NINA
July 4
Nina closed her diary and stared at the photo the private investigator had given her. The one of Connor with her. She ought to be hardened to it. She knew the drill. Edward always had someone on the side, and it had never made sense. Nina was beautiful, witty, cultured, on every best-dressed list. What did these women have that she didn’t? The answer was nothing, nothing at all. He just wanted something shiny and new. With Edward, she’d ignore it. Redecorate a house. Buy a painting. Pretend to be a Parisian who didn’t care about fidelity. This was different. It cut, it burned. She’d wanted this love to be real.
She was angry with herself for getting so invested. She’d been warned about Connor, specifically. And though the source was untrustworthy—Hank, who had an obvious conflict of interest—she’d taken precautions, going so far as to hire a private detective to follow up on Hank’s research. When the PI hadn’t come back with anything conclusive, she’d gone ahead and married Connor, but with fingers crossed behind her back and an airtight prenup. What good was a prenup, though? The only thing it protected was your money.
A distant rumble of thunder made her look out the window of the tower room. To the east, the horizon was dark with clouds, and Connor was heading out for a swim. She raised the binoculars that she kept on her writing desk and watched as he stripped off his shirt, tossing it onto the lounge chair that the staff had set up for him. She appreciated his body as he waded into the surf and his elegant form as he struck out into the waves. Under different circumstances, she might’ve called from the window, or sent the housekeeper down to beg him to please not swim right now, the water was too rough. But she was angry. Let him drown out there. He wouldn’t, of course. He was an accomplished swimmer. And like all narcissists, he led a charmed life. Born to be a man of leisure, a momentary bump when his family lost its money, saved by marrying into the Levitt fortune.
That was no accident. She’d been set up. The plan was a classic. Meet a rich, lonely widow. Romance her. Marry her. Then murder her and inherit her money. The only thing she didn’t understand was, what was taking so long? Why hadn’t he made his move yet? It should be easy enough. You fake a suicide, or an accident. By waiting, he’d given her time to uncover the truth. They had. She now knew everything about them—the two of them. Connor’s girlfriend wasn’t who she claimed to be. They’d known each other for years and been lovers in the past. They saw each other in secret, as recently as six weeks ago at Hank’s ski place up north.
Nina didn’t trust Hank, either. Not then, not now. She didn’t trust Hank’s ex-wife, Lauren. The fact was, if she was smart, she wouldn’t trust anybody, including people who’d worked for her for years. It was impossible to know how far this conspiracy went, or where it ended. But she knew where it started—at her July Fourth party, two years ago tonight.
July 4—two years earlier
Nina stood with Hank Spears at the far end of the terrace. The party was in full swing—band playing under the stars, famous faces circulating in the crowd. The Fourth of July gala at Windswept was the event of the season in the Hamptons. They came by the hundreds to people-watch, to eat lavish food and drink vintage champagne. Most of all, they came for the house.
Windswept was a thirty-room brick-and-limestone Gatsby-era palace, set magnificently alone on a promontory that jutted into the sea. The grounds included ten acres of manicured lawns and gardens, an Olympic-size swimming pool, a pool house with bathrooms, and a glorious stretch of beach to roam in the moonlight. A security team had been brought in for the night, headed by Steve Kovacs, a private security consultant who’d worked for the Levitts regularly since Edward’s time. Steve’s team worked the perimeter, patrolling for crashers. Every year, people tried it. Paparazzi, nosy tourists, local hooligans on the prowl for free booze. Trespassers were turned over to the police.
Nina looked her best tonight. The Levitt emeralds glowed at her neck, setting off her black dress and porcelain skin. The sky was velvet, the fireworks an hour away. It should have been romantic. But, as Hank’s arm snaked along the balustrade behind her and made contact with her bare back, she flinched.
“What’s the matter? I did what you asked,” he said, his mouth petulant.
Hank was accustomed to getting his way. He’d been Edward’s right-hand man and was now CEO of Levitt Global, a position he’d long coveted and had ascended to on Edward’s death. He and Edward were polar opposites. Edward had been a visionary—magnetic, mercurial, creative, with blazing blue eyes. Hank was a company man through and through. Trim and self-contained, graying at the temples, in a perfectly tailored suit. Shareholders found Hank a reassuring presence during this time of transition. Nina had found him a reassuring presence, too, through the long, difficult years of her marriage. At every dinner party, every conference or foreign trip or important event, at the very moment she’d feel the lowest, Hank would turn up at her side. When Edward’s affairs hit the news, he’d claim the seat beside her at dinner and distract her with talk of the art world, or whatever topic came to mind. If Edward spoke harshly to her in front of other people, Hank would deflect the conversation, help her save face. She’d assumed that he did this for Edward’s benefit—or, really, for Levitt Global’s. Nina was a refined and sophisticated corporate first lady. She held up her end on charitable boards and in the art world. The Levitt marriage played well in the press. Any woman who came after her was unlikely to fit the job description, since Edward’s tastes ran toward “models” who’d never held modeling jobs and were young enough to be his granddaughters. Not that Nina had any standing to complain. There’d been a first Mrs. Levitt at the time Nina and Edward met, who’d received a lavish settlement, happily remarried, and eventually died of cancer. Nina’s guilt made her tolerant of Edward’s transgressions. She knew what she was getting into and accepted it as just deserts.
