Do Not Disturb (29 page)

“Borrowing” Maxine’s eyeliner and mascara (her own had mysteriously gone missing days ago) Sian finished her makeup and, untying her hair from the tight bun she always wore at work, ran back into her bedroom to get changed.

Hmmm. What to wear?

The party was at some big-shot investment banker’s house, one of the many ten-million-plus beach properties that Sian rode past every weekend on her bike rides. The actual owners were a couple in their sixties, but tonight’s bash was being thrown by their son, a waste-of-space playboy called Alex Loeb. At least, Sian imagined him to be a waste of space. Like 90 percent of the girls going tonight, she’d never met him. But Rhiannon assured her there was an open-door policy for all passable-looking females under twenty-five. Even washed out and exhausted as she was, Sian figured she still just about fit into that category.

Rummaging through her meager options—she hadn’t brought many clothes, and half of what she had was either dirty or totally inappropriate—she pulled out a short red cocktail dress and her one pair of high-heeled shoes. They were beige suede and fraying at the toe and didn’t really go with the dress, but as the only alternative were flat brown open-toed sandals, it couldn’t be helped. Pulling the dress up over her nonexistent hips, she slipped on the heels, spraying herself liberally with Rive Gauche and tipping her head upside down to give her long, dark hair a little more volume. Then she pulled open the wardrobe door and took a final, self-appraising look in the full-length mirror.

Not Angelina Jolie, perhaps. But not bad. A passable Lois Lane, anyway. And in Sian’s book, that was more than good enough.

Nick Carter straightened his Hermes tie, brushed the telltale traces of powder from the tip of his nose, and headed back downstairs to rejoin the party. If you could call this tedious collection of nobodies a party.

He’d known Alex Loeb all his life, in the way that the kids of all the rich Hamptons families knew one another—that is to say, socially and superficially but with no real connection beyond
a mutual desire to party at their parents’ expense. Alex was the better part of a decade Nick’s senior, but their paths still crossed every summer. Devon Carter’s son could be relied upon to turn up at social events with at least two or three top-notch women on his arm; and Alex—in previous summers anyway—had a reputation for throwing the wildest, most extravagant parties, in a town where “thou shalt indulge thyself” was considered the eleventh commandment.

Unfortunately, though, so far tonight’s effort had been distinctly lackluster.

Naomi Campbell was supposed to be here, with Puffy and the entourage of less famous (but much prettier) models that followed her everywhere. But of course, she’d failed to show, and she wasn’t the only one. Alex had invited a bunch of the other big names in town—including Mariah Carey, Formula One star Luca Fattorini, and George Hambly, the hot Hollywood sci-fi director—none of whom had put in an appearance. Besides a smattering of B-list actors and the usual crowd of anorexic Manhattan model-wannabes, tonight’s guests were the same tired old group of East Hampton hangers-on that Nick rubbed shoulders with every year. Even the coke that had cost him a small fortune to procure (“the hottest shit to come out of Colombia this year,” according to his dealer), had been disappointing.

“There you are.” His sister, Lola, accosted him at the bottom of the stairs, looking as nonchalant as he was. “Have you seen Lucas yet?”

Having gone to the effort of dolling herself up in her new A-line Marc Jacobs mini—the neon emerald green of the dress made her russet mane of hair stand out even more than usual and showed off her long, tanned legs to perfection—goddamn Lucas had decided to add his name to the long list of no-shows.

“For the last time, no,” said Nick, rolling his eyes. “He’s obviously not coming. He must have decided to stay in New York for another night.”

Like everybody else in town, the Carter kids had tuned into this afternoon’s NPR interview and heard Honor and Lucas ripping into each other like rabid dogs in the latest installment of the local soap opera. Thanks to the absence of all the promised celebrities, the radio clash was becoming the evening’s number one topic of conversation.

“He wouldn’t do that,” said Lola. “You know how paranoid he is about spending time away from the hotel.”

“Yeah, like you know him so well,” said Nick snidely. “You haven’t laid eyes on the guy since last summer.”

