The woman defends her choices, expresses her desire for an equal, and believes she’ll feel a connection when the time is right. But it’s hard not to feel as if Lucy would be fine in the real world, if she is lying to herself by believing the matchmaking service is the only way. She is powerful and doesn’t lack confidence; she speaks her mind with kindness and force, and never once did she feel inauthentic. And somehow, she doesn’t think she could find the right caliber of man in the normal dating world.
It’s a shame.
But she knows she’ll be seen as a bitch—a money-hungry wench, only interested in someone she can control. And if someone is paying that much to find her happiness, doesn’t that person have a say, too?
“Stop, stop,” Annie said and Millie stopped reading and the party line went quiet. “It’s what he said he would write…” she felt so stupid and depressed, so embarrassed for trusting him. He’d only been interested in the story from the beginning and then he cast a light on her, her alone. It wasn’t an article about Twoly, it was an article about Annie, ending with a decree that if she was going to trust the process of allowing a small percentage of men have access to her heart, then she would certainly find a partner, but she’d never find a true love.
It was the line that made her most angry; the line that caused her the most stress. She’d memorized his words: And if Lucy the Lawyer presents herself to these men, eager to appease the powers that chose her path long ago, she’ll find something that sounds delightful only on paper. People who settle don’t choose that path in the dark. It is only with a deliberate unburdening of dreams do people trust the process of bringing the one-percent together in union and sabotaging falling in love the natural way. Through good old-fashioned hard work.
“Good, old-fashioned hard work,” Gloria repeated.
“He didn’t say anything about the case,” Maeve breathed a sigh of relief. He’d only hurt Annie, not the club, not the work they were doing. For her friends, that meant something. He hadn’t crossed the biggest line; hurting the victims of the cases they worked on. That would’ve been unforgivable.
“It’s so dismissive of me,” Annie said.
“He was jealous you were unavailable,” Millie offered. It may have been true, but that didn’t make it right. She’d said everything to him distinctly off-the-record. “It reads like a lament for the poor kid who can’t win the rich girl’s heart.”
“That’s a mischaracterization…” Annie started.
“The whole column is fiction,” Maeve added.
Annie drove along the empty highway—no one was headed up the mountain with her, she would have time to leisurely sail along, watch the landscape, the rolling patches of new forest. Her phone was starting to cut out and she’d lose it for about forty-five minutes.
“I’m headed into the mountain,” Annie said.
“Just stay out of the forest,” Maeve told her, quoting their favorite podcast.
They all hung up and promised to check in with each other later. Annie knew the girls would find a way to make Benson pay for his loose interpretation of off-the-record and she knew that he was already chasing her—he’s tried to call five times and sent ten texts. She let them accumulate unread and unanswered. What could she possibly have to say to him? She could read his apology in text and keep driving west.
The coast had taken more than she’d given, Annie decided as tears stung her eyes. She had to head back to the work and her clients and the people who needed her, and she’d try to forget Benson and his beautiful face and the way he looked at her so tenderly, believing in them—even for a moment.
She didn’t understand how a man who looked at her like he loved her, who gave of himself time and time again, could then turn around and betray everything she’d given with the only thing she’d ever cared about: her privacy.
Annie cried all the way down the mountain and into the coast range. Her phone clicked back over to Bluetooth as she merged on to the 101 toward Cannon Beach, and almost immediately her father was calling. She almost didn’t answer, but she knew if she didn’t he’d be liable to hop a helicopter to find her.
“Answer,” she said and the call clicked over. “Hey, Dad.”
“You been sending me to voicemail?”
“I’ve been driving home. No service in the mountains, Dad.”
“I read the article.”
Annie sniffed and her heart pounded blood through her whole body; her ears rushed with the sound of blood and fear.
“Yeah, me, too,” she said stiffly, hoping he heard the betrayal in the shake of her voice before he had time to blame her.
“Lucy the Lawyer,” her dad repeated in a clipped voice, lacking in mirth or amusement of any kind.
“That’s not me,” she said, knowing how it sounded. She was aware that it was a weak argument, but she had to take a shot. “That’s an amalgam of people he interviewed for that column…I’m part, but not all.”
“Sure seemed like all of you was laid pretty open in that story.”
“A journalist infiltrated my first date, Dad. He took what I said and published it without my permission…you can’t blame me for this.”
“Benson Douglass,” her father said.
She curved to the right and took the first exit to Cannon Beach, all the familiar things—the bent guardrail, the Welcome to Cannon Beach sign, the little bridge connecting the river and the ocean—flooded her and she was so grateful to be home. Driving into her city felt like she was pulling a giant blanket up and over her body. It was a shield and she was proud to wield it.
Benson had infiltrated her town—he set up shop in her city; it was her bakery, her coffee shop, her giant rock and her morning routine.
“Yeah, the writer,” she said, knowing he got the name off of the byline.
“And your lover,” her dad said.
The entire bottom of Annie’s stomach pulled to the floor and she wondered if she was going to throw-up. Her mouth watered with nausea and her limbs went weak.
“Stop, Dad,” she heard herself say, but her voice wasn’t strong and commanding.
