A Bad Boy is Good to Find(68)

“So you say, bro, but from what I saw last night, she’s crazy about you. Love doesn’t have anything to do with money—it comes from in here.” Danny tapped Con’s chest with a brawny finger. “I bet you that right now she’s cryin’ her eyes out, wishing you were there to put your arms around her.”

Con stared at him. The image of Lizzie crying cut into him like a boning knife.

She thought he’d screwed her over. Dumped her now he didn’t need her money anymore. He had to set that straight, at least.

Adrenaline roared through him. “Let’s go get your truck. And don’t you start lecturing me on love, little brother. What the hell do you know about it?”

Danny grinned. “That’s the spirit!”



Lizzie wasn’t at the airport. She wasn’t at the bus station, or the train station. Danny rolled his eyes while Con made nervous phone calls to the police and local hospitals, who’d never heard of her either.

“Must be still on the road.” Con snapped his phone shut and drummed his knuckles on the dash of Danny’s truck.

“Maybe we can check her credit cards? See if she’s used one. You know the numbers?”

“Um, yeah. I’m afraid I do. I filched them from her wallet and made some payments without telling her.”

“You still got that amazing memory?”

“Old habits die hard.” Con winked and flipped his phone open.



“Dwight!” Maisie plastered on her biggest smile. “Finally, I have a few moments. I was so excited when I heard you were coming.” The chef had whipped together some oyster po’boys for lunch and the remaining members of the crew were gathered on the patio. She’d been delayed by a phone call with Don so she was the last to attack the buffet.

“Really.” Dwight helped himself to some coleslaw.

“I would have spent more time with you last night, but this show just sucks up every living second. You know how it is when you have one of your big bond deals going through.”

“Oh, yes.” Dwight picked up a little bottle of Evian. He wouldn’t meet her eye.

“Is something the matter?” She smeared a dollop of mayonnaise on her bread.

“Is something the matter?” repeated Dwight, in a flat voice. “I’d say so, wouldn’t you?”

Maisie’s brow furrowed. She swatted a wasp away from the mayonnaise. “What do you mean?”

Dwight chuckled. Instead of asking her where she’d like to sit, he went and sat on the edge of a low wall, near Raoul.

“Would you like to join me at the table?” she asked brightly.

“Not really.” He took a big bite of his sandwich.

“Sorry, Dwight, am I missing something?” She cocked her head, getting a nasty feeling that a scene was coming on. But it couldn’t be, not with Dwight. That was the most wonderful thing about him. You could count on him to be discreet, tasteful and highly appropriate at all times.

“I’d say so.”

Of course he wasn’t the most sparkling conversationalist, Maisie reflected as she seated herself next to him on the uncomfortable stone wall and took a bite of her sandwich. But that’s why you had friends. Choosing a husband was like picking a tasteful wallpaper pattern that wouldn’t get tiresome for being too overwhelming. “This oyster is marvelous, isn’t it? What’s in the batter, André?”

“Beer,” said the chef, as he stirred the fresh mayonnaise.

“Ah. Very cunning.” She took another neat bite.

Dwight dabbed his lips with his napkin. “I’m obviously never going to get a moment truly alone with you, and I suppose everyone would know sooner or later, so I’ll be frank…” Maisie’s throat tightened around her last mouthful of oyster. “I came here to break off our pathetic excuse for an engagement.”

“What?” Crumbs flew from her mouth. “You can’t!”

“No? Just watch me.” He took another bite. Raoul murmured something inaudible in his ear.

Maisie’s ears buzzed as hot disbelief made it hard to think straight. “But the napkins have already been monogrammed. The silver commemorative wedding goblets are being engraved by artisans in Sierra Leone. My one-of-a-kind lace veil is being hand-netted in Lausanne—”

“Then tell them to stop,” Dwight said through a mouthful. “Because the wedding’s off.”

“Why?” Her voice came out as a plaintive wail. She cleared her throat and asked more calmly, “why?”

“Let’s see. Where do I start? Oh, yes, you don’t love me, I don’t love you, and I’m gay.” He took another bite of sandwich.

“What?” she squeaked. “You’re not gay!”

Dwight looked at her. “Trust you to think you know better than I do. I would feel sorry if I thought I was really hurting you. At one point I was delusional enough to think that we were a good match in a practical, looks-good-in-print kind of way. And I would have rather died than admit that I wasn’t, shall we say, ‘into’ women.”

Maisie blinked. Frankly, it explained a few things.

“Anyway, I’ve fallen in love. His name is Matthew, and he’s a real estate developer and we’re going to build a house in Greenwich together.”

“I’m so happy for you,” she spat. “And where exactly does that leave me?”

“Exactly where you’ve been all this time. Pursuing your own goals without regard for anyone else, and—from what I heard last night—screwing any thick-necked brute who grunts in your direction.”

Maisie felt her face coloring. Had they heard? She’d been discreet. And that nasty characterization was uncalled for. At least Danny wasn’t around to hear it. Since he and Con had gone off to look for Lizzie, the intoxicating effect he’d had on her had worn off a bit, but she wasn’t quite sure what would happen when she saw him again.

“Now, now,” said Raoul. “There’s no need to get bitchy.” He patted Dwight’s knee. “Maisie has her needs that have clearly been going unmet.”

“I’ll say!” Maisie narrowly resisted the urge to throw her plate of po’boy at him. “You’ve got some nerve acting angry with me when you’re the one who’s been living a lie this whole time.”

Dwight looked at her. She’d never noticed what a cold, gray color his eyes were. As cold as his voice when he spoke. “We were both living a lie. You never cared about me, only what I could do for you. I think we can both agree to end this extended-run farce of an engagement. Feel free to bill me for the napkins.”



The sight of the white Jeep in the parking lot of the Cozy Suites Motel on the outskirts of Baton Rouge made Con’s heart thump.

She must have had a nice surprise when her credit card worked, he thought with satisfaction.

“Why don’t you knock on the door and pretend to be the maid,” said Danny, opening a shiny silver laptop. “I’ll just stay here and catch up on some record keeping. Then we’ll all go to dinner.”