Tripp looks adoringly at his wife. “You’ve done more than that.”
She rolls her eyes. “Barely.” But her attention is distracted by the two other couples walking our way, followed by a server bearing a tray of champagne flutes. “Perfect timing.”
There are handshakes and air kisses, and pretty soon we’re all toasting to RiskTaker’s success and bemoaning the end of summer. I’ve met Nixie and Nash, the owners of the yacht, and Reina and Tristan a few times over the past couple of months. Lance assures me that they think I’m his real girlfriend, unlike Tripp and Jolie, who know the truth.
But I still feel awkward around them.
“Will you be heading back to Manhattan, Vivienne?” Reina asks.
“That’s my plan.” I have one of those now. A plan, rather than a to-do list. I am definitely taking the leap and starting my own business. I’ve reached out to the alumni office of my alma mater, FIT, for a mentor to guide me through the process and recommendations for a lawyer to draw up incorporation papers. I’ve also spoken with the organizers of a highly-regarded Designer Showcase and will be decorating a room this winter. Showcases are a lot of work, but they’re highly visible with both potential clients and industry insiders.
“So will you be bi-coastal then?” Nixie follows up, directing her question at Lance.
His eyes land on my face and there’s so much warmth in them, I feel myself flush. “I’m seriously considering it.”
My heart gives a lurch. Is this part of the act? Or could he possibly mean dividing his time between New York and California . . . for me?
Chapter 45
Lance
It’s not a lie. For the past week, all I’ve been thinking about is Vivienne. And the arbitrary deadline I put on my time with her.
And how I might have fucked everything up.
Money is a tool. But a hammer is a tool, too. It can be used to build houses and hang art. But it can also crack skulls and destroy lives.
Just because you’re paying me doesn’t mean I’m yours. You bought my time, but nothing more. I’m not for sale, Lance.
Lately, the words Vivienne said to me the night we went to the carnival have been echoing inside my head. By using money to get what I wanted from Vivienne, her time, I almost destroyed the time we had together.
Almost.
Fuck, I hope the damage I did isn’t irreparable. I’m not ready to let go of her. Not on Labor Day. Maybe not ever. I want more time. Years.
I am looking forward to the end of summer though. It signifies the end of our arrangement. We can start fresh. Build something new, something ours. Because I’m in love with Vivienne.
So. Fucking. Much.
Vivienne’s idea of a fun date is cheap rides, huge stuffed animals, and junk food. She’d probably prefer a beat-up Mazda over my Maserati. And if I still lived in the ramshackle ranch in Hampton Bays where I grew up, she’d find a way to turn it into a cozy retreat.
Vivienne only took pleasure in spending my money when I forced it on her—shelling out a fortune on clothes because I told her she had to look the part.
I’ve been so goddamn blind.
Thank God the yacht pulls away from the dock or I might have been tempted to drag Vivienne away and let Tristan handle the glad-handing. At least it won’t be a long night. Just a simple sunset cruise along the bay and around Shelter Island. And then Vivienne and I will return home, and I’ll tell her exactly how I feel.
Like a circuit finally connecting to an energy source, my life has become painfully, obviously clear. What I have with Vivienne—what we have together—cannot end in two days.
I hope we don’t end, ever.
Our charade, however, is over. At least, as far as I’m concerned.
Unexpectedly, I feel Vivienne tense up at my side. Her entire body draws so tight she’s practically vibrating. “Anne,” she exhales, though I sense her tension has less to do with the elegant, silver-haired woman than the younger man beside her.
“Vivienne. My goodness, I didn’t expect to see you here. What a lovely surprise.”
“Yes. Lovely,” she says shakily. “And Richard, it’s good to see you.”
My ears perk up at that. Dick.
He responds with a curt nod, his eyes barely flicking over Vivienne before concentrating on me. He straightens to his full height, which is still several inches below mine, and extends his hand. “Richard Abbott.”
“Oh, where are my manners. Lance, this is Anne Abbott and her son, Richard. Anne and Richard, this is my boyfriend, Lance Welles.”
My handshake is just shy of bone-crushing, and I feel a tug of pleasure at the flinch he tries, unsuccessfully, to hide.
“So you’re Tripp’s partner, the other half of RiskTaker?” the woman asks. “What an incredibly worthwhile endeavor. If our firm can be of any assistance at all, Vivienne knows how to contact us.”
Richard’s eyes flick back and forth between Vivienne and me. “How do you two know each other?” His antagonistic tone grates on my nerves, though I remain silent, wanting to hear how Vivienne answers the question.
“It’s a funny story,” she begins.
“Must be,” Richard cuts in. “This isn’t exactly your crowd.”
I start to move forward, ready to squash him like a bug, but Vivienne’s arm tightens around me. “We met through a mutual acquaintance, a real estate agent. Lance owns a stunning Southampton beach house, right on the ocean. He hired me and the rest is history, really. We’re living together and I’ve never been happier.”
If there was sand in my mouth, I’d spit out a pearl.
Everything she said is true, I hope, but it’s the way she said it. The tone of one-upmanship coating her words that sets my teeth on edge.
Anne’s smile appears genuine. “You’ve had quite the summer.”
“When you know, there’s really no reason to wait,” Vivienne gushes, flashing a saccharine smile up at me. “Right, sweetheart?”
Knowing that smile is more for Dick’s benefit than mine makes me want to wipe it right off her face. “Only a fool would let you go.”
Dick does his best to stare me down. Fat chance, asshole.
The ship’s horn blows, announcing our exit from the bay.
And my entrapment. Just what I need—to be stuck on a boat with Vivienne’s ex.
“I could use a cognac.” Dick tips his chin and extends an elbow to his mother. “Care to join?”
She looks questioningly at Vivienne, who waves them on. “Go ahead. We’ll be there in a bit.”
“So, that’s the pussy who won’t eat pussy?”
Her eyes widen, and she glances over my shoulder. “Shh, they’ll hear you.”
“Who gives a fuck? Someone should make a sign and tape it to his back as a warning.”
“I told you that in confidence.”
“And I’m telling you that the whole world should know. The guy’s a piece of shit.”
“You don’t even know him,” she shoots back, crossing her arms over her chest.
“What I know is you were only too happy to jump back into girlfriend mode the second he came sniffing around.”