Page 78 of Jace
“Yep.” Grant lowers the binoculars, aiming for the helm.
We know the drill. We’ll moor at the marina in minutes, and Grant will tail the scumbro, while I protect Vivian.
He jokes, firing up the engine. “It’ll be another rough day at the country club for me.”
“Good. Keep an eye on him and keep me posted,” I order over the rumbling water. “Because I’m craving ice cream today.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
VIVIAN
“I finally gotmy limited edition in Gris Perle,” a bridesmaid gushes about her handbag. “But I can’t live without my Gris Meyer. The Palladium hardware with that color is to die for and?—”
I’m dying.
Kill me now.
My cause of death will be “bludgeoned by a hundred-thousand-dollar handbag.”
The only bag I treasure is my waxed, canvas camera crossbody messenger tote. It was my mom’s. It’s been around the world, and she passed it down to me when I graduated from college.
Smiling, I try to seem interested, politely enjoying my avocado on brioche with smoked salmon. But I wince at another champagne toast to the bride. In exactly five hours, it’ll give me a brain-stabbing headache.
I rarely partake, but these women are determined to day drink. Having met their husbands, I’d need liquid courage to get through their day.
“Oh, I know!” A bridesmaid claps. “Let’s snap pics with our bags at brunch. Viv, would you do the honors?”
Sure. Why not? I LOVE being the Annie Leibovitz of Palm Beach this week.Lifestyle Magazine, eat your heart out.
I knew this would happen as I lift my camera from my beloved bag and go through the motions. Corralling the kaleidoscope of women in chic designer dresses and their rainbow of limited edition and ridiculously expensive bags.
After ten minutes and too many photos, I’m patiently waiting for the artisanal ice cream cart to be presented to our table.
While it’s making its way around the restaurant, my phone chimes in my bag with an unfamiliar tone. I look. The number’s a Charleston area code. Curiosity makes me excuse myself to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Vivian, bonjour.”
My smile for Delphine is instant. “Hey.” I rush to a quiet spot by a tall, potted palm. “Is everything okay?”
“Oauis. The wife. Is she with you?”
“Eric’s wife?” I whisper.
“Yes. I must know if she is on her phone.”
I glance at the bustling table of bags and blonde blow-outs, spotting the lone woman with auburn hair. “No, she’s not on her phone. She’s talking to a friend. Why?”
“I’m jamming their Wi-Fi now. Her security system may send her a notification, but Grant has Eric covered at the golf club. The men do not have their phones. An excuse to ignore their wives. But watch her. I need five minutes.”
“Got it.” I like this. I love breaking the law for a good reason. “Green light. Go.” I don’t even care if it’s to help me or someone else.
I listen to silence on my phone, while I nod, acting like I’m engrossed in a conversation. Pretending it’s Harlow, telling me about her future asshole in-laws. I give a few, “Oh, sweeties,” and “What a dicks” for honest effect.
After mutters of frustrated French, Delphine exclaims, “There it is!”
“A desktop?” My heart races.
