Simon abruptly takes off, walking towards the house without so much as saying goodbye. An uncomfortable silence follows his departure. I watch him go in, opening the back door and disappearing.
I can’t blame him for leaving. If someone had made such a backhanded remark relating to me, I probably would have screamed at them.
David clears his throat. “He’s always been that way. Sydney, help yourself to a drink. The bartender can make you anything you like.” He winks at me.
I force a smile. Why is he so nice to me and yet so cruel to his own flesh and blood?
“Thanks,” I say. “It was nice to meet you,” I tell the two other men.
Pleased to be relieved, I walk off. At the bar, I ask for a seltzer water. My stomach is rolling in an uncomfortable way and adding alcohol to the mix doesn’t seem like a good idea.
There are lawn chairs stretched out beneath the veranda, and I sit on the edge of one to watch the kids play in the pool. Simon is nowhere to be found.
I don’t blame him. His dad wasn’t exactly welcoming, despite having called him over in the first place.
“Hi,” a female voice says.
I quickly stand up. A brunette woman no more than a few years older than me hovers nearby. Wearing a sundress and a pearl necklace, her attire matches her friendly smile.
I probably looked sad and lonely, so she decided to come over. All I know is she’s an angel to talk to me.
“I’m Whitney Tatum.” She extends a smooth hand connected to a slender wrist. Her shake is flimsy, more like a goldfish flopping around than anything else.
“Sydney Andrews. Nice to meet you.”
She takes a sip of what looks like lemonade. “I saw you talking to David.”
“Yeah, I met him the other day. I work for his son.”
“Oh.” She gives me a knowing look. “Simon.”
“That one,” I agree. “Do you know him?”
“I’ve known the Mulroneys for years. My father worked with David for decades.”
“Ah.” Feeling self-conscious, I take a drink of my seltzer water. I’m slightly regretting coming to this party. This Whitney woman is nice, but I’m already afraid we won’t have much to talk about.
“That Simon is a loose cannon,” she says.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Working for him is always pretty exciting.”
“I would know better than most.”
“Ah,” I say, though I have no clue what she means. Is she trying to let me know she had a romance — or at least a rendezvous — with Simon? And why would she even tell me about such a thing?
I take another drink of water. Maybe she’s referring to some kind of scandal. Engaging in gossip isn’t what I came here to do. I don’t know how to slip out of this conversation, though, so I just smile at Whitney.
She takes a half step towards me and inclines her head in my direction. “Has he ever tried anything on you?” she asks in a low voice.
“No,” I quickly lie. So maybe he didn’t have a fling with Whitney. Maybe he came on to her or even assaulted her.
She looks surprised. “Really? Maybe he’s finally getting his act together.”
Now she’s got me at least mildly interested. “You mean with women?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. It does seem unlikely, though. He’s been with so many of them.”
Ugh. Now I really am glad more didn’t happen between us. My suspicions were right.
“That girl he was engaged to broke his heart.”
I stare at her. “He told me it ended because he couldn’t handle a relationship.”
Whitney looks at me with great interest. “Is that what he said?”
“Yeah.”
My chest burns. Maybe he lied and only told me that because he’s not interested in me, specifically. God, I really am stupid.
People are lining up to get food, but the uncomfortable twisting in my stomach has turned into a wave of nausea.
“Excuse me,” I say. “I just need to run to the restroom.”
I walk past her and find my way to the double doors leading into the house. The large hallway, decorated all in tones of cream and white, stretches down to the front of the house, where a spiral staircase drifts up to the next floor. There’s a little table near the door bearing a pot of some kind of vine and I set my drink down on the edge of it, then take a moment to breathe deeply and remind myself why I came to this party.
It was not because of Simon. Therefore, it doesn’t matter what he does or what he did in the past.
Still, I need to take a moment to myself, so I slowly walk down the hall, peeking in through the half open doors. The third door opens into some kind of small library. A man is in it, his back turned to me, his head down.