Annoyingly, this was true. Lola had been staying with friends in Maine for the early part of the summer and had only gotten to East Hampton ten days ago. Having perfected her tan and lost seven pounds in preparation for seeing him again, she was itching to accidentally-on-purpose bump into Lucas and wow him with her new, more mature look. Devon, who’d been furious about their fling last year, had insisted that she break off all contact with him when she went back to Boston. Reluctantly, Lola had complied—there was no point fighting every battle, and she wanted to hold back her big guns for the inevitable fight about her going to fashion school. But her dad couldn’t keep tabs on her twenty-four seven now that she was here. Sooner or later, her path and Lucas’s were bound to cross, and when they did, she had every intention of reseducing him.

“Oh my God.” Belatedly clocking her brother’s wildly dilating pupils, she eyed him suspiciously. “Are you high?”

“No,” Nick lied.

“You’re supposed to be the designated driver,” Lola yelled at him. “I always have to drive; it’s not fucking fair.”

“I am not high,” he insisted, in as self-righteous a tone as he could muster. “So don’t go squealing to Mom and Dad that I am, all right? I can drive.”

“Hmm.” Lola sounded unconvinced. “Well, let’s go then, while you still can. This party blows.”

Lucas clearly wasn’t coming, and some nerd had just put Billy Joel on the sound system. It seemed as good a time to leave as any.

For once in his life, Nick was inclined to agree with his sister. But just at that moment, a gorgeous girl in a microscopic red dress sashayed into the room. She had the shy, coltish look of a genuine ingenue—obviously new in town—and was clinging tightly to the arm of her dumpy blonde girlfriend. “Actually,” he said, grinning wolfishly, “I think I might stick around a little longer.”

Lola followed his gaze toward the red-dress girl.

“Hey, don’t be an asshole, OK?” she said. “Leave her alone. She seems sweet.”

She knew her brother’s reputation with women, and she also knew it was well deserved. One look at this girl’s PayLess shoes and plastic evening purse gave her away as a blue-collar out-of-towner, no doubt here for casual work over the summer. If she was looking for a rich, handsome prince to carry her off to his tower, she’d picked the wrong guy in Nicholas.

“I’m not sure ‘sweet’ is the word I’d use,” said Nick, ignoring Lola and making a beeline for the girl. In his eagerness to introduce himself, he pushed straight past the chunky blonde.

“Hi.” Grabbing the pretty one’s hand, he kissed it ostentatiously. “I’m Nick Carter. What’s your name, angel?”

Sian’s eyes narrowed. The boy was male-model good-looking. Everything about him, from his couture jacket and platinum cuff links to his manicured nails and immaculate dentistry, spoke of serious wealth. But she didn’t appreciate the presumptuous endearment from someone she’d never met before. Nor did she approve of the way he’d just blanked Rhiannon like she didn’t exist.

“My name is Sian,” she said coolly, retrieving her hand. “And I’m not your angel.”

“Not yet,” said Nick, not missing a beat. The cheap clothes and makeup hadn’t escaped his attention either. It was a safe
bet a trailer-trash hottie like that would be easily dazzled by his money, if not his charm.

“But play your cards right and you could be. Ever been for a ride in a Porsche?”

Sian cringed. Oh my God. Did he really just say that out loud?

“Why, no, suh.” She put on her best Black Mammy voice and widened her eyes in faux amazement. “I is just a poor, ignorant girl from the farm, suh. I ain’t never been in no aut-o-mo-bile. I jus’ walks ever where, in my bare feet. Ain’t that right, Rhiannon?”

She turned to her friend, who dissolved into fits of giggles. Nick looked furious. He despised being made fun of, especially in public, and especially by women.

“Hey. Your loss, sweetheart,” he said, turning on his heel and stalking back over to Lola. “Let’s go,” he said grumpily, grabbing her arm. “Uh-uh, no way,” she said, wriggling free. She’d watched the whole exchange, and was cheered to see a girl standing up to her Casanova brother for once. “Just because you crashed and burned. I wanna go meet her.”

“She’s a bitch,” snarled Nick. “I’m leaving, so if you want a ride you’d better come now.”

“I’ll take a taxi,” said Lola firmly.

