No, everything was not okay. I was heartbroken and downright upset over this entire situation I’d allowed myself to be put in, but I couldn’t tell him that. He knew nothing of my brief affair with Logan. I drew in a deep breath and found some inner strength. “Yes, I’m fine.” This time I managed a smile that had to look as fake as it felt.

“Okay then, I have a favor to ask you.”

Before I could think of what to say, because the last thing I wanted to do was another favor for him, the waiter arrived with our food. “Lobster rolls,” he said, placing our plates in front of us. “Can I get you anything else?”

Michael looked over at me and I shook my head. “No, I think we’re good. If you could just bring the check, I’m in a bit of a hurry today.”

“Yes, certainly, Mr. O’Shea, no problem.”

Michael was a regular at B&G Oysters. He’s the one who turned me on to the restaurant and to lobster rolls. Both of which I loved, but neither of which pleased me today.

I looked down at my rectangular plate of food—the sandwich on one side, the sea-salt-seasoned fries on the other, and in the middle pickles and a small silver container of ketchup.

Ketchup.

Even the stupid condiment made me think of Logan, and my mind drifted back to the first night we’d met.

Logan had been sitting across from me at the table and I couldn’t get the ketchup to come out of the bottle. He took it from me and magically poured some onto my plate. Those hazel eyes lifted seductively. “The secret is knowing where the sweet spot is,” he’d said. That was the first time my stomach had ever done a full belly flop over a guy.

Michael cleared his throat.

Pulled from my thoughts, my eyes darted across the table.

“I have this fundraiser Wednesday night that I was hoping you would attend with me.”

Shocked, I tried not to let my mouth drop open. “What kind of fundraiser?”

After taking a bite from his sandwich, he wiped his mouth. “Political.”

I blinked. “The fundraising for next year’s elections starts this early?”

He nodded. “I’m a little behind the ball and I have a lot of ground to make up.”

“I don’t know, Michael. Politics aren’t anything I know that much about.”

“Please, Elle, I could really use as much support as I can get.”

Not at all wanting to go, I felt like I should. “Can I think about it?”

Michael took another bite of his food. “Sure. My hope is that you’ll say yes. It’s at the University of Massachusetts and it’s a big one. We’re hoping to raise $250,000. A friend of mine was able to arrange for a well-connected alumnus to speak. He’s sure to attract a deep-pocketed crowd.”

“That’s great. I’m certain it will be a success. What is the dress code should I decide to attend?”

Reaching under the table, he pulled the bag out. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of buying you something to wear. You look like you’re close to Elizabeth’s size, so I went with that.”

I wasn’t certain how to take that. On one hand it was nice of him; on the other, was he worried I wouldn’t know how to dress? I took the bag from him. “Thank you. I’m not sure what to say.”

He looked a little sheepish. “It’s not meant to offend you in any way, so please don’t take it like that. I just didn’t know if you’d have anything to wear to a black-tie affair and I didn’t want you to stress out about spending the money to purchase something. If you don’t like it or if it doesn’t fit, you can take it back and exchange it. Or if you have something you prefer to wear, you can keep it or return it.”

The sincerity in his voice pushed away any animosity I might have had. “No, I appreciate it. I don’t actually have anything formal and I’ll let you know by tomorrow. Let me look at my schedule.”

His phone beeped and he glanced at the screen. His face instantly paled. “I have to go.” He grabbed the bill that the waiter had discreetly placed on the table and then peeled off some twenties from his wallet before setting them inside the leather folio.

“What is it?” I asked.

He leaned forward and whispered, “The men who were supposed to deliver the product to your boutique were found shot to death in their van this morning.”

“What?” I felt ill. “Why? What’s going on?”

“That’s all I know.”

“Who told you?”

He ignored my question and sent a text message before he finally looked up and answered me. “A news text alert. I’m late for a meeting. I really should be going.”

For some reason, I didn’t believe him. I pushed my plate away. “It’s fine. I’m done.”

“Are you sure?”

I waved my hand. “Yes, go.”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t be late for this meeting with my br—” He stopped before finishing.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

That was another lie.

I wasn’t sure I would be fine ever again.

I sat there, watching the rain out the window for the longest time. Something was going on. Something more than I had imagined. Would Logan have eliminated the deliverymen so as not to expose the fact that the product had actually been delivered to my boutique? I just didn’t think so. If not him, then who did? It was way too coincidental to be a random crime. I pondered it for a long while before leaving to go home in the pouring rain.

Later that evening, I was lying in my bed, my mind a web of tangled lies, lost love, and incoherent thoughts, when my phone rang.

I grabbed for it, hopeful, yet knowing I shouldn’t be. I was in the very state of mind that I wanted to avoid. I hated feeling like this. Glancing at the screen, the number attached to the call was blocked, but I answered anyway. “Hello?” I said quickly.

“Hello, Elle.”

“Who is this?”

The voice was deep. “Someone who wants to help you.”

“Who is this?” I asked again, this time louder.

“That’s not important but what is important is that you understand your role and understand that sometimes the toughest decisions are also the easiest. If you doubt you should say yes, just think of the little lives God has created and go forth wisely.”

Chills ran down my spine.

Say yes?

Say yes to what?

DAY 13

LOGAN

The general etiquette in black-tie dressing was that there should be no watch on your wrist. The unwritten rule stated that if a timepiece had to be worn, it should be a pocket watch, but if one absolutely must wear a wristwatch, it should be a slim dress version thin enough to hide underneath French cuffs.

My big, sporty Patek didn’t really meet the qualifications, but then again most of the time I doubted I myself met the qualifications.

I hated going to events like this because of all the social niceties one had to abide by, but at least this time I wasn’t being forced to attend by my mother or grandfather. This time I was on a mission that would bring me closer to getting Elle back in my life.

The campus was all too familiar. After I’d fucked up and gotten kicked out of Harvard at orientation for stupidly thinking I could sell drugs on campus and get away with it, my father pulled some strings of his own and got me into the School of Law at UMass. My mother was so disappointed in me that she didn’t talk to me for almost a year, and my grandfather Ryan was equally as upset and only talked to me a dozen or so times during my entire law school stint. Like I’d come to realize, they were two peas in a pod.

As I parked and looked out over the harbor, my mind was anywhere but here. It was on Elle. It had been since I saw her get in that cab. How was she? What was she doing? Did she miss me as much as I missed her? Fuck, just standing there, I could still remember the way she tasted.

Shaking my melancholy off, I forced myself to focus and headed inside to find Pierce Foley. Pierce was a thirty-something Upper East Sider whose wife was connected to the Kennedys, and that relationship had the couple rallying among the political fundraisers all up and down the East Coast.