Chapter Two
Juliette didn’t know how you could make a barefoot boat party still feel stuffy, but June Piedmont had managed it.
It was her country club instinct, no doubt, to make every party a black-tie affair just as it would be at Pacific Pines, the ultraexclusive club she and her husband cofounded with Warren Ellingham.
“Juliette Winters, darling, there you are!” came a woman’s voice that walked the exact border between polite and commanding.
June Piedmont swanned through the crowd, not waiting to see if waiters would dodge out of her way in time, knowing they would if they valued their paychecks.
Her feet were perfectly dainty as they peeked out from beneath her floor-length de la Renta gown, though Juliette noted the style was at least a few seasons old.
June must have borrowed it from the designer’s vault.
“Mrs. Piedmont, you found me,” Juliette said, doing her best to maintain a pleasant smile. Veeta nudged her discreetly, which meant she wasn’t doing as good of a job as she hoped. “What a lovely party you’ve put on this evening.”
“It is lovely, isn’t it?” June cooed, looking around the dazzling interior of the main deck.
A five-piece band—including a baby grand piano—played live music while girls in beautiful pink satin dresses wove through the crowd carrying bottles of rosé in the exact same shade as their dresses.
A carving station at the far end of the party room boasted prime rib, lobster tails, and a raw oyster bar with an impressive collection of hot sauces.
Veeta snagged a rice dumpling from a waiter as they passed.
“Aren’t those divine?” June said as Veeta popped the tasty little packet into their mouth.
“Bánh giò. Vietnamese street dumplings, a signature offering from our executive chef, Troy Pham. We’re lucky Warren saw the potential in him and snatched him up.
He could run any five-star restaurant in the world.
But that’s Warren, the brilliant mind, always seeing opportunities. That’s why we’re honoring him tonight.”
“I’m sure Warren will be more than pleased,” Juliette said.
June cooled herself with a small hand fan she produced from some clever pocket in her dress sleeve, wafting a strong floral perfume toward Juliette with the embroidered silk.
“I do hope so. Though I’ve not seen him as yet.
Always playing coy. And speaking of coy, darling, how could you keep such a juicy secret from me?
!” June snapped her fan shut and used it to playfully slap Juliette on the arm.
“I have it on good authority that Warren’s little announcement tonight will cause quite a stir, and it’s all thanks to you, isn’t it? ”
Juliette happened to know that June’s “good authority” was simply the gossip pages of Pub Daily, but she wouldn’t hold it against the woman.
Gossip was the way women like June Piedmont ran the world behind the scenes.
When a man collected information, they called it intelligence.
When a woman did it, they branded her a gossip. The work of the patriarchy.
“Imagine the things a man like Warren Ellingham could share. The secrets he could tell. You know he has a nickname around the club. The Lockbox. You need help, any kind of help—money, advice, the number for a good lawyer—Warren is your man. Not that Robert has ever needed him, of course! But when a man earns a reputation like that, well … you can imagine the skeletons he’s collected from other people’s closets. ”
Juliette could well imagine it, which was why she’d courted Warren so hard.
Simon Says couldn’t compete with the big publishers on advance money, but Warren had more money than he could spend in ten consecutive lifetimes.
He didn’t need another million dollars for a book; what he needed was personal service, a dedicated team that would see his vision from concept to printed page.
And that was the deal Juliette had sold him all those months ago, when she promised to personally shepherd his book through the publication process.
She’d kept Simon out of the negotiations and held off on involving Spencer in any of the brainstorming pitch sessions, choosing to handle Warren directly.
This was her brainchild, start to finish.
She couldn’t let anyone else ruin it for her.
“You know, people would kill for a glimpse at a story like that,” June continued. “I’d be willing to bet anyone on this boat tonight could make it worth your while for a little sneak peek. Just the first chapter! Between us ladies.”
June wasn’t the first person that evening to approach Juliette asking for a “sneak peek” of Warren’s manuscript.
