The Heiresses

by Sara Shepard

  Then his phone beeped. They jumped. “Do you need to get that?” Rowan asked.

  James shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “But what if it’s the nanny?”

  He waved her away. “It’s not.”

  “It could be important.”

  A smile crept onto his face. He shook his head. “Saybrook, don’t you get it? No one is more important than you.”

  Tingles washed down Rowan’s spine even as she protested. “James, we shouldn’t.”

  He stepped closer and ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, we should.”

  He pressed his lips to hers, and her whole body melted into him. James lifted her onto the desk, and one by one, he undid the buttons on her slate gray work shirt, exposing the lacy black bra beneath, kissing her everywhere. Within seconds her bra and shirt were off, his hands caressing her breasts.

  “More,” Rowan moaned, wrapping her legs around him and unbuckling his pants. He pushed her skirt up to her waist and in one swift moment thrust inside her, his lips and hands exploring her entire body. He started off slow, but soon he was moving against her with urgency, and she matched his rhythm, never breaking eye contact. “More,” she told him again. “Please.”

  But it was over too quickly, and before long, James was pulling on his pants and tying his shoelaces. “Come over tomorrow,” he whispered in her ear. He squeezed her hand once, gave her a lingering kiss, then slipped away.

  He shut the door lightly, and Rowan stared around her office, her heart pounding fast in the sudden stillness.

  A full minute went by before she noticed her computer. She must have accidentally launched the iMovie application; a small window showed the view from the top of Rowan’s monitor, where her webcam was. A time clock was running, the camera still rolling. Rowan studied her image in the webcam, taking in her flushed skin, her mussed hair, her swollen lips. She hit stop with shaking, panicky fingers.

  Then she rewound the video to the beginning. For a few moments, there was only heavy breathing, but then Rowan’s head dipped into the camera view. Then came a slice of her bare breast, her naked torso, her arched neck. A man straddled her from above, his face hidden. “More,” Rowan demanded breathlessly. “Please.”

  Rowan’s cheeks blazed. She hit pause, embarrassed by her shameless display of passion. She moved the mouse to the top of the screen and, with a decisive, horrified click, deleted the video forever.

  12

  Aster exited out of the final Excel column and sat back with a satisfied sigh, lacing her fingers behind her chair and stretching her back to crack it. She couldn’t believe it. After over a week straight of data entry, she was finally done. It hadn’t been easy—Excel was miserable, but navigating Elizabeth was worse. Every interaction felt fraught with tension. Did she know about Aster and Steven? And how much?

  She checked her watch: 6:00 on the dot. She would have just enough time to race home, throw some clothes into a bag, and make it to Teterboro in time to leave for Corinne’s bachelorette weekend. Normally the prospect of three solid days filled with Corinne-planned bridal activities would have made Aster roll her eyes, but right now she wanted nothing more than to be at Meriweather. She couldn’t wait to collapse in her canopy bed and sleep as late as she wanted.

  She e-mailed the spreadsheet to Elizabeth, then stood up and started packing her things. “Aster!” she heard Elizabeth yell from her office. Aster quickly adjusted her blush-colored maxi dress—one of the few dresses she owned that fit Elizabeth’s strict knee-length regulation—and scrambled to her boss’s office, tripping over a pile of papers on the way.

  “You’re leaving, I take it?” Elizabeth asked, not even bothering to look at her.

  “Yes, and I’m out tomorrow,” Aster said, gritting her teeth. She’d asked for this time off her very first day, and it had been preapproved by HR. Elizabeth knew about this; she was just trying to goad Aster.

  Elizabeth sighed melodramatically, as if Aster’s taking off work on a Friday was the most ridiculous request imaginable. “Well, don’t leave yet. I want to make our to-do list for Monday. Sit there while I look through my e-mail.”

  Aster perched on the chair, holding her notebook and pen at the ready, as Elizabeth glowered at her computer screen. Every night they made a list of things Aster needed to do the next day: schedule pickups and deliveries, return calls, book travel for important guests. Aster had never booked travel in her life. The first time Elizabeth asked her to do it, she’d tried to text the airline from her phone. She’d learned a lot in the last few weeks, she thought with an unfamiliar sense of pride.

