A Bad Boy is Good to Find(20)

He reached a hand across the table. Lizzie suppressed a nervous giggle and shook it. It was going to happen. Exhilaration and terror surged in her veins.

“Gia, can you track down the nearest big, fancy hotel. Maybe an old plantation or something? I want to move on this fast. The guest list is your job, Maisie. I’d like a truckload of New York high society, all the Hathaways’ old cronies and those people you hobnob with.”

Maisie blanched. “Um, I’m not sure that…”

Lizzie cut in, terror streaking along her nerves. “Con and I would prefer an intimate wedding. Just the two of us and a witness or two.”

“Humph.” Don’s face wrinkled up. “I do think a Rockefeller or two would add class. Maybe Donald Trump?”

“Maybe Donald Trump,” said Maisie with a poker face.

Lizzie struggled to keep a beatific smile in place. Somehow an anonymous television audience didn’t seem nearly as frightening as the possibility of a crowd of former “friends,” who were quite capable of flocking down to enjoy the spectacle. Maisie didn’t seem to like the idea either. She was probably describing her “journalism” career rather creatively at cocktail parties.

“That’s settled then. I’ll leave all the details to Maisie. Sitcom Stars of the Nineties is tanking on Tuesdays, and Ty’s looking for something to fill the slot. Let’s move on this while the story’s hot.” He stood and extended his hand to Lizzie. “I’m glad you came to us. We’ll put on a wedding you’ll never forget.”

As Lizzie tried not to wince at his hearty grip, his words echoed in her mind with grim foreboding.

Don left the room and Gia scurried after him.

“Good save,” said Maisie with a swift exhale. “I suspect you don’t want your Spence classmates there any more than I do.”

Her penetrating gaze made Lizzie wonder if her cousin suspected she wasn’t entirely on the up and up. Maisie might be a heartless bitch, but she wasn’t stupid.

“I prefer to keep things simple. If we had to invite several hundred people it might postpone our wedding for weeks, even months, and Con and I just can’t wait that long.” Another fake smile. Maybe she could paint one on with lipstick and save her facial muscles the trouble?

“Well,” Maisie rubbed her hands together. “I must say, I’m looking forward to it. I hope Gia can find a nice place to put us all up. I’d better talk to her and make sure she’s not calling the local Holiday Inns. Let me tell you, they need me around here.”

“I’ll bet they do.”

“And since I’ve been planning my own wedding to Dwight for two years, I have contacts at all the finest bridal suppliers. We’ll give you a wedding fit for a queen.” Smug smile. “I do hope Conroy won’t feel too out of place.”

“I’m sure he’ll feel quite comfortable in the familiar surroundings of his hometown.” She sipped her cappuccino. Hoped her forked tongue didn’t show.

“I admit I’m rather curious to see picturesque Mudbug Flats. Gia will be doing all the advance scouting, though. I’ve got this Princess Anastasia Rediscovered mess to clean up. It airs next week, and the voiceover isn’t even recorded yet. Don did it himself, and now I’ve finally convinced him it’s not working, I have to find someone else to record right over the edited film. Can you imagine?”

“I can imagine almost anything. My imagination has quite taken flight lately. I do have to ask, though…” Lizzie leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “What on earth convinced you to take a job here?”

Maisie leapt from her chair and gathered her papers. “Even Christiane Amanpour had to start somewhere, darling.”



“Where are you?” Relief warred with anger at the sound of his murmured hello. She’d begun to think she’d seen the last of him.

“South Jersey. Coming up the ’pike. How’re you doing?” Con’s voice cut in and out like they were about to lose the cell connection.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“I’ve been driving. Had the phone turned off to save the battery.”

“What’s taking you so long?” She paced back and forth in the cavernous empty living room of her parents Southampton house.

“It’s a long drive. I’ll be up there in a couple of hours. I’m going to stay with a friend.”

“No, you’re not!” she shrieked. Get a grip, Lizzie. She’d been panicked for the last day and a half that he’d done a runner. Now she had him on the phone there was no way she’d let him get into the clutches of a “friend.” “You’ll come stay here. I’m at my parents’ house. You know where it is.”

He’d been there once. On the ill-fated meet-the-parents visit.

“Yeah, I can find it. You sure?”

“Why not. There’s no one here but me. The place is up for sale.” She glanced at the bare walls, the curtainless windows. “Plenty of rooms, we’ll barely see each other.”

“Alright. I’ll see you soon.”

The hollow sensation in her gut crept back when she hung up. Her footsteps rang out on the bare wood, the rugs long gone. No furniture. The door had been unlocked, left forgotten by a real estate agent. The house looked strangely smaller with no furniture, more generic, not a real place at all but a kind of stage set for a play that had folded.

It was nearly four hours before she heard the scrunch of tires on the gravel. She’d spent the last one pacing back and forth, mind revving with doubts. He won’t show up. He’ll leave you high and dry and lying to Maisie about why your wedding is canceled. You’ve been a fool to trust him or anyone else.

She stormed out the front door and stood with her hands on her hips as the familiar gold Mercedes convertible, top down, rolled to a stop on the rather weedy driveway. Glare on the windshield hid Con from view and an unwelcome surge of exhilaration made her hold her breath as the door opened.

He emerged, hair uncombed and pants wrinkled. No shoes, either.

“You look terrible. Isn’t it illegal to drive barefoot?” She hoped her snippy words concealed her excitement.

“Nice to see you too.” He shot her a smile, then leaned in to retrieve his bag from the back seat. “I’m exhausted.”

“I can tell from looking at you.”

“I’d kill for a shower.”

“Good luck. The power’s turned off so there’s no water.” Why did she have a sudden irrational urge to hug him? Relief he hadn’t ditched her, that’s all.

“The pool got water in it?” He walked toward her.

“I guess so. I haven’t looked.”

“That’ll do. Can I come in?”

He tilted his head, and she realized she was still barricading the doorway, arms akimbo.

“Um, sure.” She turned and walked into the house, a mass of odd sensations roiling in her stomach. Why had she thought this would be a good idea?

Oh, yes, to stop him from hooking back up with Frankie or whoever. She couldn’t trust him.