Page 15 of What Happened Last Night

In my irritation after the first few calls, I’d googled her. Lizbeth Snopes was thirty-one, the daughter of a New York real estate magnate. An actual, real-life Park Avenue heiress. She should have been all over the society pages, but instead the only photos I found of her showed a woman with long, silky dark hair down her back, always wearing huge sunglasses, her hand up in the classic “don’t take a picture of me” pose as she hurried past a camera. Even in those photos, with her features drawn and serious, I could see that she was gorgeous.

I found no photos of her with Will, even though they’d dated for five years.

Even without photos, the papers liked to track Lizbeth’s life. She had been “expected to marry” (which was not the same as “engaged to”) self-made genius millionaire Will Hale until their abrupt breakup and his move across the country. Now she was engaged to the son of a New York senator. The wedding was a month away, and it was going to be a huge social event that cost millions.

And yet here she was, calling Will. Again.

“William Hale’s office,” I said briskly when I answered the phone, though I was nowhere near an office and mall music could probably be heard through the line.

“Put me through to him, please.” This was unusual. Lizbeth always left a message, as if Will had trained her.

“He isn’t available right now, Miss Snopes,” I said politely. “I’ll let him know you called.”

“It’s urgent.”

I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “I’ll let him know that.”

“Where is he?” She sounded sharp and somehow ragged at the same time. “Where is he right now? I need to talk to him.”

“He’s traveling, Miss Snopes. He might be on a flight or in a meeting. But I will message him right away.”

“I need to talk to him now.”

Lizbeth and I have a long history, Will had said that day over breakfast in his calm, kind voice. I owe her my attention. The fact that this woman had actually had his attention—that he had kissed her and loved her and slept with her for five years—made a heavy knot of emotions pour deep into my gut.

One of them was jealousy. I could admit that. Lizbeth was beautiful, wildly rich, and very important. Of course Will had fallen for her, had nearly married her. What man wouldn’t?

I wanted to hate Lizbeth. I wanted to hate her a lot. And yes, she was a bit bitchy and spoiled. But I couldn’t miss the fact that she also sounded…desperate?

“Why don’t you try his personal line?” I suggested to her.

“He doesn’t answer that,” she said. “He’s always at work. It’s how he is.”

Was it? Will worked a lot, but not all the time. “I’ll message him right away,” I said, meaning it.

“Will you? Will you?” Again, the words were imperious, but her tone had a pleading edge to it. Someone spoke on the other end of the line, and Lizbeth said to them, “I will. Just a second. I—” She spoke to me again. “Oh my god, what a fucking mess.” Then the line went dead. She had hung up.

I held the phone for a minute, processing what had just happened. Then I texted Will.

Luna: Lizbeth called. She said it was urgent.

Luna: She sounded very upset. I think something might be wrong.

His reply was immediate.

Will: I’ll handle it.

Will was in Omaha, where he was supposed to be getting a cab to the airport. I wondered if he’d call her. I wondered what they’d say to each other. I wondered why, when Lizbeth seemed to be upset, it was her ex-boyfriend that she called.

I wondered if I even wanted to know.

* * *

My phone rang again when I got into my car with my shopping bag of lingerie in hand, and my spine tensed, my back teeth grinding in dread. With the enthusiasm of someone booking a root canal, I looked at my phone. It was a number listed in Will’s contacts as DENVER.

I nearly dropped the phone, and then I answered it as fast as I could. “William Hale’s office.”

“Luna, is that you? It’s Denver Gilchrist.”

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