Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
MIA
When Mia saw Phil Richart standing by the pool, holding a champagne flute, her gut twisted.
“What is he doing here?” Mia seethed through clenched teeth.
“Relax,” whispered Alex, resting a hand against the small of her back. “And smile.”
“The invitation said to arrive between four and six,” Mia said, recalling the guest instructions on the small notes, which she’d had no choice but to handwrite herself and then tuck into matching envelopes.
As she and Alex approached Phil, Mia took a deep breath, already regretting the moment when Phil would turn to greet them with some magnanimous gesture, as though the weekend getaway was his idea. As though he was the host, welcoming them to a three-day stay at the lush, luxurious property. Seven acres of verdant rainforest, majestic palm trees, and sugary white sand surrounded by tranquil turquoise waters. In addition to the ten-bedroom colonial villa, the property featured a boat dock, hiking trails, and a waterfall.
Alex had rented the island, but Phil looked as though he owned it.
Despite his average looks, he appeared commanding and dapper, dressed in linen that billowed around his limbs in the gentle ocean breeze. The late afternoon Caribbean sun cast a rosy-golden glow over him, highlighting the coppery flecks in his reddish-blonde hair, giving him the appearance of a sugar plantation scion or maybe some B-list actor in a Ralph Lauren ad.
Phil looked like what he was. What he’d always been. What he would forever be.
Someone she didn’t understand. A man born into astounding wealth, whose position in society intimidated and irritated her. A man with unlimited, unfathomable access to money and power. He didn’t have to worry about negative online reviews and social media backlash from dissatisfied clients and former employees, losing too many high-profile cases, clients losing confidence in the firm’s ability to litigate cases successfully, or allegations of misconduct and fraud.
Phil Richart didn’t have to worry about losing everything he’d worked for …
But that was because he’d never worked for anything.
He’d had everything handed to him.
Luck of the womb had saved Phil from the secret shame Mia carried, having been born to an unwed teen who gave birth to her in a gas station bathroom. Phil had never suffered the indignity of marginalization or the curse of disenfranchisement.
With each step, Mia’s pulse raced faster.
Alex’s hand on her back provided some comfort, a bit of reassurance, but her husband’s presence was not enough support. Why was Phil here at … what time was it? Mia glanced at her watch. Three forty-one p.m. Was he trying to pull some sort of weird power move? Being late was often seen as passive aggressive. Could being early be viewed the same? Was showing up ahead of time Phil’s way of letting them know that they couldn’t control him? Couldn’t dictate his life? Couldn’t tell him what to do? Or was she reading too much into it? Maybe he’d given himself more time than he’d needed. Maybe his private plane had benefitted from a tailwind.
Mia winced inwardly, recalling the commercial airliner she and Alex had been forced to take. Five hours cramped in coach, lamenting the clothes she’d had to stuff in her carry-on. The getaway was only for the weekend, but she’d wanted the option of different outfits. Instead, she’d had to leave behind several sundresses and bikinis so she could take advantage of not paying to check a bag.
After a slight delay due to some issue which hadn’t been explained, they’d taken off, then landed on the main island. Melting in the broiling tropical heat, they waited almost twenty minutes for a taxi to the marina. Instead of chartering a speed boat, which they would have done if things had been different, she and Alex had to take the local island ferry. Dragging her carry-on behind her, the wheels rolling over the wooden deck leading to the island ferry, Mia boarded the large vessel. Caught in the crush of dozens of passengers, she and Alex managed to push and shove their way onto the boat.
Sick to her stomach, Mia stood above deck, near the bow, eyes closed, trying to focus on the gusty sea breeze, praying she wouldn’t suffer the mortification of getting sick. How long did twenty-five minutes take, she’d wondered desperately, hands wrapped around the railing in a death grip as the ferry bobbed up and down over the choppy waves.
“Did he tell you he was arriving early?” Mia whispered to Alex.
“No, but it’s fine,” Alex said. “No big deal.”
Mia took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down as the distance between them and Phil decreased, but her pulse still raced, her heart still pounded. She hated the nauseating, fluttery feeling in her stomach. Why was she so nervous? So anxious? Because she hadn’t seen Phil Richart in years? Fifteen to be exact. The last time had been?—
“Alex! Hey!” Phil’s voice was like a sudden, sonic boom, loud and preposterous, with an infusion of upper-crust entitlement blunted by frat boy charm.
Caught off guard, Mia expelled a small gasp as she stumbled slightly on the terracotta stone tiles, then pivoted toward Alex, reaching for him, but he was walking ahead of her, striding purposefully toward Phil.
Mia hurried after Alex, who had grabbed Phil and seemed to be trying to pin him in a choke hold while Phil laughed out loud, enjoying the sophomoric horseplay that began to subside into a bear hug with hearty pats on the back, an unabashed embrace of friends whose lives had diverted long ago for far too long.
Or maybe not long enough, Mia thought, instantly scolding herself as she smiled, trying to think of something funny. She wanted her grin to appear genuine, reflecting happiness in her gaze, and not the apprehension brewing within her.