“You were not being as subtle as you thought my darling daughter. It was actually the owners who called and asked if I wanted to sever ties with the company and get a refund.”
Annie hit the brakes as a reflex to being surprised.
She stopped in the middle of the street, her headlights catching a mist of winter rain.
“What?” she asked. He knew she was sleeping with Benson and he had an opportunity to get his money back….and he chose. He chose to keep her in the program; he chose for her to keep searching. Benson had been right—he wasn’t welcome in their lives, no matter how happy he made her.
“Annie, you were asked to stop and I told you I couldn’t protect you any longer…”
“Did you steal our laptops, Dad? Did you have someone break his wrist?”
“Please,” her dad replied, annoyed, “not being able to stop you from a collision with a moving force is not the same as sending the force out to get you.”
“Speak plainly, Dad. I’m alone and,” she hiccupped and drew a hand over her mouth. Then, realizing where she was, she put the car into drive and began to move back through town, passing by the closed shops, the empty park, the swamplands with bats and crawfish, and to her apartment. In the winter, Cannon Beach was bare and small—claustrophobically small.
She disconnected her call and told her father to call her back in twenty seconds. When she pulled into the driveway, she waited. He didn’t call back.
She called him and it went to voicemail. Then he sent a text.
Dad: Something came up. Take care. We’ll chat soon, LTL
She groaned and snapped her phone shut: Lucy the Lawyer. Fucking ridiculous. His sign-off frustrated her again and she couldn’t help but think of Benson going home after that first night and crafting a plan to expose her. He targeted her insecurities and he made light of her phobias, and embedded in all of that were the things
he first told her he’d write.
In hindsight, it seemed so cruel.
Had she ever really known Benson or had he always been after the story first and foremost? She looked at the time, her self-worth deflating as she wondered if everything Benson said was bullshit. The end of the article said Part 1 of 3. Which part would she star in? Lucy the Lawyer now attracted to someone out of the program—would he say it was himself?
The ethics of the whole thing was ridiculous. She was sitting on the precipice of rage, ready to go to war.
Annie looked at the clock and groaned, throwing a shoe at the mocking beast and knocking the time to the floor.
Her third Twoly date was in a few hours and her face was swollen from crying. Front Street would make its way to the coast and in no time she, the lawyer, would be singled out from the other matches. Benson had just blown her life up without even realizing he had the power.
She cursed him as she got dressed and tried to put on enough make-up to mask the dark circles under her eyes. Annie put on a simple dress with room and pockets. Her phone vibrated and she looked at the number: Unknown. She didn’t answer. It tried again: Unknown. Annie turned her phone off and stuck it at the bottom of her purse. She sighed and straightened her black tights.
Pushing Benson as far out of her mind as she could—which certainly wasn’t far enough—got her to the car. She knew the way to the restaurant. A little place in Gearheart known for its fish and cocktails. Rylan gave her the usual date rundown, but Annie hadn’t been listening at the time because she was positive she was going to cancel the service.
For one hot second, she thought she loved Benson Douglass and she had imagined him in compromising situations, dating her clandestinely, wanting her with unbridled passion. She’d played a brief game of hard-to-get, but she hadn’t made him wait for long.
Last night, she’d left everything she had bare and for him and what was left?
Annie walked into the restaurant and dipped her head.
“Hello, I’m meeting someone. He may already be here. Mr. Jackson?”
Colby Jackson owned the hottest whiskey distillery on the west coast. It started in college, barreling small batches under his dorm room bunk, but the CJ Whiskey company was famous, or so he told her, as he cracked open a bottle of his rarest booze. She took a sip and feigned knowledge while he asked her to open her mouth and try a different sip; and could she sense the difference?
For him, drinking was sensual, and any woman who ended up with him would have to accept that road. Drinking and women drinking was a turn-on, she could tell because she saw him get a little hard when he wiped some whiskey off her chin.
Annie wasn’t feeling reckless or sad—although she anticipated both behaviors to rear their ugly heads. No, she felt trapped and miserable; she felt found and seen and abandoned. More than anything, she knew Benson was real and since he’d turned out to be the worst kind of scoundrel, she knew she couldn’t trust anyone’s kindness.
Even CJ Whiskey Jackson.
And she was certain every woman at Twoly would’ve given anything to land a date with him. Hot, wealthy, generous, famous, and yes, she was enjoying the banter, the honesty. He had been on time and he had immediately spoiled her, asking questions, reaching across the table to touch her hand, let her know that intimacy was okay—she’d passed a test.
As charming as Colby was, as handsome, as funny. He wasn’t Benson. And he’d also made it clear early on that he’d hoped their date ended at his hotel. She raised her eyebrows and immediately declined a change of location.
“It’s been a long day,” she said.
“Is that my one-whiskey test?” he mocked and underneath her smile, she seethed.
“So, you read the article?”
“You are the lawyer then,” Colby answered.
“Okay, thank you for the night,” Annie grabbed her coat and began to stand.
“Look, for what it’s worth,” Colby said as she started to leave, “there’s no shame in this. If he made you feel shame for it, then that’s shitty.”
