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

by Tara Leigh

  “Um,” I pick up the spoon, approaching Joey cautiously, “whatever you’re having will be great.”

  “Triple espresso Americano with almond milk and a sprinkle of mocha.” She says it with the confidence of a barista.

  I laugh. “Late night?”

  “More like early morning.” She puts a finger to her lips. “No. Late night, too. I keep telling myself that sleep is overrated, but my body is having none of it.”

  “Well, that sounds like the perfect caffeine boost. I’d love one.” Turning my attention to Joey, I make a flying airplane noise, waving the spoon in the air and gliding it into his mouth.

  He stares at me in surprise, like he knows I’m not supposed to be feeding him. But the pureed baby food stays behind his pursed lips. I grin triumphantly. “I did—”

  Without swallowing his food, Joey attempts to replicate the sound I made, spattering me in green.

  Jolie gasps in horror. “Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

  Just then Tripp comes into the room, a worried frown on his face as he addresses his wife. “Is everything okay?”

  She gestures at me and presses a button on the machine. “Vivienne has officially been christened by your son.”

  There’s a hissing noise, and then coffee starts streaming from a valve. Except that there’s no mug beneath it.

  Tripp looks back and forth between us, assessing the situation. “Okay, that’s it. You’re both fired. Out. I’m officially taking over.”

  “I told you we aren’t cute,” Jolie mumbles as Tripp throws a dishtowel over the puddle of coffee on the tile floor.

  I shake my head. Forget cute, these two are #couplegoals. “I think you need to get some sleep. I’m going to head back to the house and change.”

  “I’m so sorry about your shirt.” Jolie’s expression is a mix of embarrassment and pure exhaustion.

  “Please, this is nothing,” I lie. I’m wearing one of the four-hundred-dollar T-shirts Lance bought for me, but it’s still just a T-shirt.

  Tripp walks to his wife and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You have coffee all over your jeans, and I’m quite sure the world will keep turning.”

  We both glance down, and, sure enough, there is coffee spatter all over her white denim capris.

  Laughter tumbles from our lips as she walks toward me. “Come on, I’ll show you out.”

  I’m halfway out the door when Jolie delivers another bombshell.

  Chapter 34

  Lance

  I’ve been listening for Vivienne’s return since she left. As soon as I hear the door open, I’m out of my office. She’s covered in what looks like drops of green paint. “I thought Jackson Pollock died almost seventy years ago.”

  “Very funny,” she says, whipping by me and jogging up the stairs.

  I’ve been working all day, and I’m tired of my own company. And even though it’s obvious Vivienne’s been avoiding me, I’m done making it easy for her.

  So I follow her. “What happened to you?”

  “Joey doesn’t like spinach,” she answers, “or airplanes.”

  “Good to know.”

  She makes a noncommittal noise and heads into her bedroom. Since she doesn’t close the door, I stand just at the threshold, catching her shirt when she pulls it over her head and tosses it my way. Her skirt is next. “I hope your money bought you stain-free fabric.”

  Clad in barely-there panties and a bra, she pulls out a dresser drawer and rifles through it. My mouth goes dry as I take in the smooth skin of Vivienne’s back bisected by the delicate ladder of her spine, the rounded curves of her ass that taper to slim, shapely thighs. Too soon, she steps into a clean pair of shorts and pulls a tank top over her head, but it’s one of those tiny ones that dips low in the front and clings to her breasts.

  I’m still holding her discarded clothes when she grabs them from my hands and brushes past me.

  “Did something else happen, some reason why you’re in a bad mood?”

  Vivienne stomps down the stairs and into the laundry room, agitation surrounding her like a fine mist. “Why did you bring me to dinner with your friends?”

  “Why did I . . .” I repeat the first part of her question, a confused frown pulling at my brows. “You didn’t have a good time?”

  She starts the washing machine. “That’s not the point.”

  Again, I shake my head. “Then what is?”

