Hamptons Heartbreak: A Sizzling Summer Romance (A New York City Romance Book 4)

by Tara Leigh

  “So you’re Tripp’s partner, the other half of RiskTaker?” the woman asks. “What an incredibly worthwhile endeavor. If our firm can be of any assistance at all, Vivienne knows how to contact us.”

  Richard’s eyes flick back and forth between Vivienne and me. “How do you two know each other?” His antagonistic tone grates on my nerves, though I remain silent, wanting to hear how Vivienne answers the question.

  “It’s a funny story,” she begins.

  “Must be,” Richard cuts in. “This isn’t exactly your crowd.”

  I start to move forward, ready to squash him like a bug, but Vivienne’s arm tightens around me. “We met through a mutual acquaintance, a real estate agent. Lance owns a stunning Southampton beach house, right on the ocean. He hired me and the rest is history, really. We’re living together and I’ve never been happier.”

  If there was sand in my mouth, I’d spit out a pearl.

  Everything she said is true, I hope, but it’s the way she said it. The tone of one-upmanship coating her words that sets my teeth on edge.

  Anne’s smile appears genuine. “You’ve had quite the summer.”

  “When you know, there’s really no reason to wait,” Vivienne gushes, flashing a saccharine smile up at me. “Right, sweetheart?”

  Knowing that smile is more for Dick’s benefit than mine makes me want to wipe it right off her face. “Only a fool would let you go.”

  Dick does his best to stare me down. Fat chance, asshole.

  The ship’s horn blows, announcing our exit from the bay.

  And my entrapment. Just what I need—to be stuck on a boat with Vivienne’s ex.

  “I could use a cognac.” Dick tips his chin and extends an elbow to his mother. “Care to join?”

  She looks questioningly at Vivienne, who waves them on. “Go ahead. We’ll be there in a bit.”

  “So, that’s the pussy who won’t eat pussy?”

  Her eyes widen, and she glances over my shoulder. “Shh, they’ll hear you.”

  “Who gives a fuck? Someone should make a sign and tape it to his back as a warning.”

  “I told you that in confidence.”

  “And I’m telling you that the whole world should know. The guy’s a piece of shit.”

  “You don’t even know him,” she shoots back, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “What I know is you were only too happy to jump back into girlfriend mode the second he came sniffing around.”

  A spark of contrition flashes across her face before it’s doused by temper. “Richard isn’t sniffing around. He’s with his mother, for God’s sake. And isn’t that why I’m here? You hired me, so don’t get all high and mighty because I’m doing my job.”

  My job.

  I manage to hold back a wince. That’s exactly how I’d felt with Missy. Like I was a job. A duty carried out in exchange for payment—bragging rights, gifts, an unlimited credit card.

  Vivienne and I are more than that. So much more.

  She immediately reaches out for my arm. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”

  “But you did mean it.”

  She takes a breath, her eyes scanning the shore. “Didn’t you? Isn’t that exactly what you meant when you hired me?”

  My mouth goes dry, a silent howl growing inside my chest. I was wrong.

  But I don’t say the words.

  Because right now, I wonder if I was wrong about something altogether different.

  Could I be wrong about Vivienne herself?

  What the fuck do I know about love? About commitment?

  Absolutely nothing.

  All of our time together, all of our talks around the dinner table and the fire pit and in bed, what if none of it matters?

  “Yeah.” I say. “That’s what I meant.”

  Chapter 46

  Vivienne

  “How are you, Vivienne?”

  Anne’s eyes are kind when they find me half an hour later, tucked into a quiet corner of the spacious interior cabin, sipping a Long Island Iced Tea. I ordered it in a fit of pique, after walking away from Lance. But I don’t really want to drown my sorrows in a noxious blend of alcohol. I want to run back up there and throw myself into his arms, kiss him until everything makes sense again. I want to go back to the carnival. Back to Lance’s house. Back to his bed.

  I force a fake smile onto my face and look brightly at my former boss. “I’m great, Anne. How are you?”

  “Honestly,” she crosses her legs and shifts toward me on the settee, “I’m still trying to play catch up. You left so suddenly . . .”

  My confrontation with Richard about the email he sent to Anne (and, unwittingly, to the entire company), left me so emotional that I quit without giving the standard two-week notice, without even giving a reason.

  But that’s no excuse for my unprofessional behavior, and it shames me now. I duck my head. “I’m sorry for that. I should have handled things differently.”

  “I understand.”

  No, you don’t. Our eyes hold for a long moment, and I almost tell Anne the truth about why I left. I learned so much working at Abbott Interiors, and she treated me like a daughter. Her son is a jerk, but she isn’t.

  I look away first, but she reaches for my hand. “Jolie mentioned your suggestion to use her upcoming collection as inspiration.”

  Damn it. I knew it was a mistake. The last thing any designer wants to hear is opinions that don’t belong to her client. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere.”

  Anne is more gracious than I deserve. “Nonsense. I wish I’d thought of it myself. And I wish I admitted that I knew you and Richard were seeing each other.”

  Surprise floods my veins. “You did?”

