear lands with the weight of a sledgehammer.
I spin to my left, the guy I was talking to already forgotten. “Missy. This is a surprise.”
“For you, maybe.” There’s a flicker of movement in her brow, but it doesn’t actually lift. “Who do you think sent you the invitation?”
“I don’t . . . ” My voice trails off as I notice the diamond on Missy’s finger.
“I guess you haven’t heard. Jacob and I are engaged.”
It doesn’t surprise me that my ex is marrying a man more than twice her age. Missy is just as driven as I ever was, in her own way. If she wanted to, she could be so much more than a rich man’s trophy wife. She’s smart and determined. And she was the one I turned to after Krista died, getting me through the worst stages of a grief so all-consuming, I thought I would drown in it.
But while Krista’s death brought us back together, it was also the reason we broke up. Losing the person I loved most in the world, and realizing that my millions could do absolutely nothing to bring her back, was a wake-up call for me. Until then, I thought money was everything. It represented success and security, two things I grew up craving. The day Krista’s casket was lowered into the ground, I realized that money is a tool, nothing more. Money buys houses and cars, food and clothing. Not happiness or health or love. Nothing that truly matters can be bought.
“Congratulations,” I offer dryly.
“So,” she looks around, “it almost feels like we’re back to where we began.”
“Almost.”
“But not quite.”
“No,” I admit.
“We made it, Lance. We have everything we said we wanted.”
“It would seem so.” And yet, somehow, having everything isn’t quite enough.
The polished veneer Missy has worked so hard to create cracks a bit. “Except that we were supposed to have it together.”
“Missy . . .” I don’t want to rehash all the reasons we didn’t work, all the reasons we will never work. Missy is a valuable commodity in this crowd. Beautiful, ambitious, artfully manipulative. But her stock crashed and burned with me a long time ago.
“I know, I know. I’ve moved on, but—”
“As have I,” I interrupt before she can finish her sentence. “And where is your lucky future husband?”
Her expression regains its icy demeanor in the span of a blink. “You want to talk to Jacob about that charity you started, don’t you? God, Lance, didn’t you have enough of being poor when you actually were?”
“I did. But I’m not anymore. If I can help someone else build a better life for themselves, for their families, that’s what I want to do.”
“How sweet. You care so much about people you’ve never met, but the one who was there for you, who loved you for years, you dropped like a hot rock the second you sold your company and became a billionaire.”
“That’s not why we broke up and you know it.”
“We? We did not break up. You broke up with me. And now . . . what? You just want to give all your money away to people who have no idea what do with it.”
“That’s the point. We’re not giving them money, we’re teaching them how to responsibly—”
“Save your elevator speech for Jacob.” She drags a fingernail down my forearm. “Maybe I can put in a good word for you. Then again, maybe I should put in a bad one.”
I move just out of reach. “You do whatever you have to do, Missy.”
“Are you sure about that? Because if word gets out that Jacob Morgan turned you down . . . Well, you know the Hamptons. Gossip shuts more doors around here than wind coming off the ocean, that’s for sure.”
Chapter 29
Vivienne
I almost high-five myself in the bathroom. Lance and I are slaying it out there. And, the crazy thing is, I’m having a great time. Lance has been attentive and charming. And other than a few openly jealous glares from some of the women here, everyone has been lovely.
I can do this. I can hold my own with this A-list crowd.
I’m finally realizing how much I allowed Richard to get into my head. Convincing me that I wasn’t good enough for him, that I would never fit in with his friends. That I was only, and always would be, the hired help.
I take a few extra minutes to wander around the main floor of this gorgeous house, absorbing all the elegant details, the expensive art. It’s a little formal for my taste, showy rather than welcoming. But I appreciate the dramatic color palette and high-end finishes. It’s obvious that no expense was spared.
Eventually I make my way back outside, accepting a fruity cocktail from a passing waiter before looking around for Lance. I spot him immediately. How can I not? My Viking towers head and shoulders above almost everyone. When I left, he was speaking with a man in a pink polo shirt. But now, he’s bent low in conversation with a blonde in a cobalt-blue dress. A very beautiful blonde with a flawless figure.