“He’s supposed to go on in an hour,” Mark says. “But Penelope Vanderbilt is in there with him, clinging to him like lint. I guess he’s playing ‘keep your enemies close.’”
He lowers his voice. “Ivy, we had a drink earlier this week,” Mark says. “And he mentioned your name. Just once. I saw it then, the way his face changed. The way his guard slipped for half a second. He’s in love with you, and he’s barely holding it together. If he stops playing along now, everything blows up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He found out,” Mark says, his voice dropping low. “He told me what happened. He saw the security tapes from the library before he drove to the city last night. He saw Penelope cornering you. He went to your apartment to find you, and when you wouldn’t open the door, he came back here and … broke. He’s not going up there to celebrate, Ivy. He’s going up there to publicly accuse Penelope of blackmail. He’s going to tell the board to go to hell.”
I freeze. "He can't. If he exposes her, it turns into a scandal. Everything collapses. He loses the deal."
“He doesn’t care,” Mark says. “He told me winning doesn’t feel like winning if you’re not there. He’s choosing you. But if hedoes this, his father will destroy him. He needs a fixer, Ivy. Right now.”
The line goes dead. I stare at the phone.
“What?” Maddy asks. “What happened?”
“Brooks,” I say, standing up so fast my head spins. “He’s at the party. He’s about to blow up the deal because I wouldn’t open the door last night.”
“Let him,” Savvy says. “He’s a big boy.”
“No,” I say, grabbing my purse. “It’s my problem. Because I didn’t leave so he could burn it down anyway. I left to save him.”
“I have to go back,” I say.
“Ivy, no,” Maddy says, standing up. “You can’t. It’s a three-hour drive on a good day. On Labor Day Monday? You’ll be lucky to hit Southampton by midnight. The party will be over.”
“I’m booking a helicopter,” I say, my fingers flying across my phone. I go straight to a private charter manifest. “It’s a forty-minute flight to East Hampton Airport. But because it’s last-minute on a holiday…” I pause, looking at the quote on the screen. “It’s ten thousand dollars. One way.”
I look at the $500,000 check on the table. The “test” I had failed on purpose.
“Luckily,” I say, a sharp, cold smile hitting my face, “I came into some money. I’m putting it on the Amex. I have the collateral to pay it off now. I’m using his ‘choice’ money to fly back and save his ass one last time. And then? I’m going to kill him.”
"I'll get us a car to the West 30th Street helipad," Savvy says, pulling out her phone. "I'll pay triple for the driver to run every red light on 10th Avenue."
“I’m coming too,” Maddy says.
I look at my friends. My team. “Let’s go.”
The transition is a blur of Manhattan neon and the roar of the turbine. Forty minutes later, the helicopter skids touch downat the East Hampton airport. The sun is a dying ember on the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows across the tarmac.
I scramble out of the helicopter, my hair whipping around my face in the rotor wash. I didn't change. I'm wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and my favorite leather jacket. I look nothing like a Taylor-approved fiancée. I look like a woman who chartered a ten-thousand-dollar flight to stop a disaster.
I grab the first black car idling in the line.
“Eastmoor Estate,” I tell the driver, slamming the door. “And if you get me there in under fifteen minutes, I’ll tip you enough to retire.”
“Lady, for that kind of talk, I’ll drive on the sidewalk.”
The car peels out. I stare out the window as the towering privet hedges of the Hamptons blur into a solid wall of green.Please don’t do anything stupid, Brooks,I pray silently.Please don’t throw it all away.
He’s going to blow everything up. He’s going to expose Penelope. He’s going to choose me, even when I’m not there. And while that is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, it’s also the fastest way to ruin his life.
I didn’t spend eight weeks dealing with his mother, moving crates of glassware, and eating dry quiche to watch him lose at the finish line. I am a fixer. And I have one last disaster to manage.
The car screeches through the gates of Eastmoor, tires spitting gravel. The valet line is backed up. I don’t wait. I throw a wad of cash at the driver and jump out while the car is still rolling.
I run toward the massive white tent. I push through the heavy canvas flaps.
On the stage, standing in the spotlight, is Brooks. He looks magnificent. He is gripping the microphone stand like he wantsto snap it in half. Next to him, looking pale and slightly sick, stands Penelope.
