Page 14 of The Getaway

“This is a new hard fruit punch made by an independent distillery down in Georgia, and I love it so much, I just had to bring some for you all to try.” He looked so hopeful standing there holding the bucket with both hands, like a little kid trick-or-treating on Halloween.

“What’re you, selling the stuff?” Sean joked.

Grant’s face fell.

“He’s an investor,” Gemma piped up, hoping to help.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re investing? In this?” Lincoln said. He reached across for a bottle and yanked it out. A few ice cubes slipped out with it and bounced onto the flagstone beneath their feet. “Look at this guy!” He pointed at Donnie’s winking face. “This is hilarious.”

Grant cleared his throat. “They already have a successful line of hard ciders and lemonades, but this flavor really breaks new ground. Go ahead. Try it.”

Lincoln lifted one shoulder. “I’m game.” He popped the top, and Gemma held her breath.

Please. Please, for the love of God, let his taste buds be totally different from mine.

He took a swig, swished it around in his mouth, and then turned and spit red liquor all over his unsuspecting employee. Suzy shrieked. The young woman didn’t even flinch. She simply closed her eyes and flicked a few red droplets off her cheek.

“Son of a bitch, that’s disgusting,” Lincoln said, dropping the bottle on the table with a clatter and running his hand across his lips. He grabbed the mixed drink he’d been sipping and gulped it down. Then he looked at the girl in her now-stained blue polo. “Oh, no, Candice, I’m so sorry!”

“I’ve got it,” Hazel said, scraping her chair back. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, Candice. Girls, we’re gonna talk later,” she added, pointing at the twins. “I want to hear all about that cosmetics deal you landed. So cool! And you should come to the party tonight! You can post about it!”

Vienna shot Gemma a smug look as Hazel ushered Candice inside. Hazel had just undone all her edicts about not filming and posting with that one invitation.

Lincoln picked up a napkin and wiped his hands. “Under no circumstances are any of the rest of you to try that swill,” he said to the table, going for a joking tone. “You.” He turned to Grant. “You keep that stuff away from my guests. If you like it, you drink it. In fact, I insist you personally finish all six of those before my guests arrive tonight.”

Little did he know Grant had an entire case full back at the guesthouse. Gemma had never seen Grant look so dejected. Lincoln suddenly seemed to notice as well. He clapped Grant on the shoulder and shook him a bit. “It’s fine. It’s not like you came here to make bank on a liquor empire, right? We’re good.”

Then he turned and walked inside.

“So,” Grant said, smiling sheepishly at the group. “That went well.”

They all laughed uncomfortably as he sat down again, tucking his bucket of Shizzy’s under the table. He pulled one out for himself and popped it open, taking a nice long swig. Gemma could tell he was hoping that someone else would ask for one, but it didn’t happen. He caught her eye across the table and gave her a sheepish look.

“So, Jemma, what do you do?” Marley asked, gamely picking up the conversation again. She speared a bit of potato salad with her fork and ate.

“It’s Gemma, with a hard G,” Gemma replied. “Not Jemma.”

“Oh, sorry, right.” Marley’s face flushed. She touched a napkin to her lips and swallowed. “My bad. Gemma,” she said correctly.

Everyone shifted uncomfortably. So . . . what? Was she supposed to just let them call her by the wrong name all week?

“I’m a book reviewer,” Gemma said.

“That’s cool. For what, like a newspaper or something?” Marshall asked.

“No, I freelance for the publishing trades. Mostly Publishers Weekly.”

“Oh. I’ve never heard of it.” Marley seemed suddenly uninterested.

“It’s really for people in the industry,” Gemma said.

“In the industry,” Suzy repeated with a light laugh. “You make it sound like you work in Hollywood.”

“No, it’s just . . . the book . . . industry.”

Gemma was really about to pack this whole thing in. Everyone she knew had heard of Publishers Weekly. The handful of authors she’d met at events practically fell all over themselves to get reviewed in PW. It was an important job. And Suzy, who didn’t even work, really, was laughing at her.

“Where are you from, Gemma?” Suzy asked. “You have such an odd accent.”