Do Not Disturb (22 page)

“How are you finding East Hampton?” He smiled, ostensibly in welcome, though it came off as patronizing. The Boston accent didn’t help, either. It was pure JFK. Lucas found himself wondering whether it were genuine or had been deliberately acquired and decided probably the latter. Either way it made him sound like he had the mother of all sticks up his ass.

“I’m still finding my feet,” said Lucas, adding jokingly, “To be honest, I feel like a bit of a circus freak tonight. People keep staring. Are they always like this?”

Devon frowned defensively. “Like what? It’s natural for people to be curious,” he said. “You’re making dramatic changes to both the look and the spirit of their town. Or at least you will be.”

“I’m building a hotel, Mr. Carter,” said Lucas wearily. “Not turning East Hampton into Las Vegas.”

“Hmmm.” Devon sounded unconvinced. “I’d say the jury was still out on that one. But let’s canvass some other opinions, shall we? Morty!”

Before Lucas could protest, his host started waving to a doddery, white-haired man with a pronounced stoop, who dutifully shuffled over.

“This is Morty Sullivan, chairman of our planning committee, among many other things,” he said brightly. “I believe he’s a friend of your boss. Morty, meet Lucas Ruiz.”

Shit. This must be the guy Anton had blackmailed to get the Herrick project off the ground. According to the files Lucas had read, he was only fifty-two, but he looked decades older, poor
bastard. As for he and Anton being friends, he presumed this was Devon’s idea of a joke. A pretty cruel one, judging by the old man’s terror-stricken face.

Morty shook Lucas’s hand with all the enthusiasm of someone greeting the Grim Reaper. “How do you do?” he asked querulously.

“Mr. Sullivan.” Lucas nodded respectfully in return. He felt genuinely bad for the guy. Devon, on the other hand, seemed to be reveling in the awkwardness of the moment. Evidently he was not only pompous, but spiteful.

Lucas spent the next half hour being thrust like a ritual sacrifice in front of the various great and good burghers of the town, smiling until his jaw ached, and defending the Herrick, or trying to, until his head throbbed. Devon stood beside him through each encounter, his smug, paternalistic smile seeming to suggest that he was doing Lucas a great favor by introducing him into “polite” Hamptons society. Which was ironic, seeing as the one thing these people were self-evidently not was polite.

“Glass is one thing, Mr. Ruiz,” a withered crone dressed head to toe in black Chanel, like a crow, conceded grudgingly. “But is all the steel really necessary? That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Has your employer ever
been
to the Hamptons?” The crow’s equally ancient friend was keen to join the conversation, closing her bony, arthritic fingers around Lucas’s arm like a vise while she harangued him. “Perhaps if he actually saw the town he was defacing…”

“It wouldn’t make a difference, Sheila.” The crow talked through Lucas as though he were invisible. “He’s
German
. None of these Europeans—no offense, Mr. Ruiz—none of them really understand the American concept of class. I may disapprove of the way Honor threw over her poor father, but there’ll never be another Palmers in this town. It’s as simple as that.”

Lucas longed to tell the pair of them to stick their ignorant, racist opinions where the monkey stuck his nuts, but for once he
restrained himself, escaping instead to the far side of the room and sinking gratefully down into an empty space on one of the couches. Some kind soul handed him a fresh martini, which he downed in a single gulp.

Beside him, a dark-haired boy was talking animatedly on his cell phone. Jumping off the call with a loud and self-important “Ciao, ciao,” he turned to Lucas.

“Nick Carter,” he said, pumping Lucas’s hand vigorously. “And you must be Lucas. Welcome.”

“Thanks,” said Lucas warily. It was hard to put his finger on it, but there was something about the boy, a certain arrogance, that he instantly disliked. He reminded Lucas of every spoiled, cocky rich-kid playboy who used to prop up the bar at the Cadogan: handsome, certainly, although in quite a different way from his father. Devon might be stiffer than a porn star’s cock, but he was masculine to the
n
th degree. This boy, on the other hand, was metrosexual to the point of foppishness—slicked-back hair, doused with enough Gucci Envy to stop a train, manicured nails, a mouth full of enamel veneers. He clearly hadn’t done a day’s real work in his life.

