How have we never been in this place before?” Tim grins. He’s three craft beers in and looking as loose as I’ve ever seen him. Millie’s not far behind with her Moscato cocktails, and I’m pretty sure she’s feeling him up under the bar table.

The Hyde Club is everything Justin said it would be and more. It’s an old brick building across from the beach, with an industrial-meets-colonial vibe that makes it somehow better than the sum of its parts. The fact that it’s already packed and the sun isn’t even fully below the horizon says a lot about where it stands with tourists and the locals. The music is cool, and low enough that we can actually hear each other talk. And the steamed clams we ordered a bucket of are to die for.

“How have I never been to the Hamptons before, period?!” I hoot. “Millie, why didn’t you tell me what I’ve been missing? This is awesome!”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Every Monday after we spend the weekend here, I tell you all about it. You just nod and say ‘uh-huh, oh really? Wow.’”

Beside me, Justin sucks his lips between his teeth to keep from smiling. Across the table, Tim’s attention turns to the scale model of a sailing clipper on a shelf of knickknacks.

“I am not like that,” I protest. “Am I?”

“Just on Mondays,” Millie soothes, patting my hand. “You’re a Type-A CEO, sweetie, it comes with the territory.”

“I promise she’ll come here more often,” says Justin. “This has really been awesome with you guys. I haven’t felt this relaxed in—well, I honestly can’t remember.”

“And it’s only the first night!” Millie raises her cocktail in a toast. “What are we going to do tomorrow?”

Tim practically jumps out of his bench seat as he points a finger at Justin. His grin is as wide as a kid’s on Christmas morning.

“This guy here promised to let me drive his car!”

Millie and I look at Justin, who shrugs.

“It really needs to spend more time on the road. Carbon builds up in the engine if it isn’t driven enough.”

I have no idea if that’s true or if he’s just making an excuse for some alone time with Tim. Maybe it’s actually both. Either way, I’m glad to hear it, and not just because it gives me some alone time with Millie. It makes me feel good to see Justin having a good time.

“Well, then,” I say, “we’re going shopping while you guys do that.”

“Don’t forget the beach time,” Millie chimes in. “It’s hot as balls out there and I need to be in the ocean.”

“And beach time. Can’t forget that.”

We order another round just as a good-looking guy approaches the table and slaps a hand on Justin’s shoulder.

“J-Luke!” he cries. “I haven’t seen you down here in ages! What’s going on, man?”

Justin’s eyes light up as he recognizes the man. “Hey, Preston!” The two shake hands. “You know how it is, dude. Money never sleeps.”

“Mine sleeps just fine in my trust fund, baby. Who’re your friends?”

Justin turns to us. “Millie and Tim, this is Craig Preston.”

They greet each other across the table with a wave. Then Justin turns to me with a smile.

“Craig, this is my girlfriend, Sarah.”

My heart jumps a little in my chest at the sound of the word while Craig reaches across Justin to shake my hand.

“A real pleasure,” he says. “Any friends of Justin’s are friends of mine.”

“Don’t ask me why old money like him hangs around with new money like me,” says Justin. “Craig’s family goes back as far as you can go on this continent and still have blond hair.”

“I hang around with you because old money people are boring as dirt,” says Craig.

“Wait a minute.” A sudden flash of recognition. “Preston? As in the Merriweather Cosmetics Prestons?”

He holds up a hand and winces. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh my God, I love Merriweather!” I gush. “It’s the only brand I use! I think I spent half of my first paycheck from my first job after college on your products. I remember feeling like I was just so very sophisticated.”

“You deserve it,” he chuckles, echoing the company’s world-famous slogan.

“I love Merriweather, too!” says Millie. “And believe me, your company’s advertising revenue really gets my heart pumping.”

Justin pulls a seat up for Craig and we chat about PinkBook and Merriweather and other small-talk topics through another round of drinks, until Craig checks his watch.

“Gotta get home,” he sighs. “Mom’s planning a party at the estate tomorrow and Elise has been trapped with her all night.”

“Elise?” I ask.

