“Este, you should have told me. He’s been after me for years, pummeling my lawyers with everything he can think of about the Redwood hack. But he doesn’t have any proof. He never gets any traction.”
The knot in my stomach pulls tighter. “You’ve never told me that. How thefuckcan I help you when I keep learning new stuff like this?”
“I knew how much you cared about it.” His features harden. “Redwood, I mean.”
I can’t tell if this is a cheap shot or a confession. Did Beau ever feel threatened by my relationship with Simon? Does he still?
“Is there anything else, Beau?” I ask, watching the crowd rise to make their introductions. “Because now would be a really good time to tell me.”
“That’s all of it.” He exhales, and with steely eyes, he returns, “What about you?”
Our standoff is short-lived, though. Simon peels himself away from Polly and straightens to his full height, smoothing his designer shirt like he didn’t just crash-land in my neighbor’s yard. As Polly turns to run inside, Simon moves toward us with the ease of someone who’s always belonged everywhere, even here, even now.
“Este, Beau,” Ford calls, waving for us to rejoin the group. “Come meet Simon.”
“Let’s just try to get out of this night alive,” Beau mutters as we cross the lawn.
But that hope feels laughable. Simon Avery, the man who taught me to always be running more than one play at a time, is standing a few dozen yards from the hedgerows where I smuggle Polly snacks—a few dozen yards from my home. And he’s two moves ahead like always.
Is he here to ambush Beau? About the hack? About Gemma?
“Simon Avery,” Simon announces. As we reach the pergola, he’s offering Carol a charming nod and a handshake.
She finds her most poised party guest voice and asks, “How do you know Ford, Simon?”
Yes. Do tell, Lucifer. Howdidyou make it to this side of Earth?
“We lived on the same floor at St. Paul’s,” Ford says as he approaches, clapping his hand to Simon’s back.
“Ford left after the first year, though,” Simon continues as if they’ve both told this story many times before. “Recruited down to a golf program here in Florida. But we stayed in touch. I’m not really Polly’s uncle. But she bestowed the nickname a few years ago, and it stuck.”
Jesus Christ.
The world is small, and the world of the one percent is smaller. But Ford’s brief stint at Simon’s alma mater explains why I never connected them, despite the years I spent ordering Cuban cigars for his class reunions when I worked for Simon. If they socialized, it didn’t happen anywhere near my airspace.
Simon wasn’t wrong about me keeping him at arm’s length. I stowed my professional life and our relationship in airtight compartments. At the time, I convinced myself that detachment was its own kind of power.
A decision that’s still costing me, apparently.
Every ugly truth I thought I’d buried is clawing its way back into my life.
I touch my fingers to the bridge of my nose to keep from seeing double. My nervous system keeps sending up flares to run, but his wolfish grin tells me Simon’s trap has already sprung. And whatever play he’s running tonight, it’s already in motion.
Tippy and Shep offer brief hellos before Simon turns back to me. “Este, it’s good to see you again.”
“Oh!” Carol nearly fumbles her chardonnay. “You two know each other?”
Do any of us really know anyone?
She perks up, eyes narrowing with interest, practically vibrating at the prospect of new gossip. Tippy’s head tilts, confusionknitting her brow. She’s not sure what it means, but she knows she’s missed something juicy.
Beau’s knuckles whiten around his beer bottle. But I can’t tell if he’s angrier with me or Simon at the moment.
“Este might know me better than anyone.” Simon chuckles affably. “She was my right hand for years.”
“ ‘Better than anyone’ is a euphemism.” I grin, feeling myself take a sharp left turn out of my right mind. “I was Simon’s chief of staff while we slept together in secret, and then he fired me.”
Carol gasps so loudly I think she might swallow her own tongue.