The point was, Nina had misunderstood the nature of Hank’s attentions. She thought he was looking out for the company, when actually he’d had feelings for her all along. She’d encouraged him more than she’d intended, just by leaning on him for support in her misery. She’d never dreamed he was seriously interested in her. Why would he be? Hank was married to Lauren Berman, the head of PR, who was not only a player in the company, but sultry and gorgeous—all dark hair, pouty lips, and curves.
After Edward died, Hank waited three months, then invited Nina to dinner. He told her that he was unhappy in his marriage and had loved her for years. She didn’t want to hurt him. Not only was he a good friend, but they worked together regularly. So, she told him it was too soon. That was a mistake. Hank responded by arranging for them to be thrown together in ever more intimate settings, with work as a pretext. Six months ago, they’d been at a conference in Aspen together. And she slipped. She was feeling so low—old and alone, sad that she’d never had children. They got drunk and ended up spending the night together. Nina had been backpedaling from it ever since. She simply didn’t have those feelings for him. After what Edward had done to her, she also felt legitimately guilty about sleeping with someone who was married, and leaned on that as her excuse. Hank took her at her word. Lauren and Hank were now in the middle of a bitter divorce battle, because Hank had left Lauren. For Nina. Without discussing it with Nina first. Which had made things extremely awkward at the office. Nina was now viewed as the other woman, a designation she loathed, and which was untrue. They had no ongoing romantic relationship. But nobody believed that—especially not Hank.
“Hank, I’m sorry. But I never asked you to leave Lauren. Never. You misunderstood me.”
“You said we couldn’t be together as long as I was married.”
She took his hands and looked into his eyes and was gutted to see the pain there.
“I said I wouldn’t get involved with a married man. I never said that I was ready for a relationship, or that I had those feelings for you.”
Anger flashed across his face. “I divorced my wife for you.”
He’d raised his voice. People were turning to look.
“You shouldn’t’ve done that without talking to me first.”
“You refused to talk about it while I was married.”
“Can we discuss this another time, when we have more privacy?” Nina said.
“When? I never see you except at board meetings.”
The fact was, Nina had been avoiding him.
“We’ll find a time. Next week. Dinner in the city.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
She scanned the terrace, looking for any excuse to get away from Hank. A man stood by the stairs to the beach, talking to her personal assistant. Nina took him in in a dazzling flash. The way the breeze lifted the crisp waves of his hair. The perfect features, athletic frame, the ease of his gestures. He wore a blazer and jeans that would’ve seemed dull on another man, but on him, looked like he’d stepped off the deck of a yacht. He must have felt her gaze, because he turned and looked right at her. But his gaze traveled on, as if it had only rested on her unintentionally.
“Who is that with Juliet?”
Hank turned.
“Don’t look,” she said, too late. Now he’d know she’d been talking about him.
“That’s Connor Ford. He works for Lauren in PR. I think they have a thing going, actually.”
“Lauren—and him?”
He shrugged. “He’s too young for her, right? I don’t mind, if it gets her off my back, so I can focus on you.”
Hank was simply a friend. She wanted to confront him, tell him off, for putting her in the middle of his divorce, but that would only lead him to declare his feelings yet again. She cared about him, but he was making it impossible for them to stay friends.
“Excuse me, I need to speak to Juliet about something.”
“Hey, no. Wait.”
He reached to stop her.
“Hank, this is too private a matter. I promise, next week in the city, we’ll talk. Now, please.”
He let her go.
Nina crossed the terrace. Juliet was talking intently. Seeing Nina coming, Connor very noticeably withdrew his attention from Juliet, following Nina with his eyes as she approached.
“Were your ears burning? We were just talking about you,” Juliet said.
Juliet Davis was underdressed for the evening, in black pants and a silk top, her dark hair tucked into a neat chignon. That was her style—quiet, efficient, unflashy. Juliet had come to work for Nina shortly after Edward’s death, and had become indispensable. Nina didn’t make a move without her.
“Why?”
“Remember, I was going to put you in touch with Connor regarding that profile?”
Nina had no memory of that. But then, his name meant nothing to her before tonight.
Connor was watching her. Her face felt warm. Her voice came out fluttering.
