Page 23 of False God

Charlie doesn’t shift away as he answers, “No. It was just a business meeting. Discussing some potential ventures.”

“Sounds boring,” Fran comments.

Charlie smiles, but doesn’t disagree or agree.

“I see Bridget,” I say, seizing the lull in conversation. “Should we go see if our table is ready?”

“I’ll be right there,” Fran replies. “Just going to order a drink while I’m over here.”

Her eyes are on Charlie, not the bartender.

I want to warn her away. To tell her that Charlie is just a handsome vessel for lots of hypocritical contempt.

But Fran is smart and capable. People underestimate her.Charliewill underestimate her, and she can take care of herself. Find out the truth about him for herself.

“Okay,” I respond. Then glance at Charlie, attempting to ignore the way my entire body reacts to his steady stare refocused on me. “Nice to see you, Charles.” My voice is stiff and formal.

“You too, Elizabeth.” His tone sounds just as rigid. Maybe more so, thanks to his posh accent.

I grab my glass and head toward Bridget. She spots me halfway and waves, weaving her way around tables to give me a big hug in the center of the room.

The Claremont Park project was based in Chicago, requiring me to spend most of the past year outside the city. The last time we got together as a group was a weekend back in March, for Tripp’s birthday.

He’s walking in the front door now, Hugo and Jasper right behind him. I’m expecting Cal to appear next, but the door shuts behind Jasper and doesn’t reopen.

The maître d’ approaches at the same time the boys reach us, obviously eager to seat our larger group.

Tripp, in particular, is incapable of much reserve. He says and does whatever he wants. Sometimes, it’s nice, like when he punched Cooper Thomas for proposing I pay for our junior-prom limo. Sometimes, it’s exhausting, like how he still asks if I’m going to give Cal a second chance.

Tripp picks Bridget up and twirls her around. She laughs and pounds her fists against his back—with no effect. He spins her three times before setting her back down beside the wide-eyed maître d’.

He reaches for me next, and I shake my head.

“Don’t you dare.”

His laugh is a deep, easy rumble, which is another reminder of childhood.

Tripp swallows me up into a giant hug—some of my drink sloshes out of the glass and onto my wrist—and then he manages to muss my hair once before I swat his hand away. “Good to see you, Lili.”

I roll my eyes. “You too, Tripp.”

“Your table is all ready.” Once again, the maître d’ tries to move us along.

To be fair, people are staring. Because they recognize some of us or because we’re a noisy group—who knows?

Hugo and Jasper both give me side hugs on our way to the table.

It’s seated for six, not seven, and I heave out a sigh as I sink down next to Bridget. I try to keep my tone light as I wonder aloud, “Cal isn’t coming?”

Tripp studies me from his spot across the table. “No. He’s already in the Hamptons with Violet.”

“Oh.” I’m relieved, and it sneaks into my voice.

Tripp frowns. “You’re supposed to care he’s dating someone else, Lili.”

I reach for a piece of sourdough and slather it with salted honey butter. “We broke up over a year ago, Tripp. I’m happy for him.”

“Don’t mention that to Cal,” Hugo mumbles next to me.

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