“The what?” Will replied with annoyance.
“The Betrug?” George left the phone again for a moment, then came back. “From the video, she says.”
Will had no idea what Emma was talking about, and he didn’t have the patience to find out.
“Tell her to call the bakery.”
“She did. Left a message yesterday, but she hasn’t heard back from her yet. What’s her cell number?”
“I don’t have it.”
George paused. “You’re telling me you’re in love with a woman who you have no means of actually contacting.”
Will ignored the comment and started walking again, turning down Broadway. “Isn’t that why social media exists?”
“What, you plan to express your feelings through DMs?”
Will shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. “That’s not the top priority at the moment, George.”
His tone had a hard bite, and he knew George had picked up on it.
“Will—”
“I have to go. Text if you find anything.”
Will hung up and shoved his phone in his back pocket. His gait wide and determined, he weaved along the sidewalks, passing New Yorkers heading home for the night or just starting out. The bright lights of the city made it seem early, but his cell read almost eleven p.m.
“Fuck,” he cursed loudly, the sound buried in the dissonance of beeping cars that rang through downtown traffic. He picked up his pace.
He had made it down to Canal Street when his phone buzzed again. The screen illuminated with two text messages from George.
GEORGE KNIGHTLEY
New post. He’s at the St. Clement Hotel on Nassau St.
GEORGE KNIGHTLEY
Go get that asshole.
Through the glimmering, low light of the luxury hotel bar, Will scanned the room.
The place was packed, but not too loud, with well-dressed Manhattanites and hotel guests lounging in velvet chairs while others socialized at the bar.
That’s when he spotted Tristan sitting at a table in the corner, sipping a martini. His hair was slicked back and his black shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest so it gaped open as he draped an arm around the young woman seated beside him. Her friends flanked them on either side.
Will clenched his jaw and headed over.
It took a moment before Tristan noticed him looming over the table. His expression changed to one of recognition.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my old friend Will Darcy.” His forced smile was wide and insincere. “What a coincidence—”
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“How flattering,” Tristan said, then turned to the woman on his side and whispered something in her ear. She threw her head back and laughed before turning to her girlfriends nearby to share the secret. Then Tristan focused his attention back on Will. “What do you want?”
“You had a party recently,” Will said.
“I have a lot of parties.”
