I hug her, squeezing a little harder than usual, and I want her to come over for dinner. I want all of us to drink by the lake at sunset, for everything to go back to the way it was.
But I can’t have that yet. I have to ask Beau about the window seat.
“All right, deal.” Nora pushes her sunglasses on. “What about Tuesday? I heard Ford is doing some charity pro-am up at Interlachen. He’s recruited some other golfers from the tour to join. We could go and throw loose napkins at Carol Parker?”
“I know you’re kidding, but if you swap pro-am with drinks,you’ve described my perfect afternoon.” Then my thoughts stumble. “Wait. Ford’s still in town?”
“I mean, he’s not on the tour. He’s Polly’s dad. Where else would he be?”
My mind drifts to the scraps I’ve managed to round up. “He’s divorced, right? Not married?”
Nora frowns. “I think only his publicist knows the answer to that question. It sounded—”
“Complicated,” I finish for her as I turn toward my car, Autumn’s words about Gemma’s secret relationship sour on my tongue.
“Let me know about the pro-am thing?”
“Sure,” I say as I climb into my driver’s seat and pull away with a wave.
But in the hollow quiet of the drive home, visions of Gemma and the window seat and Autumn’s revelation about some married guy tangle together and then split apart. Questions about what Gemma was doing at the Hall House and why her apartment was empty take turns luring me down dead ends.
Gemma was in the Hall House a week before she died. Was that the only time? Or was the Hall House some kind of secret meet-up spot for Gemma and the “him” from her Instagram photo?
A thought slams into me so hard I grip the steering wheel tighter.
Ford. Divorced? Complicated? A pro golfer with a squeaky-clean image and an abandoned mansion rendezvous point?
Everyone seemed to know the Hall House was empty. The property had been untended for so long, even the Garden Club ladies stopped wringing their lace-gloved hands over it. The house’s well-known neglect would have made it the perfect meeting spot for an affair.
Is that why she had a jar of tees?
The idea is so vivid, I almost miss my turn home. Beau isn’t Gemma’s married boyfriend. He would never do that.
But what about Ford?
Chapter 16
California
I almost didn’t wear my lucky dress. The night before, I’d hung it on the closet door in my too-small Venice apartment, but the morning of Beau’s meeting at Redwood, my first thought was,Beau’s already seen it.
And my second thought was how childish and unwelcome the first thought had been.
The Chanel shift had earned its reputation, getting me through my first-ever investor pitch and countless others. The part of me that unspooled when I was around Beau, the part that wanted to dress up for him, needed to pipe down.
This isn’t middle school, Este. Or some confab to discuss whether he like-likes you.
This was business. After the party in Benedict Canyon, Beau finally agreed to meet with Simon, and if Simon could make inroads toward acquiring Beau’s company, I’d get another shot at impressing Beau with my accessories.
Or maybe I’ll just get over it, because I already have a bedfellow in my boss and a very important career to think about.
So I wore the dress.
I told myself I didn’t care how Beau Walker sometimes made me feel, because “sometimes” was temporary. Andthiswas dealmaking. Permanent and life-changing.
Then I walked straight through the door of the glass-walled conference room where Simon already had the stage set—watercarafes and breakfast catering assembled on the banquette, legal pads squared at every seat of the wide meeting table.
Simon looked ready for war.