“My fiancé. She’s trying to suck up to the old bird by helping plan the party, so she let me out on my own tonight.” He snaps his fingers. “Hey, you guys have to come! I can introduce you to Elise, and maybe we’ll actually have a shot at having a good time for a change. These things are always so bloody dull.”

Tim looks like he accidentally bit into a tarantula, but Millie’s eyes are practically popping out of her head.

“Yes!” she blurts. “We’d love to come!”

Justin raises an eyebrow to me. “What do you think?”

I think I’m giddy at the prospect of arriving at a high society soiree on the arm of a handsome, successful man who’ll turn every other woman’s head.

But there’s no way I’m going to tell him that.

“Sure,” I say. “That sounds like fun.”

“Great!” Craig gives us one last wave. “Justin knows where the house is. We’ll see you tomorrow night!”

As he strolls out of the pub, I lean in close to Justin’s ear.

“I can’t believe you know the Prestons. They’re like the crème-de-la-crème of New York society.”

He flashes a smile. “You don’t know everything about me yet.”

“I know I can’t wait to call you J-Luke and talk about BitScents in front of a bunch of business people when you’re trying to take over their company.”

The look of mock horror on his face makes me cackle like a loon.

* * *

“What an awesome day.” I snuggle deeper into Justin’s shoulder. “And it was nice to finally meet one of your friends other than Nathan.”

We’re lying together in the old four-poster in our room at Millie and Tim’s rental house. It’s nothing compared to Justin’s house—obviously—but I actually like it more, because it’s quaint and cozy. I just wish the room would sit still. We might have had a couple too many at the Hyde Club.

“I don’t have very many,” he says. “I spent all my time building my company, so I didn’t have much time for anything else.”

“Sounds familiar,” I sigh. “Except I was lucky enough to go into business with my best friends. How did you guys meet?”

“I had a part-time job delivering gasoline to estates all over the island when I was eighteen. I definitely wasn’t paying the rent on my place in New Jersey with my software—not at that point. Anyway, Craig struck up a conversation in his garage one day, and it grew from there. He introduced me to some key people who were interested in my algorithm. Without those people, I doubt I would have been able to get things off the ground the way that I did.”

“Wow. That’s quite a story.”

“Craig never gave me a penny, but he did give me a gift I could never repay: he believed in me. No one else in my life except for Stella had ever given my ideas the time of day. And he showed me people who thought the same way I did. It was the springboard I needed to turn my dreams into reality.”

“Well, then,” I say. “I like him even more now. I can’t wait for tomorrow night.”

He pulls me close and kisses me softly and sweetly. It’s the perfect end to a perfect day.

“Me either,” he whispers just before I drift off to sleep.

* * *

Millie’s doing her best to keep it under control, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s just as gob-smacked as I am.

“Tell me the truth,” she whispers as we stand next to the pool, eyeing up our fellow guests. “Am I underdressed?”

“Well, if you are, then I am,” I say. “We got them at the same place.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I let out a chuckle and touch her arm. The cocktail dress she chose is gorgeous and shows off her curves. The skirt might be a little too flared for this crowd, but there’s no denying she looks amazing. Even Tim, who normally considers a button-down shirt to be fancy attire, is rocking the blue pinstriped seersucker suit that he bought with Justin’s help. My boyfriend, of course, looks the same way he always does: like he just wandered off a page in the Brooks Brothers catalog.

“Millie, you’re stunning,” say.

Relief is written across her face. “Thank you. And you—I mean, holy shit, girl.”

I accept the compliment with a tilt of my head. My own is a scarlet sheath that goes down just past the knee. The shoulders are bare, with a V cut in the center that shows off my cleavage. All false modesty aside, I am rocking this thing hard.

“This house looks like a movie set,” says Millie. “I can’t believe we’re here.”

She’s right; it’s a three-story stone masterpiece that has to be ten-thousand square feet, not including the guest house and the garden studio. It’s a house where you’d expect to find Jay Gatsby popping a bottle of champagne and doing the Charleston, or whatever dance rich people used to do back in the day. It oozes class and sophistication in the same way that their cosmetics line did when I was a young woman.