The blind item had stirred up all kinds of attention, which was exactly the kind of publicity Simon Says needed to make Warren’s book launch a success.
Had Juliette contacted her source at the magazine to plant the blind item and stir up the attention in the first place? Well, that was how business got done.
“You know Warren, he likes to keep his secrets,” Juliette said with that patient smile.
“Oh, I’ll get it out of you, you be sure of that,” said June.
“Name your price. Do you golf? Or play tennis? We have excellent spa services at the club, I could get you in for the best massage of your life. And our saunas are Norwegian, you won’t believe the wonders it will do for your skin.
Just name a date and I’ll add you to the list of guests. ”
“Mrs. Piedmont—”
“June, please, call me June!” June moved in closer, her grip on Juliette’s arm unyielding. “Darling, you have the hottest ticket in town, let me help you leverage it!”
Juliette spotted Kennedy Hempstead nearby, her friend and (by a small technicality) boss.
“Kennedy!” she called out, startling several party guests around them.
She practically dragged June in her wake as she headed toward the other woman.
“Ken, have you met June Piedmont? June, this is Kennedy. Kennedy Hempstead.”
“Hempstead? Rebecca Hempstead’s niece?” said June, the wheels turning.
The only thing rich people loved as much as their money was other rich people, and Kennedy Hempstead had recently inherited a fortune that made her among the richest in the country.
“I was so sorry to hear about your aunt’s untimely demise, of course. Such an impressive woman.”
“Ah, hello,” Kennedy said, smiling politely.
She looked as radiant as she always did, her hair the perfect mix of wind-tossed and glossy, her makeup so subtle as to appear natural.
Actually, knowing Ken, it might be her natural skin tone.
That’s what old money bought you; good genes.
“We met at the Paws for Love gala a few years ago.”
“Oh yes, that god-awful feral cats thing,” June said, making a face.
Kennedy blinked. “I started the foundation.”
“And what an incredible job you’ve done, funding their medical care!” June said, smoothing right over the whole business. “Say, Kennedy, do you belong to a club?”
Juliette slipped away in search of Warren as June continued her sales pitch to Kennedy. She caught snatches of conversation as she hunted through the crowd, all the talk and attention on the missing man of the hour.
“He’ll finally announce his retirement, mark my words,” said a man heavily overdressed for the boat atmosphere in a tuxedo with tails.
“And leave the shop to who?” countered a man in all white linen, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel and displaying a proud sprout of graying chest hair. “That son of his, Bradley? The kid wouldn’t know a decent business deal if it landed in his lap. Well, unless it did a dance there.”
“The ‘kid’ is pushing fifty,” said a woman in a powder pink pantsuit with a snort into her rosé glass. “And Warren is seventy. He can’t hold on to power forever, and meanwhile we’ve all got investments tied up in the Ellingham Group. What happens to our money when Warren isn’t there to oversee it?”
Juliette moved toward a hallway on the far side of the room, presumably leading to the private suites, judging by the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign hanging from a rope suspended across the opening.
Another suggestion, easily overridden. She unclipped it and slid past, the hallway quieter than the main crush of the party.
The sleek wooden walls and soft lighting gave the yacht an intimate, luxurious feel.
Without the salt-tinged air and the wide-open decks, she could almost convince her stomach she wasn’t on a yacht at all.
If she were ever going to consider water transport of any kind, it was clear that a yacht was the only way to go.
The first room she encountered seemed to be some kind of media room, one entire wall just a TV screen showing golf tournament highlights.
The next room was filled with gym equipment, and the room after that looked to be a fully outfitted, though tragically unstaffed, spa.
Juliette could use a massage and a dip in a whirlpool to loosen the knots of tension between her shoulder blades.
She poked through a few more rooms, some of the doors locked, all of them seemingly abandoned. She’d almost given up when a crash sounded from one of the rooms behind her, a voice thundering out, “I swear to god, Warren, if you go through with this, I’ll kill you!”