Just then, Lucas was distracted from his musings by the appearance of a bombshell of a redhead.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” She addressed herself to Nick, who looked up at her disdainfully.

“Sure,” he grunted. “Lucas, this is my kid sister, Lola.”

“Hell
ola
,” drawled Lucas. At long last the evening was starting to look up.

She was wearing exactly the sort of outfit he usually hated: a long gypsy skirt that swished like a mermaid’s tail when she walked and some sort of peasant smock shirt with a gilet thrown over the top. But on her, it worked. And unless he was hallucinating—unlikely after only one martini, though God knew he was tired enough—he could have sworn he saw her give him a distinctly lascivious wink.

For her part, Lola’s pulse had taken off like a rocket—holy crap, was this guy
hot
!—but she made a titanic effort to play it cool, not wanting to betray any sort of weakness in front of her brother. No wonder all her mom’s friends had gotten so excited over Lucas. The words “hotel manager” had conjured up an image in her mind of a balding, middle-aged bore with a paunch and a polyester suit. Who could have guessed East Hampton’s public enemy number one would turn out to be such a love god?

On the other side of the room, Devon could feel the tension coiling around his arteries like a slowly squeezing fist. Honor, who’d arrived late and very obviously tipsy five minutes ago, was making a spectacle of herself flirting with one of the waiters. Itching to go over and confront her, he had to wait almost ten more minutes until Karis was safely engrossed in conversation with one of her girlfriends before he made his move.

Weaving his way through the crowd, he surprised her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to one side.

“What’s wrong with you?” he hissed. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” Honor lied, staring back at him defiantly.

She’d been dreading this evening’s party for weeks and had only agreed to come because Devon insisted that everyone else would be there and it might look suspicious if she didn’t. She’d been seeing him for nearly nine months now and had exchanged brief pleasantries with Karis on numerous occasions, both here and in Boston. But she’d never set foot in his family home, nor had she ever expressed the remotest desire to do so. As soon as she walked through the door, she knew it had been a mistake to come. Smiling family photographs in gilt frames littered every surface and fought for space on every wall. In panic, Honor had retreated at once to the bathroom, but in there it was even worse. Finger paintings that Nick and Lola had done in nursery school
were proudly stuck up next to snapshots of Karis from her modeling days. No one could deny she looked utterly ravishing in those pictures. Nor could Honor close her eyes to the look of love, and quite genuine happiness, on Devon’s face as, over the years, the camera caught the two of them together. If their marriage was a sham now, it had not always been that way. Just being in the house felt like a grave intrusion. Who was she to fantasize about marrying Devon and breaking up this once-happy home?

What made it sicker was that this was Karis’s birthday party. Here she was, a mistress, attending the birthday party of her lover’s wife. Now that she was actually in the house, the wrongness of it hit her like an iron bar in the face. Suddenly, she deeply regretted having opted for the blatantly raunchy, micro-short black Dolce & Gabbana dress that clung to her athlete’s body now like tar. She’d thought it might boost her confidence to look sexy for once, especially in front of her rival, Karis, and had even gone to town with the makeup, buying some vampy bright-red lipstick especially for the occasion. But now she just felt foolish. Not only was she behaving like Tina, but she was dressing like her, too. Who had she become? Horribly ashamed and feeling more out of place and insecure than ever, she’d overcompensated by drinking far too much. No wonder Devon was in a foul mood with her.

“We agreed we’d keep it low-key and act natural,” he hissed in a stage whisper. “And you turn up in…
that
,” he looked at her dress reprovingly, “and start throwing yourself at every single man in the room. Even the goddamn serving staff.”

“Bullshit,” slurred Honor. “I’m not throwing myself at anyone.”

But she knew he was right. She had been flirting, trying to get his attention. How pathetic was that?

