Page 12 of The Party Plot

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a slower pace over here for sure.”

“Well, I am so glad I ran into you.” She squeezed his arm even harder. “I had hoped we would get a chance to talk at your mother’s charity gala, but of course there was that unpleasantness, and you had to leave.”

“Of course, of course.” He tried to sound friendly, but all he could think was how much he wanted to shake himself off like a dog, get rid of the weight of Sarah Ann’s hand on him. The knowledge of Casey somewhere in the crowd was still buzzing in the back of his head. He cleared his throat. “Actually, what did you think of the dog wedding? Fabulous, right?” If anyone would know the gossip about Denise’s new employee, it would be Sarah Ann. “That Casey Bright knows how to throw a party.” He thought he sounded casual enough. He wasn’t sure. A drop of sweat trickled down his neck.

“Oh goodness, I don’t know.” Sarah Ann lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I thought it was all rather gauche, with all the balloons.” Laurel wondered what could possibly be offensive about balloons, but he said nothing. “But of course it was for a good cause,” Sarah Ann added. “Denise really does fancy herself some sort of celebrity, though, doesn’t she? With all these events and these LA types.”

Melody had mentioned something about LA, too. Laurel would have to look into that. He knew a couple of people in the LA area who might have moved in the same circles as Casey. If he’d even been there at all; if it wasn’t another fiction, like Ibiza. “Well, what do you think of him? The party planner?”

Sarah Ann made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, I shouldn’t say anything. He seems like a pleasant enough young man. And he keeps Denise company. But none of us really know anything about him. And—well—I wouldn’t want him around my sons.”

“Because…?”

“Oh.” Sarah Ann smiled uncomfortably. “Just the lifestyle choices, you know. But he’sverynice. Very polite.”

Laurel wanted to melt into the ground. He thought again of the Ascot scene inMy Fair Lady, of Audrey Hepburn screaming obscenities in a big hat. How freeing that must be, to look gorgeous and be an absolute menace in public. To say what you were thinking. “Well, I have to go. I see my mother waving to me, and I don’t want to leave her waiting.”

“Oh, of course.” She squeezed his arm one last time. “Tell her the party was lovely, won’t you? We’re all looking forward to the next one.”

“Oh, I am too.” It was the truest thing he had said to her so far.

*

The horses looked as tense as Casey felt, standing in line, their long legs like rubber bands about to snap. Some shuffled and pranced, impatient to run, as if their natural state was to be in motion, always. They were waiting for some command, Casey guessed, for the next part of the game to start. Honestly, he knew nothing about polo, but he knew plenty about running. He had only come up close to the pitch to get a moment with his own thoughts. Denise and Meredith had been talking in his ear all afternoon, salacious stories about the people at the match, laced with sickly-sweet proclamations of, “Bless their heart.” Usually, he would welcome gossip, file away facts about the people in this town like a student taking notes. But Laurel had complicated everything, thrown him off.

We’re bound to run into each other. Might as well lean into it. What was that supposed to mean? Did Laurel want to hook up again? It wasn’t going to happen. Casey would be keeping him at a distance, no matter how much Laurel winked or grinned at him. Did he want to—God forbid—be friends? Casey didn’t do friends, except for Jamie, who was really more like family. And he especially didn’t do friends with some spoiled, lazy playboy who’d been born on third base. Besides, Laurel would hate him if he knew what Casey had planned.

It shouldn’t matter, being hated by him. Casey remembered the red flush that had spread across Laurel’s freckled chest, the worshipful way he’d looked up at him, hair feathered across the pillow. The taste of his skin.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thought. He would deal with this the same way he dealt with everything. Slap on a pleasant face and make up a story.

And he’d have to do it now, because here Denise was, coming through the crowd with Meredith and Laurel in tow. Casey groaned internally.

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” Laurel said. There was a glass of something brown in his hand, and an easy smile on his face, but his eyes were sharp. Too sharp for Casey’s comfort. “How are you enjoying the match?”

Casey shrugged. “I don’t really know enough about it to say.”

“I could explain the rules. I used to play.”

Of course you did. Unbidden, the image of Laurel, sweaty, in a tight sweater and riding pants, flashed through his head, making his knees a little weak. Was Casey imagining things, or had his accent gotten deeper since he’d been back in South Carolina? When they’d met in Vegas, it had just been a tease, a ribbon of caramel through Laurel’s voice. Now it was stronger, his vowels sleepy and soft and somehow refined, so different from the country hick accent that Casey had grown up with and spent years erasing.

Casey cleared his throat. “Maybe some other time.”

“It must all feel very foreign, after LA,” Laurel said innocently. “Being here in our little backwoods town.”

Who had told him about LA? God, everyone was in everyone’s business around here. Casey smoothed the front of his shirt. The phantom of Laurel’s fingers prickled across his throat as he remembered Laurel adjusting his bowtie. How it had seemed somehow more intimate than a kiss. “It’s a nice change of scenery.”

“I’m telling you, Laurel, I lucked out with this one.” Denise put an unwelcome hand on his arm, and Casey felt a little queasy. “He has the magic touch.”

“Really, you’re a genius. Peaches has gained over a thousand new followers because of you,” Meredith said. Peaches was her dog, Jasper’s bride.

Casey forced himself to smile, but it felt more like a baring of teeth. Fucking Peaches and her Instagram. If Meredith hadn’t tagged him in the first place, maybe Laurel wouldn’t have been asking so many probing questions. Maybe Casey wouldn’t have gotten tripped up by Ibiza.

“And we raised two thousand dollars for the humane society,” Denise added. “Isn’t that wonderful?” She squeezed Casey’s arm, gazing starry-eyed off into the distance. “I really do think that’s my calling: helping the less fortunate. I’ve always considered myself an empath, to be honest.”

“You are, Denise. You absolutely are,” Meredith gushed.

Laurel choked on his drink audibly, and Casey bit his lip. Jesus, could she hear herself?

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