Even through her cloud of humiliation, Eliza spotted clearly an opportunity for revenge.
"No problem," she said. "You should talk to his former partner, Richard Mendelsohn--he financed the line until they parted ways last year. And a few of his design associates; some of them don't work there anymore. His socialite friends. He used to hang out with my friend Taylor's mom, Pringle. Oh, and Anna Perry too. She knows him from way back. They'll have tons of scandalous stories, I'm sure." A vindictive smile appeared on Eliza's face.
"You are the best!" Mara said gratefully.
"Yeah, that's me. The best." Eliza sighed.
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"Liza, is something wrong? You sound weird."
"No--it's nothing. I'm just tired," Eliza dismissed. Revenge was sweet, but it offered little consolation. Getting Sydney crucified in print wouldn't do much to get her job back. She suddenly wished she hadn't been so backstabbing but justified her snarkiness by telling herself she was helping a friend.
"Okay," Mara said doubtfully. "Insane entrance, by the way. It's all everybody's talking about."
That's the problem, Eliza thought, but she didn't say anything to Mara. They said their good-byes and Eliza hung up. She walked out to the front of the store, looking for Jeremy. He had texted earlier to say he was running late because of a client meeting but that he would meet her outside as soon as it was over.
She found him standing in front of his truck, talking animatedly to Paige on the now-deserted red carpet. Come again? How and why did they know each other? She saw him give Paige a kiss on the cheek. Eliza hung back in the shadows, feeling like an intruder.
When Paige finally disappeared in a taxi, Eliza walked up to him, careful about where to step.
"Hey, babe." Jeremy grinned, giving her a quick hug. "Is this what the beautiful people are wearing this summer? T-shirts? What happened to your shoes?"
"How do you know her?" Eliza asked, climbing up into the truck without bantering back.
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"Who?" Jeremy asked, backing out from the curb and putting an arm around Eliza's headrest.
"That girl you were just talking to. Paige McGinley."
"Oh, Paige. We grew up on the island together," he said. "Old friend of mine. She really climbed up the corporate ladder quick, huh? Pretty impressive. Do you work for her?"
Great, Eliza thought. Just what she needed to hear. Jeremy was fraternizing with the enemy. "It's a long story."
"Oh yeah? What'd I miss?" he asked, since he'd arrived at the party too late to witness her star-making entrance.
"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head. She didn't want to get into it just then.
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mara's sense of humor floats away with the tide
THE FOAMY LATTE WAS A WELCOME PICK-ME-UP, AND, ARMED with the data from Elizas e-mail, Mara felt pumped and ready to pull an all-nighter and write her article. She walked from the Starbucks back to the Sag Harbor dock. The boats were rocking gently, and Mara walked down the length of the pier until she realized she'd passed their spot--where was the Malpractice? She walked back and forth until she finally realized: it was just not there.
The boat--and, more importantly, her computer--were gone!
Stolen! was the first thing that
came to mind. . . . Call 911! Ryan hadn't made it to the event, so something terrible must have happened! She had to report a boat-jacking! Her imagination ran wild with Colombian drug dealers and illegal arms merchants hijacking the yacht for their dire purposes--for a moment, she was utterly convinced Ryan had been kidnapped!
A minute later, she realized she was being completely ridiculous. The boat hadn't been pirated or stolen. Ryan had obviously gone for a midnight sail. She guessed he felt that was more important than meeting her at the party.
She punched his number frantically on her Black Berry. Her
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computer was on that boat, and her article was due in a couple of hours. But there was no service in the bay, and the closest Mara got to reaching him was when an automated voice informed her, "The number you are trying to reach cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again."