“Katie.” Chloe looked embarrassed.
“Well, it’s true.” Katie was evidently one of those people who thought that if something was true, it was all right to blurt it out. “My dad’s the sheriff, and he wouldn’t let it. But have you checked out Will’s net worth?”
“Um, no,” I said, though of course I had, many times. His net worth was the same as my own, except that I’d written nearly four times as many books as he had (though admittedly mine were a lot shorter, since they were for kids) and I’d tucked all my money safely away in defined benefit plans I couldn’t touch until I was older than my dad was now. I hadn’t gone around throwing my royalties away willy-nilly on stupid things such as mansions on private islands and boats.
“Well, right, then,” Katie went on. “So you know he’s loaded. He’s practically paying for this entire book festival. Well, him and Mrs. Tifton.”
“Katie!” Chloe looked horrified.
“Well, it’s true.”
“Yeah, but it’s rude to talk about things like that.”
“But—”
“It’s okay.” I interrupted, not only because I didn’t want to see the girls get into an argument, but because I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. Will Price was paying for this book festival?
Obviously I knew he’d loaned the use of his house and apparently his boat for tomorrow’s author outing, and also given a hefty donation to the girls’ dance team.
But donated actual money to promote books—children’s books, which he’d quite publicly claimed weren’t even “real” literature?
Why? What was Will up to?
“Sorry.” Katie was looking at me apologetically. “Chloe’s right. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No.” Chloe looked furious with her friend. “You shouldn’t have, Katie. My brother is very private. Not just about me, but about … well, everything.”
Oh, this was interesting. What did Will have to be so private about? I’d never read a word about him having a wife or kids—every article referred to him as too “busy and dedicated to his career” to share his life “with a partner,” as he called it.
But I could understand that. I’d tried living “with a partner,” too, and it hadn’t gone too well. My “partner” had always been nagging me to go out and do things with him (on my dime) when all I’d wanted to do was stay home and write about funny kitten-sitting adventures.
And Justin had then had the audacity to accuse me of being the weird one in our relationship!
I shook my head. “No, don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s fine. It’s very … nice of your brother, Chloe, to have included me.” The words stuck in my throat. But she seemed like a genuinely sweet girl, so I had to say something kind about her brother, as much as it pained me.
“Are you serious?” Chloe shot me an incredulous look. “Of course he included you. You’re my favorite author! You don’t even know—your books helped me through one of the worst times in my entire life.”
Wow.
Suddenly I knew I couldn’t do what I’d been thinking a moment earlier, which was to put Drew’s place card back where I’d found it, then sneak off the island and into an Uber back to the hotel.
And not just because I was sure that by now all the ink had washed off the hand-calligraphed card and onto my sweaty palm, but because when someone says something like that, you have to stick around.
Plus, it was too late. People from the meet-and-greet—which was apparently over—were starting to file in to grab their seats for dinner.
And leading the pack—standing a head taller than everyone else, and looking cool and relaxed despite the heat—was none other than the man of the hour himself, Will Price.
CHAPTER NINE
Everything was fine. Everything was going to be great.
I just had to be normal and act like I didn’t know that my mortal enemy, Will Price, had paid for me and my friends to be here.
Wait. Was he paying our stipends, too?
What in the name of sweet kitty heaven was going on here?
Never mind. It didn’t matter. I could do this. I could totally do this.
Fortunately there was wine. Members of the catering team—they were the ones in white shirts and black trousers—were walking around the tables with bottles, asking the guests who were filing into their seats which they preferred, red or white.
Perfect. Wine would help. Straight vodka would be better, but wine would work.
Letting the crumpled place card I was holding fall to the sand—it was nothing but a sweat-stained swatch of cardboard now, but completely biodegradable—I snatched up a glass from a table I was passing on my way back to the one I’d been assigned, then held it out to the closest server.
“Red or white?” she asked with a bright smile. “Tonight we have a lovely Pinot Noir and a Sauvignon Blanc.”
“Either,” I said. “Both. I don’t care.”
The server smiled and poured a generous serving of red wine into my glass, half of which I managed to down in almost a single gulp just as a smiling Molly approached.
This would have been fine—I could have handled a conversation with a children’s librarian just then—if I hadn’t spied Will Price strolling behind her, looking casually princely in the glow of the lamps and moonlight.
All right, I told myself. This was it. Our showdown. I was going to find out exactly what in the whiskers was going on, then let him have it. He wouldn’t be feeling so princely once I was through with him. That’s right, buddy, I’ve got your number. You better have an apology and some explanations ready about what’s going on around here or you’re the one who’s going to get kicked back to the author bus.
“Oh, Ms. Wright, there you are,” Molly said brightly. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Have you met Will Price? He’s one of our festival’s board members, and a writer, as well.”
Wait. Will Price was a donor and a member of the festival’s board?
And she really thought I hadn’t heard of him? Was she unaware of the plagiarism scandal that had linked Will’s name with mine forever, much to my everlasting chagrin? Did she not know we’d all received a copy of The Moment in our swag bags, and that some of us were reading every word?
Then again, Molly was a librarian living in the Florida Keys on a small island that felt a million miles from the rest of the world. And judging by that sheriff’s smile and how close she seemed to giving birth, she’d obviously been keeping herself busy doing other things.
“We’ve met,” I said, and boldly stretched my inky right hand toward Will while plastering the smile across my face that Rosie had nicknamed “Fake Jo.” Make him regret his life choices, remember? “How are you, Will?”
“I’m well, thank you.” He took my hand in his. His skin felt warm but dry, unlike my own, since I was sweating up a storm. Stupid Florida humidity.
He’d changed since I’d seen him at the airport that morning. He’d been unable to do anything about his hair—it still fell in unruly dark curls around his handsome, angular face—but he’d made an effort to get rid of some of the fiveday stubble, at least. He’d ditched the jeans and Timbs for a white cotton button-down, the sleeves rolled up at the elbow to reveal muscular, tanned forearms, and pale blue linen trousers. He looked cool, calm, and collected.