Chapter Four
Adam
PRESENT DAY
This party had a nautical theme. Under the advice of Kurt, my party-planner-on-retainer, a chartered yacht greeted guests at the edge of my property line.
Attendees I didn’t care about floated on and off the boat, growing drunker and more brazen with every craft cocktail they downed.
All the catering staff wore captain hats.
Hired dancers from Miami wore grass skirts and coconut bras and grooved under the palm trees on the far end of the lawn.
On the stage near the bar, Jimmy Krane, the world-renowned singer of Caribbean yacht rock, treated guests to a private show.
Once again, the sliding glass door at my master bedroom balcony entrance announced an uninvited guest. I turned around to see Preston step though the frame.
“Dude, I have to tell you, this one is the best yet.” He joined me next to the railing and clicked his cocktail with mine, a rum punch affair served in a commemorative glass mug. “Tonight is epic.”
“That’s the idea,” I said before a long swig of my drink.
Together, we surveyed the partygoers, again the usual mix of socialites and somebodies, all wrapped together in a shiny film of money. Just like every other party, I had their faces memorized and I’d been scanning the crowd for the last half hour. Still no luck.
“You’re still not coming down, are you?” Preston murmured after a few moments of silence.
“Nope.”
“Not until she comes, right?”
“Exactly.” I tipped the drink to my lips again. It was still my first one. Despite a plethora of alcohol in the house and a bartending staff rivaling any club in Miami, I didn’t plan on getting drunk. Drinking meant losing control, and if I wanted to execute my plans, I couldn’t risk it.
“Lila Montague.” Preston shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you? She won’t show up tonight, or any other.”
“You don’t know that. You’ve never met her.”
“Maybe not, but I know who she is. Her type, rather. And they don’t usually mix with the rest of Palm Beach.”
I eyed my closest friend. He’d given me this speech before, and he’d likely give it again, but either way, I wouldn’t change my tactic.
I had money to burn and nothing but time, so I could afford to wait for Lila, could afford to wear her down with the massive social pressure.
Even if it took all season, I’d get her to my house, make sure she found her way to my property, and carry out my plan.
“She’ll come,” I said. “One day, she will.”
“Don’t count on it, man.” He sighed. “You could just look her up on Facebook or Instagram. Send her a message there. What normal people do.”
“No. Takes away the element of surprise.”
Preston shook his head. “You can’t script your life. You can’t.”
Wrong. I already had.
“Couple more weekends like this, and I’ll prove you wrong,” I replied.
“We’ll see about that.” After drinking the last of his cocktail, Preston clapped a hand on my back. “You’re not Jay Gatsby, Adam.”
“Never said I was.”
Preston removed his hand. “Gatsby doesn’t get Daisy in the end, okay?”
“I know that. I passed sophomore English too. In fact, I got an A.”
Preston’s expression made me think he wanted to elaborate on his point, but then he didn’t. “By the way, the team found some good potential properties for the second headquarters. Couple of office buildings over in Lake Worth, one or two buildings in Palm Beach Gardens.”
“Good.”
“I’ll let you know what develops.” Preston peered down at the swelling crowd of guests. “In the meantime, I have a Kelly and a Lauren to entertain.”
“What about Katrina?”
“As forgettable as the others.”
He gave me wolfish grin and exited the balcony.
I watched him disappear, half jealous of the opportunities he’d always had.
He’d grown up with this. Unlike me, Preston didn’t join the Army because he had to, or because he literally had no other choice.
He joined because his country club life hadn’t been exciting enough, and he’d wanted a challenge.
Lucky bastard.
I turned back to the party and surveyed my handiwork.
He was right. The night was epic. This party would take on its own legend once the caterers packed up and valet went home.
People would gossip about it, and it might get another mention in the society pages and blogs dedicated to chronicling the rich and even richer on this island.
Shrugging out of my tuxedo jacket, I walked back into my bedroom.
I stripped off the rest of my clothing and ran a shower in the bathroom.
The warm spray melted tension from my back and allowed me to forget the partygoers making good use of my generosity.
One day she’ll be here. One day. After I finished, I crawled into bed and fell into a thick, dreamless, Ambien-induced sleep.