  This time, when Vivienne tries to walk past me, I extend my arm and grab hold of the doorjamb, blocking her path. She turns her feverish gaze on me. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, seriously. What’s gotten into you?”

  I’m expecting her to duck beneath my arm and walk away from me, but instead, she jabs her index finger into my chest. “You. You are what’s gotten into me.”

  I don’t say anything. There’s no need to press her for answers. Whatever is upsetting Vivienne is too volatile to stay silent.

  “If you were just going to tell Tripp about me, that you’re paying me, that we’re just an act—why did you have to bring me with you the other night? I mean, at some stuffy party, I know what I’m there for, what my role is. But today, I was blindsided. Why did you have to tell him?”

  Before I can even attempt to respond, she releases a soggy laugh. “I know I shouldn’t be mad. I told my friend Savannah about us. So maybe you needed to tell someone, too. I just wish I’d known. Going over their house to help Jolie, I just wish—” She breaks off and stares resentfully at me. “Let me out of the laundry room, please.”

  My arm falls, and I step aside. Vivienne grabs a vitamin water from the fridge and leans back against the door, uncapping the top and taking a long sip. Her profile could be carved of ivory. Her high, wide forehead, the slope of her slim nose, her perfectly sculpted lips and well-defined chin. Eyelashes that sit like russet-colored smudges over the crest of her cheekbones. Her throat moves as she swallows.

  “I should have. You’re right and I’m sorry.”

  “It was embarrassing, Lance. Like the time in third grade when I tucked my skirt in my tights and didn’t realize until after I walked back into my classroom.” Her eyes blink rapidly, and her hand is wrapped so tightly around her water that her knuckles are white. “Kids laughed. And even after the teacher shut it down, I knew they’d all seen my underwear.”

  Eventually, she turns her head to me, her back still against the refrigerator door. “I know you’re paying me a lot of money. I know that this is a job. But I’m a fraud. I know it, you know it, and now Jolie and Tripp know it, too.”

  The naked ache inside her eyes slays me, but when I take a step toward her, she lifts a hand, palm out, so I don’t move any closer.

  “I came here this summer to find myself. To reset and focus on my dreams, my goals. Me. But instead, I’m here, living with you, working for you, lying for you. My entire identity is wrapped around you.”

  She pauses, her chin quivering. “I need to know if anything between us is real, Lance. Anything at all. Because I thought we had something, or at least the start of something. But the second you put me on your payroll, the second I became your employee, everything changed.”

  I take a slow step forward, then another, keeping my eyes locked on Vivienne’s face. I hate that my self-centered plan has caused her any pain at all. It seemed like a simple idea, with no downside.

  I was wrong.

  I created my own Catch-22. By paying Vivienne to be with me, I’ll never allow myself to be with her. In the back of my mind, I’ll always believe she’s in it for the money.

  I didn’t force her to accept my offer. But she did. She chose money over me. And she’s using it as an excuse to sleep in separate bedrooms, to limit our interaction to public performances only.

  Nothing gold can stay. And what Vivienne and I once had, was pure gold.

  We can never be a real couple, the kind that lasts. Fake is all we’ll ever be.

  I steel myself to deliver words that need to be said, for both our sake
s. “What’s real is the agreement we made. The money in your bank account. And yeah, the attraction is also real. But real doesn’t mean forever. Nothing lasts forever.”

  I’m wrong about that, too. Because the look in her eyes, the hurt on Vivienne’s face . . . I’ll never forget it as long as I live.

  Chapter 35

  Vivienne

  31 DAYS UNTIL LABOR DAY

  I don’t succumb to unconsciousness until the sun’s first rays crawl across the horizon, a tender pink band separating sky from sea. My room is bright when I jerk awake, clutching the duvet to my chest and breathing heavily. At first, I don’t know what’s woken me up out of a dead sleep, but then I notice my phone buzzing on the nightstand.