  “Oh, Vivienne. I might be thirty years older than you—but the benefit of those years is wisdom. I knew about your relationship from the very beginning.” She sighs. “I had hoped he would come to his senses and get serious with you.”

  She squeezes my hand. “Richard couldn’t see what was right in front of him and that’s a loss he’ll have to live with. But it’s not a loss I should have to live with or the clients of Abbott Interiors. Would you consider coming back to work for us?”

  I feel like one of the fish swimming in the waters below us, opening and closing my mouth several times before managing to pull myself together. “Anne, I don’t know what to say. I’m just not sure—”

  She interrupts me. “I don’t expect you to return to the office. But I’ve had several other inquiries this summer that I’ve had to turn down, simply because I don’t have the time. If Jolie and her husband agree, what would you think about taking over the designs for their home? I’d oversee the project, of course. But we both know you’re ready to start working directly with clients.”

  It sounds almost too good to be true.

  “I’ve actually been thinking about working under my own name. Establishing my own firm.”

  “That’s a big step,” she says slowly. “Setting up accounts with vendors, leasing a storage facility, establishing relationships with social media influencers as well as brick and mortar showrooms.”

  “It’s a lot to take on, I know.”

  She pauses. “If it’s what you want, I have no doubt you will be successful. But what if we could work out an arrangement that suits both our needs?”

  I clear my throat and look down at my lap. “Can I—Can I get back to you?”

  Anne’s lips curve into a smile. “Absolutely.” She stands to go and with a final, “Soon, I hope,” Anne accepts a caviar toast point from a passing server and walks out onto the main deck.

  For a while, I remain in that quiet alcove. Absorbing what just happened. Not merely that Anne knew about Richard and me, but that she has no hard feelings about how I left. And that maybe there’s a way to achieve my goal of working for myself, gradually, with less risk.

  Could this be the perfect solution?

  Without thinking, I gulp at my drink. The alcoho
l sears a path down my throat, and I hurry to set it down on the table in front of me, spilling some on my dress.

  “Damn it.” I find a bathroom to dab water on the stain before it can set. I’m scrubbing at it when there’s a knock on the door. “Be right out.”

  Feeling rushed, I give it a last swipe with a towel and rinse my hands in the sink. Another knock. Jeez. There has to be more than one bathroom on a ship this big. “Coming,” I grit as cheerily as I can manage, drying my hands and yanking at the door.

  Richard barrels his way inside, shutting the door behind him and caging me against the sink. “Richard, what the hell—”

  “Me?” His breath is a humid gust along my jaw. “What are you doing, Vivienne?”

  I push against his chest. “I’m leaving.”

  My push only gets me a couple of inches, and Richard still blocks the only exit. “We were fucking a couple of months ago and now you’re living with Lance Welles? Is this some kind of joke? Or are you that desperate, you’re whoring yourself out to anyone with—”

  I lift my hand up to slap him, but he catches my wrist before I make contact.

  Pushing his face just inches from mine, he finishes his sentence. “Anyone with a dollar to their name.”

  “Let me go.” I make the demand through through clenched teeth.

  Suddenly, Richard’s expression changes, becoming sly and calculating. “Or maybe,” his hand slides down my dress, “maybe you planned this. You knew I’d be here, you wanted to make me jealous.”

  I didn’t, though I probably should have. Tripp and Jolie were as involved with the guest list as Lance. Of course, Jolie would invite Anne and Erik Abbott to their party. Sometimes they attend social events together. But Erik has always been more comfortable with his blueprints than with people. More often than not, Anne takes Richard as her plus one.

  Once his fingers curl around the hem of my dress, I have no choice. There’s no way I’m getting out of here by asking nicely.

  Screw him. Richard doesn’t deserve nice from me, ever again.

  I lean into his body, steadying myself for maximum impact. And then I swing my knee up into his groin.

  This time, he doesn’t anticipate my movement and I watch as his face distorts in shock, then pain. Richard’s hoarse, guttural groan echoes inside the bathroom as he crumples to the ground, clutching his balls.

  “Bitch,” he spits out, glaring at me through eyes glittering with malice.

  “Dick.” I don’t even attempt to hide my grin. God, that felt good. “Consider that a belated thank you. Your email was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

  Chapter 47

  Lance

  Tripp finds me on the top deck. “You planning on sulking up here until we get back to the dock?”

  He extends one of the glasses in his hands in my direction, and I take a bracing sip. Scotch. “I’m not sulking.”

  “What would you call it then?”

  “Thinking.”

  “About Vivienne?”

  “No. The theory of relativity,” I deadpan.

  He shrugs and settles his elbows on the railing beside me. “Einstein’s theory of space and time. I guess that makes sense. As things stand now, you and Vivienne don’t have much time left to share the same space.”

  I grunt. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Okay. How about this—grow a set of fucking balls and be the goddamn gravity that keeps her with you.”

  If Tripp was anyone else, he’d be overboard right now. But I merely squint at the horizon, at the fine line delineating sea and sky. It looks so close, like I could swim there. But it’s just a trick. No matter how far I swim, the horizon will always be just out of reach. Unattainable.

  “I’m just a job to Vivienne. Whatever I thought we were, I was wrong.”

