Ethan took another large bite, apparently scared I would try to steal it.
“Anyway, I’ll give her a dirty look.”
“Can you get me in?” I said.
He looked surprised. “Of course. Why?”
I shrugged, not having a good answer. I knew that I shouldn’t care—that Amber and her party were beside the point. In that moment, though, it somehow felt like the entire point, all over again.
“Will you do it, even if I don’t have a good answer for you?”
“Consider it done,” he said.
He handed over his last bite.
“I’ll even bring extra fish,” he said. “In case you want to drop s
omething else on her.”
39
People love to talk about the most prestigious roads in the Hamptons. Dune Road. Flying Point. Ocean. Meadow. Tyson Lane was often too small to make the list. And yet, there it was, right off Further Lane—steps to the ocean—and home to several of the most stunning addresses in East Hampton, including a gorgeous abode owned by Helmut Lang.
Amber’s party was at the house next door—also oceanfront, also exquisite—owned by a venture capitalist and his cooking-enthused wife.
Lanterns lined the driveway and led up to a stunning cottage (not that cottage was really the appropriate name), its wraparound porch crowded with people. And candles. And flowers—solely white, solely orchids. Enormous trays of caviar and shrimp sushi were being passed. A jazz band was playing standards on the party’s edge. It could have been the nicest wedding I’d ever been to.
I took a breath as I stepped out of my car and headed toward the porch, wearing the only dress I had grabbed from my sister’s house after our fight: a purple halter-top that swung wide and, thankfully, covered my slowly growing belly.
“I don’t believe it,” she said.
I turned to see Violet, wearing a set of headphones and a black pencil skirt, looking beautiful and put-together.
“What are you doing here?” she said, a large smile on her face.
I wasn’t sure how to read her. “Just coming by to say hello to everyone,” I said.
“Not the party,” she said. “Here! The Hamptons. I thought you were hiding out where you were from. Nashville, or wherever.”
“I’m from here, actually,” I said.
She looked confused. “I didn’t know anyone was from here,” she said.
I smiled. “How are you, Violet?”
“I think that’s like the first question you’ve ever asked me. I mean, about me.”
I motioned toward her headset. “Where are you working now?”
“Well, I was helping out on Meredith and Ryan’s new show. But I quit. It’s going nowhere fast. I promise, it’s going to get cancelled before it even hits the air.” She shook her head. “Meredith is terrible. Just awful in front of the camera. And she’s actually like a pretty terrible person, too, if it makes you feel any better.”
“About sleeping with her husband? Not really.”
“Well, it would make me feel better.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I started working for Julie Diaz, who is fantastic.”
Julie was the agent I liked. And she was a perfect boss for Violet. She would grant her access to everybody.
“She’s getting into production, and we’ve talked about my running development for her,” Violet said, beaming.