And I’m here, at a party on the Preston estate, with one of my best friends, and having an incredible time. All thanks to the guy who’s calmly strolling over to me like he owns the place. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’d bought it off the Prestons and rents it back to them. Anything is possible with Justin.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says. “Having a good time?”

I pretend to yawn. “I suppose.”

“This shrimp is ridiculous,” Tim says as he sidles up to Millie carrying a plate loaded with cocktail prawns the size of small dogs.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” she snipes in a low voice. “These are classy people, for God’s sake.”

Justin grins. “They’re just people, Millie. You might be surprised how normal they are.”

“Maybe,” she sighs. “But I want to dream a little while longer, all right?”

Justin pulls me away from them and over closer to the pool. We stand there, facing each other, hands entwined, and I wonder how things could get any more perfect.

“Come here,” he says, and I obey. Our lips touch—just for a few moments, not our usual hungry passion—and I’m lost in the moment. The only sensation outside of my thumping heartbeat is a strange sound in the distance that I barely register.

When we pull away from each other, I can see a few lookee-lo0s glancing in our direction. Let them look; Justin is all mine.

We spend the rest of the evening getting to know the Craig and Elise, along with a few of the other guests. We see celebrities and bigwigs, including a cable news anchor and no fewer than three senators. We even get to meet the heads of the Preston clan themselves, Royce and Diane. They’re polite, charming and utterly self-absorbed. Craig’s apple fell a long way from the tree. We dine on delicious food and drink expensive booze and revel in the fact that it’s an incredible night and we’re surrounded by incredible people, and we’re all young and wealthy and have everything to be grateful for.

If only it could stay like this forever.

* * *

My phone buzzes on the glass coffee table between our loungers on the patio of Millie’s rental. We decided to spend the afternoon lying in the sun while Justin and Tim took the Saab out for another spin around the island. The perfect end to a perfect weekend.

“Ignore it,” Millie says, her eyes hidden under ridiculously oversized sunglasses.

“It might be Justin.”

“What’s he texting? ‘Hey baby, want to have hot sex with my model body when we get back to the city?’ You people are disgusting.”

I laugh out loud at that as I thumb the screen to life, but the mood disappears when I see who it’s from.

“It’s Darryl Lawrence.”

“Ick. What the hell does he want on a Sunday?”

I shade my eyes and look at the screen. “Whatever it is, he copied it to the entire board.”

“Tell him to go pound sand; you don’t work weekends.”

“We both know that’s not true,” I say, thumbing the text into view. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

I read the opening line and my stomach sinks: “So apparently our CEO has time to hobnob with the beautiful people while PinkBook goes to hell in a hand basket.” Underneath is a link and a thumbnail of a photo that I can’t make out. I tap the link, which takes me to the Instagram account of Missy Page, a gossip blogger and freelancer for the Post. It’s a photo of Justin and I kissing beside the pool last night. The little bitch must have snapped it from some vantage point where we couldn’t see her. I guess that explains the weird noise I heard: it was that fake electronic click that accompanies a digital camera shot.

“What’s going on?” Millie asks.

“Nothing important.” My thumbs work the keyboard, making sure that my reply goes to everyone on his recipient list. If he’s going to call me out in front of the board again, he damn well better be ready for a fight.

“My personal life is none of your concern, Mr. Lawrence. Kindly keep your mind on your own business—for as long as you still have it.”

I read it back, wondering if I should try to be more diplomatic. Then I think, fuck it. He’s being an asshole, and I hope Justin takes over his company. I think it’s about time I started swimming with the sharks, just like Justin does.

Send.

A few minutes later, the boys arrive, looking tired but happy. Sadly, it’s time to start thinking about heading back to reality. Justin crouches next to me and gives me a peck on the cheek.

“How’s your afternoon been?”

“She got a text from Darryl Lawrence,” says Millie. “On a Sunday. Can you believe it?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

I slip my hand in his and smile.

“Everything’s perfect.”

A moment later, I shut off my phone. Millie is right: I shouldn’t work weekends.

Because of that, I don’t see Darryl’s reply until Monday morning.

It’s only three words: “You’ll regret that.”