  My head feels like it’s stuffed with steel wool, my eyes burning from the sudden intrusion of daylight. I don’t even glance at the screen before answering. “Vivienne—finally!”

  “Mom?” I croak, falling back against the pillows.

  “Well, who else would it be?” I hear the tap of a teaspoon on porcelain and have an almost visceral yearning for the French press coffee my mother makes every morning. “It’s been ages.”

  “I called you last week, but you couldn’t talk.”

  “Well, I had the Osterman’s daughter’s bridal shower. Do you remember her, sweetheart?”

  “Which one? There were a few of them.”

  “The middle girl is getting married first. And the oldest, I think she was in your grade, didn’t even come. Can you believe that? Her own sister is getting married, and she wasn’t at the shower.”

  “Jaclyn. Last I heard she—”

  “No, Kristin is the bride.”

  “Right. But Jaclyn, the older sister, the one my age, I think she’s a marine biologist. She spends most of the year on a boat in the ocean, studying shark migration patterns or something.” We weren’t really friends in school, but we follow each other on Instagram and her photos are amazing.

  “Are you implying that what Jaclyn is doing is more important than celebrating her sister’s upcoming wedding?”

  Yes. “It’s probably just not that easy for her to get off work. I’m sure she’ll be there for the wedding.”

  My mom huffs. “I should hope so. The most wonderful day in a woman’s life; she should have her family around to support her.”

  “There’s more to life than marriage, Mom.” There better be. Because my prospects in that area are looking pretty bleak. “And besides, most people don’t exactly stay true to their vows.”

  The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. My mother and I have never discussed what I saw when I worked for her the summer before I left for college. For a while, she was the go-to caterer for events held at an old mansion that cost a fortune to rent but didn’t have on-staff chefs. It was popular for weddings, sweet sixteen birthday parties, bar and bat mitzvahs, and corporate events. Events where my mom could make more in a night than my father made in his bi-monthly paycheck.

  The mansion was run by a man named Paul, who couldn’t get enough of my mother. And the feeling seemed mutual. She was all smiles around him, laughing and flirting. I even noticed him following her into the garage, where there was a second refrigerator. He closed the door, and when she eventually came out, her hair was all mussed, her lipstick smeared, and her clothes disheveled.

  I didn’t want to think that my mother was cheating on my father, but it was clear that something happened between her and Paul. And toward the end of the summer, just before I left, I overheard an argument between my parents that left no room for doubt. I couldn’t hear everything, just words and phrases that plunked into my conscience like pebbles, the ripples forever disturbing the placid surface.

  I should kill him.

  No. He’s not worth it.

  Did Vivienne see—

  Of course not.

  You’re never going back.

  Will you ever look at me the same?

  And lots and lots of tears.

  “I hope that’s not how I raised you, Vivienne. When you find a man who loves you like your father loves me, how I love him, it’s truly something to celebrate.”

  I feel slightly nauseous as her soft goodbye hits my ear. I’m just not sure if it’s because I know she’s lying, or because she does it so well. Like she believes every word.

  Or maybe it’s just the bitter seed of envy taking root. Because I wish I knew how it felt to be deeply in love with a man who loved me right back. Even if it’s only an illusion . . . for as long as it lasts, it must be wonderful.

  Chapter 36

  Lance

  17 DAYS UNTIL LABOR DAY

  The blare of trumpets breaks my concentration, reminding me that I still haven’t gotten around to replacing the bell. I make a mental note to ask Vivienne if it’s something she can take care of. God knows she’s done just about everything else in the house. Hung paintings, changed the hardware in the kitchen, swapped out doorknobs, installed blinds when I happened to mention that the glare on my computer screen in the mornings sometimes made it hard to read.

  When I asked her to turn the house from the shoddy state it was in when I first arrived into something better—I really didn’t think much of it. It was a task to make Vivienne feel useful, to give her something to do, so she wouldn’t leave.

