The Cousins(22)

“What is it?”

“Shrimp linguine.”

I nod vigorously, and Chaz taps on the iPad in front of him. “You’re in luck,” he says, squinting at the screen. “No waiting. The kitchen just made an order for a customer who changed their mind. Someone will bring it by in a sec.”



He turns and starts pulling glasses from a low shelf, arranging them in neat rows on the bar. The Sevens is a mix of high-tech and old-school; the televisions that line each wall are the biggest, most high-definition screens I’ve ever seen, but the interior of the restaurant is all dark polished wood, recessed lighting, and leather chairs. The bar is massive, propped up by two pillars on either end, with seating all the way around. Summer staff usually starts congregating here around four-thirty to eat, but I’m always hungry way before then.

“First one here, as usual?” asks a dry voice behind me.

I turn to see Milly in her work uniform: a black cocktail dress, black apron, trendy black sneakers, and dark-red lipstick that must be mandatory, because every waitress who works at Veranda—Gull Cove Resort’s fine dining restaurant—wears the same shade. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, her lashes thick with dark mascara. Or maybe she just has a naturally intense eyelash situation happening at all times.

“I like the food,” I say, eyeing her warily as she slips onto a stool beside me. Other than the ferry ride and that weird lunch with Donald Camden, Milly and I haven’t spoken much since we got here. Which is exactly what I thought she wanted, so I’m not sure why she’s sitting next to me all of a sudden.

The television in front of us is turned to CNN for a change—Chaz likes to get the news in before he’s forced to make it all sports when happy hour starts—and Milly’s eyes flick over the reporter on-screen. “Some investment banker’s been arrested for fraud again,” she says, a little louder than necessary. “Seems like a rampant problem in the financial industry. Has Uncle Anders ever come up against anything like that? Like, oh, I don’t know…a Bernie Madoff in Rhode Island, maybe?”



Shit. I don’t have to look at her face to know she somehow stumbled across that little write-up in the Providence Journal from earlier this year. One disgruntled client lost the entirety of his retirement savings, his child’s college fund, and is now in danger of losing his family’s small business. Frank North, who recently filed for bankruptcy, called Anders Story “the Bernie Madoff of Rhode Island.” “His investment strategy was nothing more than a pyramid scheme,” says Mr. North. “And I was the last fool standing.”

I wonder, though, if she knows that it’s true.

Chaz saves the day without realizing it, clicking from CNN to ESPN. “The entire financial industry is a joke,” he says. “Bottom line is, nobody’s ever gonna care as much about your own money as you do.” His cheeks crease in a tired smile. “Says the guy who has none. You kids keep that in mind, though, when you’re out running the world. Either of you want something to drink?”

“I’m all right,” Milly says.

“A Coke would be great,” I say. I watch Chaz disappear behind one of the pillars before turning to Milly. “What do you want?” I ask bluntly.

“You’re so touchy, Jonah.” Her brows draw together in an expression of mock hurt. “Can’t I just enjoy the pleasure of my cousin’s company?”

“I doubt it.”

She drops the pretense and pulls a cream-colored envelope out of her pocket, her tone turning businesslike. “Did you get one of these?”

It looks exactly like the envelope that Donald Camden sent with his invitation to lunch. “Yeah. I was there. Hamburger without a bun. Remember?”



“No,” she says impatiently, opening the flap and pulling out a card. “It’s a follow-up.” She hands it to me and I read the short note inside.

I strongly urge you to reconsider my offer.





The terms of employment are more generous than I realized.





See below.





Donald S. Camden, Esq.





I stare at the number written at the bottom. It’s easily three times what I’d make at Gull Cove Resort. Then I turn the card over, but there’s nothing else. “I don’t know if I got one of these or not,” I tell Milly, handing it back to her. I have to fight to keep my voice normal, because that’s a lot of cash. “I haven’t checked my mailbox in a while.”

“Hey, Jonah.” A girl’s voice, sweet and just a little seductive, interrupts us. It’s Brittany, one of the servers and a fellow Towhee. She smiles coyly and bats her eyes at me, like she’s been doing ever since we got here. Which is a problem. Brittany is cute, but I’m trying to keep a low profile. “I hear you’re the lucky recipient of buyer’s remorse.” She slides the plate in front of me and flips her thick blond braid over one shoulder at the same time. Milly folds her arms, watching us.

“Thanks, Brittany.” The smell of garlic and seafood hits me and I’m instantly starving.



She beams at me. “Anytime.” Her eyes shift to my right. “Hi, Milly. What’s up?”

“Not much,” Milly says. “Just talking to my cousin. About family stuff.” The unspoken And you’re interrupting is so obvious that if I were trying to make something happen with Brittany, I’d be annoyed. But since I’m not, I just drop a napkin onto my lap and pick up my fork.