He doesn’t let go right away. “Off the record, you got lucky, Sawyer. If fewer people had seen him drinking or if you’d broken his nose … we’d be having a very different conversation. I know you’ve had a rough go of it lately, but that’s no excuse to be getting in bar fights.”
“I understand. It won’t happen again.”
“Good. Also, your father was wrong about a lot of things. But he was right about one: plenty of people in this town play by their own rules. Powerful friends can become enemies. Be careful.”
I frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mason sighs. “Someone hired a real pit bull of a lawyer on your behalf. She had a case prepped against Lucky’s for serving minors and dug up a lot on Mr. Nichols that discredited him even more than being intoxicated at the time of the incident. Someone was looking out for you because I know you didn’t hire her yourself. Those types of people work for who is paying them. They can make problems disappear … or appear. It worked out for you, this time, but don’t assume it always will.”
I nod as our hands drop. “Thanks.”
Mason ushers me out of the room and past the reception desk. “I’m rooting for you, Sawyer,” he says, shaking my hand one final time before heading toward the bullpen.
I call a, “Thanks,” after him, then head outside and climb into my truck.
I told Dusty I had a doctor’s appointment this morning to explain my tardy arrival at work.
He’s standing in the lot when I arrive, talking to one of the valets, giving me a scrutinizing look as I approach. “Everything okay, Bennett?”
“Great,” I say, not lying this time.
I had no real idea how that meeting was going to play out, and it couldn’t have gone much better. I’m still bothered by Mason’s warning and the niggling realization that I only know one person who would have hired a fancy lawyer on my behalf.
I pay attention as Dusty gives me a list of tasks to prioritize, then step over the rope fence and head for the yacht club’s main building as soon as Dusty heads to his office. Technically, we’re allowed to stop in the kitchen to grab water, coffee, whatever.
I do grab some coffee, and then I go looking for Wren.
She’s out on the patio, cleaning menus with a couple of the other waitresses. It’s too early for lunch, so the tables are all deserted.
I nod greetings to Macie and Abby, then focus on Wren. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Mmhmm.” She tosses the wipe aside and stands, walking over to me.
The sun is bright and brilliant today, turning her hair golden. She’s wearing the standard uniform, but I scan it like I’ve never seen the polo and skirt before. I focus on her mouth last, watching it curve up as she notices me look at her.
Some of my annoyance fades. We haven’t really spoken since Saturday night, and I missed her. When I'm around Wren, it’s too easy to forget about other important things, which is how I ended up at the police station this morning.
The reminder counteracts a little of the lust heating my bloodstream.That’s another problem of mine—no matter how many times we have sex, I still wind up wanting more.
“This way,” I say, walking down the ramp to one of the private docks.
The restaurant isn’t open yet, but the marina is. I don’t want anyone overhearing us.
“Did you hire me a lawyer?” I ask, turning to face Wren as soon as we’ve reached an empty slip with no one nearby.
“No.”
I cross my arms. “Someone hired a fancy lawyer who dug up dirt on Nichols and helped get the charges dropped. That wasn’t you?”
“They dropped the charges?” Wren asks, her attempt at sounding surprised pretty underwhelming.
“Don’t lie to me, Wren. You’re the only person who knew what happened with the money to hire someone like that. Admit it.”
“Ididn’t hire anyone.” This time, she emphasizes the pronoun.
I scowl, unamused by the technicalities. “Who did, then?”
“I asked my sister for a favor. She’s starting at Harvard Law in the fall, and she spent all of college doing internships at top firms. I explained the basics. Rory knew who to call.”