“Which profile was that again?” she asked.
“About your yoga practice?”
Nina frowned. “Really? I don’t recall.”
“It was Dawn’s idea—her yoga teacher,” Juliet added hastily, nodding toward Connor.
“I was just telling Juliet, I think that’s the wrong angle for you, Mrs. Levitt. Connor Ford, deputy director of PR.”
He smiled into her eyes as he extended his hand. That first touch was like a jolt from the universe, powerful and cosmic.
“Wrong for me—why?”
“Too trendy. Lacks gravitas. It’s not how you want the world to see you.”
“I agree. Though Dawn can be very insistent about her pet projects.”
“Ooh, touchy territory,” Juliet said, smiling. “I have things to see to. I’ll let you two hash it out.”
Juliet melted into the crowd, leaving them alone together. Nina, who was used to being assertive—in boardrooms, on the red carpet—felt suddenly tongue-tied.
“I was about to get a drink. You want one?” he said.
She nodded, and he tucked her hand under his arm. As they headed to the bar, people turned to watch. Nina looked around for Hank, worried about what he’d think. But he was nowhere to be seen.
“People are wondering who you are,” she said.
“No, they’re looking at you in that dress.”
The dress was black and beaded, with a dramatic low back.
“Is something wrong with my dress?”
“Something’s very right. It fits you like a glove.”
There was a long line at the bar, but people let them cut. It was Nina’s party, after all, and her house. She was used to being stared at, but there was a new sense of excitement, with Connor’s hand on the small of her back. The bartender asked for their drink order, and Nina’s mind went blank. She looked at Connor, shrugging.
“Bourbon on the rocks for me and a Vesper for the lady,” he said, smoothly.
“Vesper?” she asked.
“It’s a type of martini.”
“Gin, vodka, and Lillet, right?” the bartender asked.
“Yes, with a twist,” Connor said, then turned back to her. “It’s perfect for you. Ian Fleming made it famous. It was James Bond’s martini recipe.”
His physical closeness was distracting. She caught a faint whiff of sandalwood. Was he wearing cologne? It was so subtle that she wanted to lean in and sniff his neck, but there were too many eyes on them.
“Is that the image you have in mind for me? Bond girl?”
“Not a Bond girl. Bond.”
“Oh, I’m a spy?”
“An international assassin, with style.”
“Who told you I’m an assassin? That didn’t come from Lauren, did it? I know she’s your boss. She’s not very happy with me, these days.”
“I don’t listen to gossip.”
But she could tell from his inflection that he’d heard all about it.
“Good, because what you’d hear is totally wrong,” she said, then worried that that made her sound guilty, and started blathering, out of embarrassment. “Sometimes Levitt Global feels like a singles bar. At least, it did in Edward’s time. Lucky for him, he died before #MeToo really hit, or God knows.”
“That must’ve been difficult for you,” he said. “And a good reason to reinvent yourself, for the post-Edward era.”
“As a spy.”
He laughed. The sound was golden, his teeth perfectly white.
“Really, though. I don’t want to be Lady Macbeth. I’m seen too much that way already.”
“You’re viewed as a powerful woman in your own right. People have trouble with powerful women. That’s just misogyny. Personally, I admire you.”
“Thank you. I wish the public felt that way. What can we do to change that? I think about Jackie O as a blueprint. A famous widow who went on with her life, but she was popular.”
The crowd at the bar was closely packed. Connor put his hand on her waist and drew her closer, so they were touching from chest to thigh. There was an excuse for it—maybe. He was trying to protect her from the crowd.
“In a different era. And she may’ve been popular, but was she happy? Jackie lived in a gilded cage. Nina Levitt should be free.”
“You don’t think I’m free?”
“Are you?”
“Sir? Sir, excuse me? Your cocktails?”
The bartender was trying to get Connor’s attention, but he was busy looking into Nina’s eyes. She could feel her heart beating. He broke eye contact reluctantly, taking the drinks and passing the Vesper to Nina. She sipped it as they stepped away from the bar. It was clean and cold, with a kick as powerful as a hit of cocaine.
“Wow.”
“You like it?”
“Too much.”
“Good. I’m glad I got it right.”
“I’m not sure I can handle it, though.”
“I doubt there’s anything on this planet you can’t handle. Shall we?”
“What?”
“A walk on the beach? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people are staring.”
She felt breathless and nervous. Worried what people would think—what Hank would think, if he heard about this.
“Won’t they stare more if I walk out of the party with some man I just met?”
“I’m not some man you just met.”
“No? Who are you, then?”
“I’m your image consultant.”
“What image will I project if I ditch my guests and leave with you?”
“That you’re Nina Levitt, and you do as you please. The world can wait.”
“Okay. I like the sound of that.”
She took his arm.