  Moving back here after being gone so long, and without a bustling corporate office to spend most of my days, I found the idea of Vivienne staying here with me . . . pleasant. And convenient.

  But somewhere along the way, Vivienne turned this house into a home. Every time I turn around, she’s bringing something into the house. Not just random shit she thinks looks good. No, Vivienne has a way of asking me the most casual, innocuous questions—favorite authors, memorable places I’ve traveled, what got me interested in cybersecurity—and somehow manifesting my answers physically. She found an artist out in Montauk that creates sculptures using discarded computers and electronic components. She etched RiskTaker’s mission statement onto a piece of driftwood and hung it behind my desk. Leather-bound copies of my favorite books sit on my bookshelves. She’s left her stamp, and mine, in every room.

  My calendar taunts me on a daily basis. Soon, I’ll be back in California. In a big, sterile house that has places to eat and sleep and fuck and work but not an ounce of personality. And no one in that bustling corporate office will ever take the place of Vivienne.

  The trumpets blare again. “Coming!” The Fed Ex driver must be impatient today.

  But it’s not the documents I’m expecting.

  “I thought you would call me.” Missy is wearing a white tennis dress, her hair in a ponytail.

  I snicker. “You thought wrong.”

  Missy purses her lips and looks over my shoulder. “Can I come in?”

  “Be my guest.” I step aside, closing the door behind her.

  Her head swivels as she looks around, making a low whistle. “Look at you, coming back to your roots in style.”

  “We’ve both done well,” I say impassively.

  “No. Not really. I’ve just come from Jacob’s lawyer’s office.” She throws herself on the couch, displacing one of the pillows. “Want to know why?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “One word. Prenup.”

  “Come on, don’t tell me you expected to marry him without one?”

  “That was my hope. But no, I expected one, just not the one he wants me to sign.” She sits up so fast, another pillow falls to the floor. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

  I squint at her. “And prolong your stay? No.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” She gets to her feet and strides across the room to the bar cart.

  Vivienne came home with it last week, the cart wrapped up like a mummy in the seat beside her. But since she didn’t like the chrome finish, she took it out onto the patio and spent two days outside with paint, brushes, and a wad of steel wool to rough up the metal and transform it into an interesting mix of silver stre
aked with gold. And then she set it up in a corner of the living room, stocking it with liquor and crystal tumblers.

  Now Missy sloshes vodka into one and tosses it back. “My prenup is ridiculous. I barely get pennies if we divorce in five years. And if he catches me cheating, I won’t even get that.”

  “So, don’t cheat and stay married for at least five years and a day,” I say, exasperation woven into my voice.

  She downs another shot. “Because after five years, I only get a few nickels.”

  “Then I suggest you hire your own lawyer. Negotiate.”

  She sets her glass down with a clatter and spins around, crossing the room again. This time, she doesn’t head to the couch. She doesn’t stop until we’re toe to toe. Lifting her hands, she presses them against my chest. “Lance, you never should have broken up with me. We were good together.”

  “Until we weren’t.”

  She continues as if I didn’t interrupt, her palms climbing up my shirt until her fingers are wrapped around the back of my neck. “We were so good together. We can be that way again. Please, Lance. Let’s try again.”

  I pull at Missy’s wrists, but she doesn’t let go. She presses herself against me, her lips kissing my neck. “That girl can’t make you happy, not like me. You need—”

  I untangle myself from Missy’s embrace and step back. “Her name is Vivienne. And she’s made me happier than I’ve ever been before. If I need anyone, it’s her.”

  Chapter 37

  Lance

  After Missy leaves, I go for a long run along the water’s edge with the intention of clearing my mind. But what I said follows me. Not my parting shot about getting the fuck out of my house. But that Vivienne makes me happy. One word. Two syllables. It chases me down the sand, in tune with my footfalls. hap-py, hap-py, hap-py. For miles.