  Aster’s gaze drifted to Elizabeth’s desk. There was an open Us Weekly near her phone, with a full-page story on the rapper Ko folded back. Another magazine showed a photo of Ko and a pretty girl. With a start, Aster realized it was Faun, with whom she’d apartment hunted. She and Ko were dating? Since when?

  “Are you a big Ko fan?” Aster asked.

  Elizabeth’s eyes flickered from the screen for a beat. “We’re trying to design an engagement ring for his flavor of the month.” She pointed at Faun’s picture in the magazine, her mouth a thin line. “They came in a few weeks ago and basically said, ‘Dazzle us.’ Those are the worst kind of clients, the ones who have no idea what they want. They almost never end up buying what we design.”

  There was another knock. Mitch appeared in the doorway. “You mind if I take a look at your computer for a second, Elizabeth?” he asked. “I have to run a quick scan. It’ll take one minute, I promise.”

  “Fine,” Elizabeth snapped. “Aster, don’t leave yet.”

  Mitch stepped into the room, shooting Aster a sympathetic smile. Aster smiled back. So far Mitch was the only good thing about this job. He checked in on her every day, sending her jokes and bringing her red Swedish fish—her favorite—to help her get through that bitch of a spreadsheet. He’d been the one to sit with her and patiently teach her Excel—and to recover the file when she accidentally deleted it. In Aster’s old life, she would have held a party in his honor by now.

  Elizabeth typed away furiously on her phone, clearly in her own world. Aster stared at the picture of Faun and Ko in Interview. They were in front of a step-and-repeat at the Chateau Marmont, one of Aster’s favorite places in LA. “Faun comes from money too,” she said, thinking aloud. “Her mom patented some new kind of plastic surgery technique that made them a fortune. She only died a few years ago. Faun’s still devastated.”

  Elizabeth’s head whipped up. “Where did you read that?”

  “I didn’t read it. She told me.” Aster thought for a moment. “You know, her mom had one of the most insane jewelry collections I’ve ever seen. You should try to use that for Faun’s ring. Maybe you could make a vintage-inspired piece that echoes something from the collection? I bet you could find an old photo in Vogue or something.”

  Mitch looked up from what he was doing, his head cocked. “That’s a great idea.”

  Elizabeth made a swishing motion with her hands. “Stick to data entry, Aster. Leave the client management to the professionals.”

  “All done here,” Mitch interrupted, standing back from the computer. He turned back toward the door, winking at Aster on the way out.

  Aster glanced at her watch as Elizabeth logged back in to her e-mail, trying not to panic. Corinne would seriously freak out if she held up the plane. Or worse, she would just leave Aster behind, and Aster would have to take a bus.

  “Aster.” Elizabeth’s voice was cold. “This spreadsheet isn’t complete.”

  Aster sat up straight. “What?” she asked dumbly. She’d gone over every data point multiple times; there was no way she’d missed anything.

  Elizabeth tapped a French-manicured nail against the screen, the lines around her mouth growing deeper. “I don’t see the past purchases anywhere on here.”

  Aster stared at her blankly. “You didn’t ask me for past purchases.”

  “Well, you’ll have to add it, th
en,” Elizabeth said. “You can do that tomorrow.”

  “I’m not here tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth glared at Aster for a long beat, so long that Aster wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. “You think you can just come and go as you please, don’t you?” she finally said.

  “I’m sorry.” Aster tried not to raise her voice. “I’m trying, I really am. I promise to tackle this first thing Monday. But I already told you I needed to use a vacation day tomorrow, so—”

  Elizabeth raised a hand, cutting her off. “You think you’re trying? That’s a fucking joke, my dear.” Her eyes blazed. “Your whole family is like this, but you’re the worst of them all. You think there are no rules. You do whatever you want, no matter what happens to anyone else along the way.”

  “Then why do you work for us?” Aster shot back.

  Elizabeth tilted her chin into the air. “That’s none of your business.”

  Veins bulged in the older woman’s neck. And then, suddenly, Aster got it. Elizabeth wasn’t talking about work. She knew.