“I can’t help it if guys want me. Anyway, whadda you care? You’ve been all over your wife like a cheap suit the whole night. Everywhere I turn I see pictures of the two of you.”

Devon sighed. So that’s what this was all about.

“It’s her birthday party, Honor. And this is our home. What do you want me to do? I’m
married
.”

“I know you’re
married
,” she snapped back at him, downing her drink and immediately grabbing another from a passing waiter, glaring at Devon when he pulled it firmly out of her hand. “But maybe you shouldn’t be, seeing as, according to you, you can’t stand the sight of each other. Or maybe that’s bullshit, huh, Devon? Maybe your marriage is ticking along just fine.”

“It isn’t,” he said firmly.

“Prove it!” hissed Honor.

“What are you saying?” whispered Devon angrily. “You want me to get a divorce? Is that what you want?”

“Yes!” said Honor, loud enough for people to turn and look.

“Keep your voice down, for Christ’s sake,” pleaded Devon, putting on a fixed smile for their newfound audience. He waited a few minutes for the interest to die down, then dragged Honor out into the corridor.

“You want me to leave Karis?” He was surprised to find himself trembling as he asked the question. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. No,” said Honor miserably. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just…I hate this. Sharing you.” She bit her lower lip, and Devon’s heart softened. Suddenly she looked ridiculously young. “It was so perfect until your family came out.”

There were tears in her eyes, and for a brief moment he felt a stab of guilt. He knew he loved Honor. That wasn’t the issue. But divorce? Well, that was a whole other ball game, one he wasn’t sure he had the stomach for. Even saying the word out loud made him nauseous.

“Honor, sweetheart. There’s nothing real between me and Karis,” he assured her, looking around nervously for witnesses as he stroked her hair. “Our relationship is like…”

“A business arrangement,” Honor sighed, leaning into him. “I know. You told me.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Devon? Honor?” They both jumped as Karis materialized in the hallway like a ghost, her head cocked curiously to one side. How long had she been lurking there?

“What are you two doing, skulking out here on your own?”

Honor’s heart was pounding so violently she thought she might be about to black out, but thankfully Devon kept his cool.

“Honor was feeling a bit emotional. About her father,” he said. “We were just having a little chat about things.”

“Oh.” Karis did her best to look sympathetic. But really, it was a bit much to hog the host at his wife’s birthday party, especially as Trey Palmer died months ago. Couldn’t Honor have found someone else to snivel on? When Karis’s own father had died last year, she’d pulled off a charity ball in Boston for fifteen hundred people the very next week. Life had to go on, after all.

“Well, if she’s all right now, perhaps I could borrow you for a bit, darling?” she scolded. “Lola’s been monopolizing poor Lucas for ages, and I still have so many people to introduce him to. In fact, Honor,” she said brightly, “you haven’t met him yet, have you? Come with me.”

“Oh, no, thanks.” Honor blanched. She’d been hugely curious to meet Lucas for weeks, but after the gut-wrenching conversation she’d just had with Devon, not to mention the umpteen vodka and tonics she’d ill-advisedly stowed away for courage, she suddenly couldn’t face it. “I’m, er…I don’t feel terribly well. I think I might head home, actually.”

“Don’t be so silly,” said Karis bossily, dragging her back into the drawing room despite her protests. “The two of you must meet. You’ll have so much to talk about.”

Meanwhile Lucas, annoyed because the lovely Lola had wandered off somewhere and he’d gotten stuck listening to her ridiculous, fantasist brother bang on about his Internet business—snore—was at last making his escape to the bathroom when he saw Karis Carter thundering down the corridor toward him like a heat-seeking missile.

“Speak of the devil!” she squealed. She had a girl manacled to her hand like a death-row prisoner. With a sinking feeling, Lucas realized he recognized her.

“Lucas, it’s my pleasure to introduce Miss Honor Palmer,” said Karis, patently thrilled to have effected the introduction that everyone in town had been waiting so long to see. “Honor, this is Lucas Ruiz. Your nemesis,” she added dramatically.