“But this one ended with a woman in jail.”
Tristan shrugged. “That’s what happens when you destroy someone’s property, Will. Especially when that property is very expensive.”
Will nodded, considering. “So, was this just another party that got out of control, or did the folks at this music festival in East Hampton finally realize you’re full of shit?”
Tristan laughed. “Hey, I can’t help it if some idiot with a bar decides to pay me without double-checking my references.”
“So the plan was to keep taking the money until he caught on?”
“Give me some credit, Will. I was going to give him some suggestions. Make a few excuses. But that festival was never going to happen. It’s not against the law if he wanted to pay me to eventually tell him that.” The man gave a slight shrug. “It just so happens that this girl gave me the perfect excuse to quit without doing anything at all.”
Will studied him again, looking for a glimmer of the boy he had been friends with so many years ago. “You need to drop the charges.”
“And why the hell would I do that?”
“Because that woman is Elizabeth Bennet’s sister.”
It took a moment for recognition to cross Tristan’s face. A moment for Will to realize that Lizzy was barely a memory to him. His hands became fists at his side.
“Oh, right. The redhead,” Tristan finally said. Then he smiled. “I thought that might make you jealous.”
Will clenched his jaw. “How much?”
Tristan sighed, as if bored. “What?”
“I’m offering to give you money to do nothing, Tristan.” Will angled his head. “You remember how that works, right?”
The woman sitting beside Tristan giggled at something her friend said, leaned in to share it with Tristan, but he pushed her away as he stood. “Let me get this straight: you want to pay me off to get some random chick out of jail, just to impress her sister? There are easier ways to get pussy, Will. Trust me.”
The room went blurry for a brief moment as rage coursed through Will’s body. He had been friends with this man once. He had trusted him, even told his father to trust him, too. Tristan had fooled them all. “How much?”
Tristan watched him, as if waiting for the catch. Will only stared back.
“A hundred thousand,” Tristan finally said.
“Done,” Will said. “I want those charges dropped tonight. When they are, I’ll instruct my lawyer to pay you the full amount. Then you’re never going to step foot in East Hampton again. If you do, I will ruin you. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” Tristan smiled a little too brightly. A sad imitation of charming.
Before Will could think again, all the tension, all the hatred, all the regret for letting this man hurt the people he loved channeled into his right fist. Will’s hand swung out and hit Tristan right in the nose, hard. Tristan fell backward, stumbling, causing everyone in the bar to stop and stare, snap a picture.
“What the fuck!” Tristan yelled as blood dripped onto his designer shirt. “What was that for?”
“The redhead,” Will said, then headed toward the door. Tristan could clean up his own mess.
CHAPTER 32
Lizzy wasn’t sure why she bothered opening the bakery on Tuesday. They had decided to close for the past couple of days, waiting for Mr. Bennet to return. But her father still wasn’t back from the city yet, and there had been no word on Mary. The entire town was still ignoring them, too. A rational person probably would have kept the bakery doors locked today, maybe even used the free day as an excuse to spend a few hours in the surf.
But surfing only reminded her of Montauk. How she had stood on the brink of something real and terrifying and perfect, and then it had fallen apart. She wanted to blame Mary or Tristan, but in the end, it still came back to her. She was the one who’d insisted on facing this alone. She was the one who drove away.
Lizzy felt off-kilter, like someone had picked her up and set her back in a place that should be familiar, but everything was slightly askew. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that nothing felt right.
So she did the only thing she could: she opened the bakery.
She walked through the back door at five a.m., flipped on theOpensign at eight, and by noon the Smiths were playing overhead,and Lizzy was leaning against the counter readingOracle of the Damned, the new Susan Vernon romantasy she had been waiting to open for weeks. She was so lost in the heroine’s attempted escape from her shape-shifting kidnapper that she missed the sound of the bell above the door. But then Donna appeared in front of the register, smiling so broadly a bit of her red lipstick stuck to her teeth.
“Hello, dear!” she said in a singsong tone that made every syllable feel like the prelude to a musical number.