  A few days before Aster left to model in Europe, she’d come back to Meriweather to see Danielle. She couldn’t leave for the summer without saying good-bye to her best friend. Danielle didn’t know she was coming; it would be a surprise.

  The car tires crunched over the gravel on the long drive and came to a stop between her family’s estate and the guesthouse. Aster closed the car door quietly behind her, clutching a Magnolia crumb cake—Danielle’s favorite—in one hand and a bottle of prosecco in the other. She crept up the path, past Danielle’s discarded bicycle and a bunch of empty terra-cotta planters, and was about to burst through the front door when two shapes shifted in front of the window. Aster had paused as she realized: Danielle had a guy over.

  Aster had started to step forward and knock anyway—Danielle had interrupted her fair share of Aster’s hookups, after all—when she did a double take. Danielle was in there with Mason; Aster’s father’s arms were wrapped tight around the redhead.

  Aster stood there, frozen, for a long beat. She thought of how her father had stared at Danielle only a couple of weeks ago. What a fool she’d been.

  She ran blindly toward the house, loud sobs erupting from her chest. Her father and her best friend. It was like something off a trashy talk show. How could she ever face either of them again? The answer, Aster decided after drinking the bottle of prosecco by herself and staring blankly at the kitchen wall, was that she wouldn’t.

  Aster lasted only a couple of months in Paris. All her pictures were outstanding, but most of the photographers had refused to ever work with her again. She couldn’t really blame them, considering that she’d drunkenly insulted all of them, showed up high to almost every shoot, and almost set fire to one of the studios. When she landed back in the States at the end of the summer, she hadn’t even wanted to attend the family’s annual Labor Day party. She told her parents that she would be going to the Hamptons instead. To her surprise, Edith was the one who called and insisted that she be there.

  “Aster,” her grandmother had commanded, “I don’t care what your reasons are for not wanting to come—you will be at Meriweather for the end-of-summer party. No excuses. We’re celebrating Poppy this year. Come for her sake, if nothing else.”

  “Okay,” Aster had said, cowed. No one could ever say no to Edith.

  And so Aster had showed up at Meriweather, her stomach a nervous knot of dread.

  What if she caught Mason and Danielle together again? Were they still seeing each other? Did anyone know?

  Aster managed to avoid her parents for most of the party. But eventually Mason and Penelope had found their way to her. They were accompanied by Steven Barnett, the creative director of Saybrook’s and Papa Alfred’s long-standing right-hand man. Aster wondered if he was upset about Poppy’s promotion; before her grandfather’s death, a lot of people had thought he might be the next president. But he seemed happy enough, grinning widely and holding a glass full of bourbon.

  “Well, well. Hello, Aster,” Penelope said coolly, her eyes taking in Aster’s very short white dress. She knew how badly Aster had screwed up in Europe. It was written all over her face.

  Mason regarded Aster with a mix of confusion, hurt, and anger. “The bill at the George V was astronomical.”

  “I had a few get-togethers,” Aster said stiffly, crossing her arms.

  “Oh, you can afford it, Mason,” Steven Barnett said, smiling at Aster. His words were slurred; Aster wondered just how drunk he was. “And you’re only young once.”

  Mason just stared at Aster. She stared back.

  “I need another drink,” she announced, and turned to walk away from her parents without a second glance.

  “Me too,” Steven said, and to her surprise, he walked with her toward the bar. “So,” he said in a low voice. “You can tell me the truth. Did you go wild in Paris because you were trying to get over a broken heart?”

  Aster sniffed. “Sort of.” It was achingly close to the truth.

  “Poor, poor Aster,” Steven murmured, his tone light and teasing. He stared at her for a long time. Aster knew that he was mentally undressing her—and to her surprise, she kind of liked it.

  Wordlessly, they turned and started away from the rest of the party. “And what’s this I hear about you quitting modeling?” Steven asked.

  Aster played with the long necklace that had been dangling in her cleavage. “I wouldn’t call it quitting,” she said. “I would call it being asked never to model again.”

