Worst Fears Realized (Stone Barrington 5)

“I’m telling you, Maddy, it’s over, and I really, really need to see you.”

“Oh, all right; where and what time?”

“Seven-thirty at the Ritz-Carlton?”

“Which restaurant?”

“I’ll have a suite; we’ll order in.”

“You’re very naughty, Bruce.”

“Just ask at the desk; see you then, babe.” Goldsmith hung up, chuckling. “Millie, get me my wife.” A moment later, his phone buzzed. “Ellen? It’s me. Listen, we’ve just had a big blowup here; Les Moyle has just walked out of the firm, leaving me with a critical deposition to do.”

“Oh, Bruce, you’re not going to fink out on this dinner party tonight,” his wife said, horrified. “I arranged this for your benefit, not mine.”

“Sweetie, I know, and I’m really sorry, but Les has left me up the creek, with nobody else to handle this but me.”

“Surely, you can spare a couple of hours for your guests.”

“Sweetheart, by dinnertime, I’ll be in San Francisco.”

“Oh, Jesus; for how long?”

“At least a week, maybe more; this is a big one, major money.”

“Bruce, we’ve got the Willards coming to East-hampton this weekend! You’re supposed to be entertaining them.”

“Call them and explain, will you? I’ll be working straight through the weekend with the client; I’ve got a lot of catching up to do on this case. Damn Moyle for doing this to us!”

“Oh, God, how am I going to face these people tonight?”

“You’ll manage, sweetie; you’re the greatest hostess in New York, you know.”

“You will be back for the school play, won’t you? Helen is starring, and she’s so counting on you.”

“I’ll move heaven and earth, if I can. Listen, pack me a bag, will you? The works, dinner jacket, too.”

“Dinner jacket? I thought this was a deposition!”

“The client wants me to meet some important people next week. Could be great for business.”

“I hate you for this,” she said.

“Baby, I know how you feel, and I promise, I’ll make it up to you. How about Tuscany this summer? And listen, will you just leave my suitcases with the doorman? I’m rushing to the airport, and I don’t even have time to come upstairs.”

“Oh, all right!” She slammed down the phone.

Goldsmith buzzed his secretary. “Millie, call Pebble Beach and get me a two o’clock tee time tomorrow, and book me into the Inn, a nice suite, ocean view. Talk to the manager, if you have to; tell him it’s for me. And call the car and tell Mike to be sure my clubs are in the trunk; if they’re not, tell Pebble Beach to keep a set of Callaways for me—the tungsten-titanium irons, nothing else.”

“I’ve got your deposition case packed. Anything else?”

“I think that’ll do it.” Goldsmith hung up and dialed his urologist’s number, then got his secretary on the line. “Hey, sweetheart, how are you?”

“Fine, Mr. Goldsmith.”

“Listen, big favor; my wife and I are off to San Francisco this afternoon, kind of a second honeymoon. Will you call the Ritz-Carlton out there, get the name of a drugstore, and phone in a Viagra prescription for me?”

“Sure, how many?”