I’m a lady, nothislady.
Was he this polite to Miss White Wine and No Dessert?
“I’ll make her plate,” Lydia says. She sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher.
Wrinkling my nose in confusion, I throw my hands up. “Why would anyone make my plate? I know I’m a hell of a lot younger than you old fools, but I’m not a kid.”
“Then you admit it?” Wilder asks with a maddening smirk on his gorgeous lips.
I come to my feet and grab my plate from Lydia’s hand before she starts piling it with food and suggesting I try a little of everything like a good girl.
“Admit what?” I ask.
“That I’m too old for you.”
“Wilder.” I reach for the mashed potatoes. “You’re too much of a lot of things, but you’ll never get me to admit that you’re too old for me.”
Who knew mashed potatoes were so heavy? I shovel a serving size onto my plate, not expecting them to be so dense, and the weight distribution on my dish and my grip are all off. My plate and the potatoes fall from my hand and land upside down over a decorative pumpkin.
My only question is if I should pick up the plate or just throw the entire pumpkin over the balcony?
Lydia makes my plate, and she serves me another glass of champagne. “Fuck it,” she says. “Holidays suck.”
They haven’t been together in a week, so the Ridges talk business between bites. According to Wilder, the client he went to visit in New York is coming to Grand Haven this week. They weren’t impressed with a company he recently acquired via Ridge & Sons and needs reassurance. This is the same week they’re scheduled to meet with Giovanni. It’s a headache.
“I don’t understand what their problem is.” Talent dips his roll in gravy and takes a bite.
Wilder shrugs his shoulders. “He thinks he got a raw deal, but I showed him the numbers. We went over the terms of the contract, and the deal is solid. His stake in the business is on a path to double in the next three years, and then we’ll sell. Everything seemed good until he said he’s catching a flight to California. He wants to see all three of us face-to-face.”
David pinches the bridge of his nose. “He won’t come the week after next?”
“Nope. I tried. He’ll be here Tuesday.”
“We’ll make it work,” Talent says, but he already sounds exhausted.
“The numbers are good and he’s coming to town anyway?” Lydia asks without really asking. She holds her glass of whiskey around the rim. “A lot of your focus has been on the Coppolas. Maybe he needs attention. If there’s one type of person I know all too well, it’s rich motherfuckers.”
“You should have taken him to dinner,” I say sarcastically, pointing to Wilder.
Lydia cracks a smile, but she shakes her head. “No. If he’s needy enough to board a plane and fly across the country, he wants more than dinner. What do you normally do with clients who are in town for any amount of time?”
“We take them to sporting events or out on the yacht,” David says. “Sometimes we’ll go on a trip. It just depends on the client.”
“What’s this client like? How old is he? Married or single?” Lydia asks.
“Long legs, big fake lips, brunette hair—mysterious,” I say. Wilder’s eyes narrow on me.
David scrutinizes my glass of champagne like he might take it, and answers, “He’s around my age, late sixties. I vaguely remember him mentioning that he and his wife recently celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary. Give or take a couple of years.”
“I bet their chemistry is off the charts,” I mumble into my champagne flute before swallowing the rest of its contents.
Wilder throws his napkin onto his plate and asks, “What the fuck is going on with you?” As Lydia says, “It doesn’t sound like this client needs to go to another basketball game. He needs new pussy.” And Talent pulls something up on his phone and passes it across the table for his brother to see, mumbling, “You idiot.”
Thanksgiving is the best.
I know it’s theWilder Ridge Spotted with a Mysterious Brunettearticle, and I gape at Lydia. “You told Talent? Traitor.”
She holds her hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say a damn word.”