“I promised Mom I’d have you back by one,” he said petulantly. Devon and Karis were up in the city for the weekend and had left Nick in charge, so he felt free to throw his weight around. “It’s quarter of now.”

“Breathe one word to Mom and I’ll tell her you were coked out of your mind,” said Lola. “I’m staying.”

Nick thought about it for a moment. Their mom always took his side over Lola’s. But Devon was bound to ask questions if Lola really did start squealing. It wasn’t worth the aggravation.

“Fine,” he pouted. “Do what you like. But I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time. She’s just an ignorant redneck slut.”

By this time Sian had wandered out into the garden. It took Lola a minute or two to track her down, leaning against the
summerhouse and looking more than a little out of place. Her friend had disappeared somewhere, and she was on her own. “I’m sorry about Nick,” said Lola, proffering her hand. “That was great, the way you kicked him to the curb in there. I’m Lola, by the way.”

“Sian.” They shook hands. “You know that guy?”

Lola, she decided, was absolutely stunning, a pre-Botox Nicole Kidman with curves, and her green dress the most divine item of clothing she’d ever laid eyes on. Suddenly struck by an awful possibility, she blurted, “Oh, God, you’re not his date, are you? Honestly, I swear to God, he came on to me.”

“His date? Eeugh. No.” Lola looked suitably disgusted. “He’s my brother, I’m ashamed to say. For some unfathomable reason, girls normally fall at his feet. I get a kick watching his ego take a battering every once in a while.”

“Oh!” Sian laughed. “Well, glad I could help.” Other than their shared Hilfiger-model gorgeousness, Nick and Lola didn’t seem very likely siblings. He was an Olympic-level prick, but there was something exciting and mischievous about his sister that Sian found herself instantly warming to. “So, where are you working?” asked Lola.

“Palmers,” said Sian. “How did you know I was working?”

Lola blushed and hoped she hadn’t just been rude. “Oh, no reason. Just a guess. I haven’t seen you around before. How d’you like it? I bet Honor’s fun to work for, isn’t she? Have you met anyone famous yet?”

Sian shook her head. “I wish. All I do is wash sheets. I see Honor Palmer in the lobby sometimes, but that’s about it. Why, d’you know her too?”

“Everyone in East Hampton knows her,” said Lola matter-of-factly. “She’s a friend of my parents. Sort of.”

There was a general commotion as someone emerged from the house. Turning to look, Lola felt her heart skip a beat.

“Whoa,” said Sian. She recognized Lucas immediately from his
Vogue
picture. “So the camera really doesn’t lie. He’s seriously attractive, isn’t he?”

“Hands off,” said Lola, only half jokingly. “I saw him first.”

Catching her eye, Lucas grinned. In that green dress—if you could call it a dress, it was so wonderfully short—she looked even more voluptuously sexy than he remembered her. Ignoring the other girls who’d formed an admiring circle around him, he headed in her direction.

“Miss Carter.” He gave her a look that made Lola’s stomach flip over like a pancake. “Long time no see, baby. Where have you been hiding all summer?”

“
Me
hiding?” she said playfully. “Oh, that’s cute, coming from you. What are you, like, half bat or something? You sleep all day and work all night?”

Lucas smiled. He liked girls to challenge him, as long as they ultimately recognized who was boss. Lola’s feistiness, tempered as it was with a healthy dose of adoration, was exactly the sort he appreciated. She wasn’t a rabid man-hater like Honor.

“This is Sian.” Lola indicated the beanpole brunette beside her.

“Hi,” said Lucas, without averting his gaze from Lola’s for so much as a split second.

Rude asshole, thought Sian. I’m glad I work for Honor and not for him.

Having no desire to play third wheel, she took the hint and disappeared back inside, leaving the two of them alone. Casually resting one hand on Lola’s bare shoulder, Lucas started caressing her smooth skin with the ball of his thumb.

“I’ve thought a lot about you, you know,” he said. “Since last time.”

“Is that so?” Lola raised one eyebrow archly.

She was determined to play it cool. She knew he liked her, but she also knew that deep down he considered her to be too young for him—just a kid. This time around, she was determined to prove him wrong.