Page 11 of Denying Davis
Ten years of hiding. Ten years of living offsilencemoney. Ten years of building resentment that one man could derail our lives so easily.Simply because he was wealthy and thought he was entitled to take what wasn’t his.
But the cash was long gone. Mom’s emphysema treatments had made sure of that. Funny how quickly savings could disappear in the face of a chronic illness.
My phone dinged, and I looked down at the lit-up screen. It was Nicole, with a forward of Davis’s phone number. I stared at it for a few minutes before I decided to save Davis Armstrong III, as a new contact.
Did that make me a fool?
People might have considered it more than a little stalkerish to chase down the caterer of the McNamara wedding and insist she give her employee my contact information, but I didn’t care. After going so long without seeing Samantha, I couldn’t let a moment like that pass. I had to try to connect with her.Had to.
And I was still thinking about her the morning after the wedding, when I joined Aaron for coffee at Green’s Pharmacy, a small diner in the center of town known for its muffins and bottomless coffee. When Aaron ordered an omelet with a side of home fries, I took advantage of the moment and glanced again at the Google search I’d done on my phone about Samantha.
Odd. She didn’t have a social media footprint. No searchable Facebook profile. No Instagram. No Twitter. Not even an old Myspace account. Nada.
“Dude, what the—?” Aaron ’s sharp tone made me click the phone shut.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just distracted.”
“That’s an understatement. This is getting a little ridiculous.” He took a creamer pod from the basket on the table and dumped the contents into his coffee cup. “Never needed caffeine more in my life.” He looked up at me. “Want to talk about what’s bothering you, Prince Davis?”
“Very funny.”
“I’m here if you need me.”
“I know.” I shrugged. We didn’t have a friendship based on “talking.” I preferred to build my relationships around drinking, soccer, polo, living the good life, and other relatively meaningless pursuits. But Aaron was probably my closest friend in Palm Beach, and at least he’d asked. “Fine. Have you ever run into somebody after a long time, and it’s like nothing has changed?”
“A few times, maybe.” Aaron opened a sugar packet and dumped it into his mug too. Then he stirred the mixture once. “Usually because I haven’t changed, not them.”
I drank some of my own coffee, black and strong. “Well, the other night I crossed paths with someone from my past.”
“Let me guess.” Aaron grinned. “You slept with her once, and she’s still pissed you never called her after.”
I shook my head. “Not that simple.”
“Oh, God, something worse?” He clutched his collar in mock horror.
“No. Not like that. Her mother used to work for my father.” I had to tread carefully with my wording. Samantha’s mother had been the housekeeper—the help. That meant an unspoken rule for most Palm Beachers.
One didn’t become friends with the staff.
I waved a hand. “But she was pretty cool, and I didn’t realize until now how much I missed her.”
Not exactly the truth. But it sounded good.
Aaron drank some more brew. “You guys haven’t kept in touch?”
“Nope.”
“Isn’t she on social media like everyone else?”
“No.” I picked up my phone. “I’ve been checking. Nothing.”
Aaron frowned. “That’s weird.”
“It is.” I placed my phone on the table again. “And even weirder is the fact that I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Really?” Aaron studied me. “How long are you in town, man?”
“Until Wednesday. At least, that’s the plan right now. I have to go back to Cambridge, pack up my place, and move it all to New York.” I didn’t add that by “packing” I meant overseeing a team of movers, and that “moving to New York” really meant taking my belongings to the vacant Park Avenue apartment my father left me in his will.
