to me, you can just say so.”
Liam glances at me sidelong. “I believe I did say so,” he reminds me.
“Fine.” I throw my hands up. “But may I remind you, you’re the one who invited yourself along on this little road trip. I was perfectly happy to go it alone, listen to Tay Tay, and eat my delicious, diabetes-inducing trail mix in peace. So, if you want to do your hot mysterious jerk routine, that’s your business. But don’t act like this is all my fault.”
That gets Liam’s attention. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I can’t tell if I’m imagining the tiny smirk that plays across his infuriatingly kissable mouth. “My what, exactly?”
Crap. “You know what I mean,” I stammer, flustered.
“I’m not sure I do.” Oh, he’s definitely smiling now, a self-satisfied grin that makes me want to either punch him in the face or climb him like a tree, I can’t decide. “Tell you what,” he says as we pull off the highway. “I’ll keep doing my hot mysterious jerk routine as long as you’re perfecting your beautiful, morally outraged ingénue act. Sound like a deal?”
I open my mouth, then close it again, like a fish out of water.
Beautiful?
He thinks I’m… What now?
I don’t know how to process that revelation, so I decide not to think about it at all.
“You know what?” I say finally. “Maybe silence wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”
Liam tilts his head to the side, still smiling. “Have it your way.”
Thankfully, we arrive at Verity’s sizeable estate not long after.
“Is this the right place?” Liam asks, frowning at the gold-plated gates.
“I don’t know, ask your superior map system,” I reply, looking around.
He pulls up to the intercom, and is about to announce us, when I remember: I got the address under false pretenses. “Let me!” I blurt, and quickly get out of the car, circling around.
“Delivery for Ms. Lange,” I say, angling my body so Liam hopefully can’t hear me. “From the Brooklyn Chocolate Company?”
The gates buzz, and swing open, and I go dive back into the car.
As we slowly drive up the long, winding driveway, past lushly manicured grounds, the house comes into view: a massive, chateau-style castle set right on the water, with a flock of pink plastic flamingos parading across the front lawn. There’s an enormous marble fountain to one side of the tall columns at the front door, a full-size—and gloriously naked—male figure who at first I think must be some sort of Greek god but upon closer inspection actually seems to be…
“Is that George Clooney?” Liam asks, squinting in horror.
“I was going to say Matt Damon,” I confess, tilting my head to the side. “But I guess it could be a trick of the penis—I mean, uh, a trick of the eye.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “This is what the company’s money has paid for?” he asks, nearly wailing. Any trace of the wry, flirtatious Liam I glimpsed in the car is long gone as he tallies up the operating costs of this little homestead. He looks like he’s about to pass out.
“I mean, I can think of worse ways to spend it,” I admit, turning a slow circle as I take in all in. But clearly, the Sterling checks are a drop in the money bucket to Verity, because this place is insane. The property backs up to the ocean and I can hear the faint, rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore, the brisk salt air a welcome relief after three long months of summer in the city—and two long hours in the car with Liam. I glimpse a lushly manicured pool around back, tennis courts, and is that…
A maze.
The woman has her very own manicured maze in the backyard. Why not?
We make our way to the front door and ring the doorbell, which echoes with a pipe organ version of “Everlasting Love”. A moment later a ripped guy dressed in a tight white T-shirt and jeans swings the door open. “Good afternoon,” he greets us.
Both Liam and I gape for a moment, dumbstruck at the abs on display, but I manage to find my voice. “Hi,” I say brightly. “I’m Eliza McKay, and this is Liam Sterling. We’re here to see Verity Lange.”
The butler frowns, flexing his tan, hairless pecs. “Ms. Lange isn’t expecting any visitors,” he says.
“She’ll want to see us,” I promise. “We’re friends of Harry Sterling’s. Will you just let her know we’re here?”
The butler looks dubious. “Follow me,” he says.