“Alexander the Great!” Phil exclaimed, smiling at Alex, a look of astonished wonderment on his face—which upon closer inspection, Mia realized, was not golden and tan, but ruddy and leathery, baked by a harsh, unrelenting sun.
“Great to see you, Phillip!” Alex said, extra excited, full of fake charm.
“How the hell long has it been?” Phil asked, draping an arm over Alex’s shoulders. Mia frowned slightly at Phil’s forearm, slightly damp from the heat, resting against the fabric of Alex’s lightweight sports jacket. Alex had purchased it with the intention of making an impression on Phil, who would recognize the quality, but he also planned to return it. That wouldn’t be possible if the jacket was stained with Phil’s sweat.
“Too damn long,” Alex said.
Again, Mia thought, not long enough. Never wouldn’t be long enough.
“Probably since the party, huh?” Phil asked, his gaze contemplative.
Mia flinched, then quickly looked away, toward the pool, focusing on the afternoon sun rays glinting off the surface of the water. She didn’t want to think about the party. Didn’t want to think about what happened that night. Didn’t want to think about the part she’d played in the days following. Or how her performance had helped to guarantee her future, her marriage to Alex, the life they were able to create, their fabulous, luxurious, enviable existence that might soon fall apart if Alex didn’t do something.
Mia took a small breath, turning her gaze back to Alex and Phil.
Alex was doing something.
He’d planned the weekend getaway to make sure things didn’t fall apart.
“Mamma Mia!” Chris called out, making it sound like an inside joke, or a sly compliment, as though it was a nickname he’d always called her and not something he’d just come up with out of the blue.
“Phil!” Mia said, mirroring his enthusiasm as she leaned toward him, offering her cheek, making sure not to cringe when his cold, thin lips pressed against her face, leaving a small slobbery imprint on her skin. “How are you!”
“Glad to be on this beautiful island with old friends,” said Phil, glancing around at the vibrant, tropical surroundings.
“We’re so glad you could come,” Mia told him, hoping her voice sounded sincere.
“Had to rearrange my schedule,” Phil said. “But I wasn’t going to miss it.”
Mia kept nodding and smiling, her stomach still twisting as she tried to determine if she’d heard a hint of something in Phil’s tone. Something like … what? She wasn’t sure. So mething she didn’t know if she should be worried about, or not.
“So, how’s the firm?” asked Phil, finishing his champagne. “You do personal injury, right?”
Mia bristled but kept her smile firmly in place. Again, something in Phil’s tone, maybe indifference, possibly disinterest. As though Alex’s law practice was inconsequential. A low-rent establishment unworthy of respect or admiration. Phil’s question, you do personal injury, held notes of amusement and disdain. Like maybe he thought Alex was some ambulance chaser and not a highly esteemed, successful attorney.
Alex nodded. “Mainly wrongful death.”
“You, Chris, and Jason started the firm together,” said Phil, like perhaps it had just occurred to him, and he thought it was a novel idea. Not quite shocking, but definitely surprising. “Foster, Ashton, and Morgan.”
“Ashton, Foster, and Morgan,” Alex corrected.
“That’s right. Your name is first on the shingle,” Phil said, looking at his empty champagne flute. “Wouldn’t be any other way, would it?”
Mia tensed, glanced at Alex. His face remained passive, but the tips of his ears told a different story, reddening to an angry crimson. Mia suspected Phil knew the correct name of Alex’s firm but had made the mistake on purpose. She had a feeling he wanted to humble Alex. Belittle his accomplishments, such as they were. Or, used to be. But Phil didn’t need to knock Alex down a peg or two to make himself feel better. There was no rivalry between Alex and Phil. No comparison when it came to wealth, status, and privilege. Phil was the scion of a billionaire family. Alex had been born into a lower-middle-class clan of blue-collar workers. Auto mechanics and plumbers. Men who worked with hands that were never clean. Hands that retained the stains and smells of manual labor. There should have been no reason why Phil would want to make Alex feel insignificant.
And yet, Phil had every right to wish nothing but the worst for Alex.
“I didn’t invite you to this spectacular place to talk about work,” Alex said. “We’re here to relax and have a good time.”
Mia continued to smile, keeping up the facade, wondering why her husband was lying.
“Well, speaking of a good time,” said Phil. “I could use another drink. Had to open a bottle myself. Found some flutes in the kitchen. Is the staff late? I know I was early but I figured they would be here before any of us.”
Alex said, “Can you believe this place is self-service? Didn’t realize that until I was on the plane and it was too late to arrange for a crew.”
“I told him to let me manage the booking,” Mia said. “I would have made sure the place had a full staff. Maids for all of us.”
Phil nodded, twirling the stem of the flute between his thumb and index finger.
Mia glanced at Alex. His quick glare let her know she’d messed up. Said too much. Or maybe something wrong. She wasn’t sure.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Alex said. “It’s only three days.”