Adam
17 YEARS OLD
“Adam, I wonder if you could help me,” Martin said as he walked into the garage.
His voice made me jump, and I shoved my fist into my pocket as I whirled around from the locker.
I’d just found my fifth origami boat, one made of a silky blue paper, waiting inside my locker when I’d arrived for the day.
Lila must have pushed it through the grate, knowing I’d discover it.
I didn’t want anyone to see it, least of all Martin.
“What do you need?” My left hand still balled around the paper. The words were thick and slow in my mouth.
“You might have heard the Montagues are hosting their annual holiday party on Friday.”
“Yes, I have.” We had just two days until then, and the work around the property had been extra intense as the staff worked to make the home sparkle and shine. “Been doing my best to make sure the pool deck is extra clean.”
“We’ve all noticed your efforts around here.
” Martin had a tight smile that complemented his natural rigidity.
Delilah mentioned once that he’d spent a large part of his early career training in the household of some duke in England.
“Can you work the party for us? We need a few extra people on staff that night.”
“Sure,” I replied without thinking. Turning down an opportunity like this couldn’t even be considered. Working such an event might give me the edge I needed to secure the scholarship. Couldn’t let any chance like that pass me by.
Martin eyed me. “You sure about this? Are you aware what you’re getting into?”
“How hard can it be?” I shrugged, hoping to appear like I could handle it. “It’s a party. People have them all the time.”
“Not like this.” Martin sat on the workbench lining the garage wall.
“The Montagues place a lot of emphasis on this party because it’s one of the most formal on the island, and they curate a guest list of only the most influential people who are in town for the social season.
” He nodded at the main house. “Mrs. Montague has been working on all the details for the last three months.”
“Wow.”
“You’ll need to take this as seriously as they do because the family considers this one of the most important nights of the year.
We’ll have you serving appetizers and small bites through the night.
” His eyes turned harder; his jaw tightened.
“Listen to me very closely, okay? While you’re working, it’s important to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible.
Be careful not to interrupt any party guest who in the middle of a conversation, and kindly offer the food to guests when there is a break in the conversation.
If you are approached, have the tray ready, and wait until that person is satisfied before walking away.
Do not introduce yourself to anyone, and do not engage in small talk with any guests.
We are there to facilitate the night, not to take part in it. ”
“Sounds simple enough,” I replied, though my stomach swelled with the sinking feeling Martin was right. I didn’t know what I was doing, and it would show. “I can handle it. I promise.”
“Good,” Martin said after a beat. “Be here Friday night around seven. The guests are coming at seven thirty, which will give us time to take care of any last-minute extras.”
“Will do, sir.” I turned toward my locker and the list of tasks I found taped on it at the start of every shift, a roadmap of expectations around the Montague house.
“Oh, and Adam?”
I looked up from the paper. “Yes?”
“Do you have a black dress shirt and slacks?”
My face fell, and shame pushed through my stomach. No, I didn’t have that. I didn’t have anything like that. “No.” I choked on the word. “No, sir, I don’t.”
But if Martin had an opinion about this, he didn’t show it. Instead, he merely regarded me for a long moment. “Fine. We can take care of that. You’re about my son’s size, and he left some clothes behind when he went to college last fall. I’ll bring some of it on Friday, and you can wear what fits.”
It was kind. Compassionate. And his offer was made in a way that didn’t make me feel worse about being a kid with absent parents, no money, and nothing anyone from a place like Palm Beach would call worthwhile.
“Thank you,” I replied.
Martin gave me a curt nod. “I’m glad you’re taking this opportunity.”
Two days later, I stood at the prep station in the kitchen arranging canapes with Delilah.
A tray of crostini drizzled with melted Brie and honey were on the plastic table in front of me, and I worked to arrange them into a fan design that would satisfy Delilah’s tastes.
Martin’s son’s clothing hung on my body—the pants too big and the shirt sleeves too long—but I blended in well enough with the rest of the catering staff.
Through the swinging double doors of the kitchen came the crooning of holiday music sung by a hired band on the pool deck, signaling the party was nearing its peak.
“Will this work?” I pointed at the appetizers as I asked Delilah.