“It was shitty,” Annie agreed. “And I don’t feel shame for,” she paused, wondering what she was doing this for. A husband? A lover? “I don’t feel shame for wanting someone to share my life with.”
“No. You shouldn’t. None of us should.”
Colby stood and followed her to the entrance of their little alcove in the restaurant. It really was perfect—all these men, showing off their wealth in their own ways, wanting to court her, give her gifts. But none of them felt fulfilling and maybe it was because she’d pushed good things away.
The date wrapped her in a hug and said he wished her luck with what she was looking for and that he was also looking forward to the other parts of Benson’s story—“would he make an appearance?”
“No,” Annie said, not hiding her annoyance. “I’m out of that story.”
“Bummer,” Colby Jackson said, never one to turn down an opportunity to network, even if it meant losing his date to a journalist.
Annie walked to her car in a daze. That was the third Twoly date she’d ended and told the dates they had no future after a thirty-minute time span. Third. She wondered if there was a three-strikes you’re out rule in matchmaking. Why couldn’t she be into the whiskey dude? Just for one night? To wash her palate of Benson?
She drove south and noticed the flashing lights in her rearview right away. Staying as close to the shoulder as possible, Annie rolled down her window and kept her hands on her steering wheel. A state trooper flashed a light in her face and said, “License and registration,” and after confirming, he added, “Annie Gerwitz. I’m a friend of Vincent Applegate. If you choose, would you follow my escort to his house tonight?”
“What?” Annie asked, confused. She motioned for the man to put the flashlight down. “You’re going to take me to Vincent?”
“You can follow in your own car, Miss. He was having trouble reaching you.” The unknown numbers. “And he was concerned. Seems like there might have been a break in the case.”
“Oh really?” Annie asked. “I didn’t know.”
“Just a short drive, Miss Gerwitz. I apologize for scaring you.”
Vincent Applegate hugged his friend and the trooper drove off, his part of the spectacle done or his favor called in. She stood and looked at the man, tall and handsome, thirties, but still with worry lines around his eyes etched and deep, no doubt from years of searching for his sister and his nephew.
“You have new news?” Annie asked and Vincent motioned for her to come inside his house. She hesitated. “I’d feel more comfortable if we stayed outside,” she answered and she thought of her phone at the bottom of her bag.
“Five years ago,” Vincent started as if he’d rehearsed the entire speech, “this start-up company called The Viking Burial promised people they could have an at sea burial and burning with ashes interned at the lighthouse.”
“I knew about the mortuary on the sea.”
“My sister made it a point on her phone call that gave away her location to say she’d bought herself a Viking Burial.”
“And?”
“Whole company was some kind of Ponzi scheme. No attempts were made to honor people’s wishes with their burials, but the owners collected cash anyway.”
Annie was following, but this wasn’t new information to her. She didn’t want to interrupt Vincent and his excitement, but she was pretty sure his nephew hadn’t been hiding at out Terrible Tilly for the past five years.
“I think the reason she told her friend she bought a burial plot there was twofold. To imply she was in danger and to send us to a place to look for a clue.”
“To the lighthouse?”
Vincent nodded, not quite understanding his own request.
“There are horrible conditions to get out there and only a small patch of rock. You’ll need an excellent helicopter pilot and someone with suspect ethics because it’s owned and the whole thing is protected…”
“A helicopter,” Vincent repeated, holding on to the least important part of what she said.
“Yeah,” she shrugged. Then she looked up and started reaching into her purse, a smile on her lips. “Actually, Vincent, you may be in luck. I might just happen to know someone who owns some helicopters.”
Josh showed up with his pilot in less than an hour. She didn’t know why he did it other than to show off that he could help, but she was grateful nonetheless.
“You want to go to the lighthouse?” Josh questioned and he looked at his pilot who looked out to the calm horizon and shrugged.
“It’s a quiet night. Landing area is still there. I suppose I could take a group round-trip.”
“What are we looking for?” Josh asked and Annie turned to Vincent.
Vincent held up a copy of his sister’s message to the friend. “I’m heading out to TT. Will leave pick-up info there.” He waited until everyone had read it. “The only thing she would’ve left for any of us was her son.”
“She wanted to hide him from his dad. Guy was heavy into drugs. Cops picked her up a few times for small things when she was pregnant. They’d wanted her to turn on him. Kid went straight into foster care, as far as we knew. Then I get a call from my mom. Foster mom says she gave the kid back to the state and my sister has vanished. Maybe four years later, we get a call from her friend—”
Annie squinted and looked at Vincent, thinking through the details of the story lost to them.
“Wait, wait. Lucia was offered up a chance to work as an informant?”
Vincent nodded. “She wouldn’t have ever done it,” he said, tearing up. She watched as the older brother wiped his nose, unable to imagine a world where his sister walked away willingly.
“She would’ve done anything for that boy,” Annie said. She didn’t know Lucia. She didn’t know Missy. But she knew mothers. And if she thought for one moment that any harm would come to the boy if he was found, then she’d go to any lengths to hide him.
Savage Distractions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 3) Page 24