  If I’m expecting sympathy, I don’t get it. Tripp laughs. “You might be an even bigger dipshit than I was with Jolie.” He thinks for a minute. “Actually, no. I still have you beat on that one.”

  “Great.” I swallow the rest of my scotch, relishing the burn. “Good talk.”

  “How many times a day are you told things that aren’t true? Not lies. Just inaccuracies?”

  I don’t have to think for long. Human error exists in every aspect of life, from the weatherman predicting sun before a rain storm to my engineers accidentally leaving a loophole in their code. “All the time. Why?”

  “What do you do about it?”

  “If it’s important, I fix it. If not, it’s someone else’s problem.” I stand up. “What’s all this about?”

  “You, man. Why are you taking Vivienne at her word when you know damn well she’s wrong?”

  “Because when someone tells you who they are, you should believe them.”

  “You quoting Maya Angelou now?” He looks across the deck, settling once his eyes land on Jolie. “Let me ask you this—setting aside anything she’s said—does Vivienne treat you like a job? Like you’re nothing but a paycheck?”

  Again, my answer comes instantly. “No.”

  “Then don’t treat her like a goddamn employee. You’re not going to find another one like her.”

  He’s right, I know. But when I go to find Vivienne, I see her walk into the bathroom . . . followed almost immediately by Dick.

  Immediately, a haze clouds my vision, my blood pressure pounding in my ears and making me so off balance I have to grab hold of a nearby brass railing for support. I don’t even have a chance to pound on the door and strangle the man before Vivienne comes out.

  There’s a flush on her face and a smile on her mouth, her dress noticeably askew.

  And that’s when I know. I could snap Dick’s neck and it wouldn’t matter. Vivienne isn’t mine.

  And she never will be.

  Chapter 48

  Lance

  THE DAY BEFORE LABOR DAY

  I’m in my office when Vivienne raps her knuckles on the doorjamb. “Are you busy?”

  Yes. Busy waiting for her to tell me what she was doing with her ex on the yacht last night. There has to be an answer, a reason. Something to make what I saw with my own eyes actually make sense.

  I close out of the project I’ve been working on for the last couple of hours and gesture at the chairs positioned in front of my desk.

  “I have time. Take a seat.”

  Vivienne is wearing cut-off jean shorts and a sheer white tank over a bikini top. Her hair is swept into a braid that falls over her shoulder, the tied end resting on the rise of her breast, sunglasses perched on top of her head. When she sits down, the shorts become even shorter, her long, lean legs crossed at the knee, one calf swinging, her feet bare.

  We spent most of last night on opposite ends of the boat, and once we arrived home, I mumbled something about having work to do and locked myself in my office.

  In the early hours of the morning I found myself drawn to the couch in the living room, where I watched the light of dawn gradually illuminate the canvas hanging over the fireplace. The piece of art Vivienne and I made together, streaks of paint from our hands covering the surface, the outline of her hourglass figure at the center.

  That’s exactly where Vivienne is in my life. At the center.

  But not for much longer.

  There’s a churning deep in my stomach, along with the automatic gut-punch of desire that hits me every time I set eyes on Vivienne Radcliffe. I don’t want her to leave this house. And I especially don’t want her to leave me.

  But after last night, after seeing the smile on her face after her private exchange with Dick on the yacht—a triumphant, satisfied smile felt like the ultimate kick in the balls—the sooner she’s gone, the better.

  “I had an interesting conversation last night. An offer, actually.” She holds my stare for a moment, the current between us strong and tumultuous. “Abbott wants me back.”

  Of course. That piece of shit probably got down on his knees and begged Vivienne to come back to him. They ha
ve two years of history. She and I have what—two months? “You’re going?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  It’s all I need to hear. I pull the check I wrote this morning out of the top drawer of my desk. “Here is the balance of what I owe you. I don’t have an event tonight and, since tomorrow is Labor Day, we might as well terminate our arrangement right now.”

  Her jaw hinges open. “What? But I thought—”

  “That I’d keep you here any longer than necessary? No, there’s no need for that.” I stand up stiffly, every part of my brain and body rebelling against the words I’m forcing up my throat and out of my mouth. “Go back to Abbott, Vivienne. Thank you for your services.”

  “Thank you for your services,” she repeats dumbly. “That’s all you have to say to me? After everything I—After everything we—”

  “As far as I’m concerned, that check says it all. Your job is done.”

  Chapter 49

  Lance

  41 DAYS AFTER LABOR DAY

  I knew I was making the biggest mistake of my life before I walked out the door. But I did it anyway.

  I left the check on my desk and took off. Away from Vivienne. Away from the Hamptons. I flew back to California and threw myself into work with a fervor I haven’t felt since . . .

  Ever.

  I’m surviving on a diet of Red Bull, ramen, and regret. I work, I work out, and I sleep only when my body shuts down.

  I can’t avoid Tripp, but I hang up on him whenever he brings up Vivienne. Which he does, often. But today, I’m hoping he’ll hold off until I can ask him for a favor.

  He and Jolie and the kids are back in Manhattan, but they still go out to the Hamptons most weekends. Personally, I don’t know if I’ll ever set foot in that house again.

  “Are you out East today?”