  “Tsk.” Steven’s breath was hot on her cheeks, and smelled of whiskey and Spearmint gum. “We didn’t even get to work together.”

  The bass notes from the stage thumped loudly in her ears. Aster gave him a playful swat, but he caught her hand and held it hard. Her stomach swooped. When he reached out and touched the back of Aster’s neck, she shuddered.

  Steven gestured with his head toward the reeds. “Want to come see my yacht?”

  “Do you say that to all the girls?” Aster giggled. She suddenly felt reckless and stupid, and she didn’t give a shit, the way she’d felt in Paris after doing a line of coke. She reached for Steven’s hand and took it, following him toward the beach as if she was doing nothing wrong. She heard someone gasp and faltered for a moment. Poppy stood frozen, a drink in hand, looking at Aster with a guarded expression. But then Aster thought of everything her father had done, and found that she didn’t care anymore, not even if Poppy judged her.

  Her heart pounded as she followed Steven to the beach. Yes, she decided, she would hook up with hot, older Steven Barnett, even though it was hideously inappropriate—maybe because it was hideously inappropriate. Her father and Danielle weren’t the only ones who could do whatever they wanted and get away with it.

  Now, in Elizabeth’s office, Aster shut her eyes, trying to find her center. “We can cut the crap,” she said. “We both know what this is about.”

  “By all means,” Elizabeth said. “Enlighten me.”

  “The night with Steven.” Aster stared at her. “You know that he and I—”

  Elizabeth leaned back, suddenly cold and assessing. She didn’t look surprised.

  “I’m sorry, okay? It wasn’t about Steven, if that helps. It was more about pissing off my dad, and—”

  “Jesus Christ. Stop.”

  Aster looked up. There was a strange smile on Elizabeth’s face. “You think I care about that? You were one of many, my dear. And those were just the ones I knew about, the people around town.”

  Aster stared at the floor, not knowing what to say. “Oh, um . . .”

  “To be honest, I’m glad my husband is dead. Your cousin did us all a favor.”

  Aster looked up. “Wait. What?”

  Elizabeth cocked her head. “Your cousin Poppy did us a favor by killing Steven.”

  Aster blinked hard. “Excuse me?” Did she just say Poppy killed Steven? Aster burst out laughing. “That’s crazy.”

  Elizabet
h looked amused. “You didn’t know?”

  Aster ran her tongue over her teeth. “Steven Barnett drank too much and drowned.”

  “Oh, that’s what the papers said. But I saw that crazy bitch standing over my husband on your family’s marina the night of that party. He was most definitely dead . . . and she was the only one there.”

  “What?” Aster said slowly. Elizabeth just stared back at her, her expression grave. She meant what she was saying, Aster could tell.

  But it couldn’t be true. Aster grappled to remember that night. Steven had taken her down to the beach, where they’d undressed. She’d remained on the sand for a long time after he left, staring at the stars. Where had Poppy been during that time? Following Steven to his yacht? Killing him?

  Aster blinked at her boss. “Did you tell anyone else about this?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m the only one who knows, darling. I don’t think your cousin went around telling people. And I’m sure if anyone in your family knew, they kept it a tight secret—the way you Saybrooks do.” She chuckled nastily.

  “Did you ask Poppy about it?”

  Elizabeth snorted. “Poppy and I weren’t exactly friends. But like I said, Poppy did me a favor. I’m glad he’s gone.”

  Aster swept her arm around the room. “Then why do you still have your wedding picture up?” Something didn’t add up here. A horrible thought struck her, and she scooted back from Elizabeth, suddenly terrified. “Did you kill Poppy?” she whispered. “Out of revenge?”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “No, Magnum, P.I. I was in Los Angeles that morning. And I’m not a murderer.” She pointed to the wedding photograph. “I keep it as an homage, I suppose. Steven was an asshole, but I loved him once. And I love that I inherited everything.”

  Aster felt out of breath. “Okay. Okay. If what you said is true, why haven’t you said anything to the police?”

  “Jesus, you are slow.” Elizabeth grabbed a pack of Parliaments from inside a desk drawer and shook out a cigarette. “I already told you I’m glad he’s gone. I just wanted it over.”