“Tough balancing act.”
“It’s not one thirteen-year-old shooting another in the back, but, yeah, it’s tough.” His tone wasn’t as defensive as it could have been given the sentiment beneath his words. “I’m also known as a spoiled pain in the ass. That doesn’t help.”
“Are you?”
Deegan paused, looked back at Griffen’s long, slim, tanned body as she swam back toward their end of the pool. His mouth was grim, and he said with unexpected self-awareness, “I’m trying not to be.”
Jeremiah breathed in the fragrant air, wishing he’d had more sleep last night. He was missing something. Some connection, some fragment of insight, information, truth. Here he was, sitting by a pool in Palm Beach chatting with a rich kid who was neck deep in trying to establish his own identity. It was as if someone had transported him, Jeremiah Tabak, hard-hitting Miami Tribune investigative reporter, out of his real life and dropped him on the damned moon. This was Helen Samuel’s territory, not his.
A fragment floated by, and he grabbed it, turning to Deegan. “Your parents gave you the green light to intern with Mollie because of her relationship with Leonardo Pascarelli, didn’t they?”
Deegan seemed surprised at his insight, and admitted grudgingly, “That’s right. It allowed them to save face. They let me intern with Mollie or they’d have had to start talking cutting off the trust fund, and they don’t want to do that. Too complicated and time-consuming, too messy. So, the Leonardo connection gave them an out.” He poured himself a margarita, shrugging, distancing himself from his own emotions about his parents. He was twenty-one, the legal drinking age. What did he care? “It allowed them to postpone our day of reckoning another few months.”
“I see. Does Mollie know or does she actually think she’s getting to teach you something?”
He went momentarily sullen as he replaced the pitcher and sat back with his margarita glass. “She’s doing right by me. I’m trying to do right by her.”
“You learning anything?”
“I do my job.”
In other words, up yours, Tabak. Deegan Tiernay not only was spoiled, Jeremiah decided, but an arrogant little shit. Of course, the kid was twenty-one. He was trying to sort out his identity and responsibilities and probably had no idea, really, how goddamned good he had it. He was rich, he was Michael and Bobbi Tiernay’s only son, Diantha Atwood’s only grandson, and he had a pretty, older, successful girlfriend. Why not be full of himself?
“I don’t think Mollie realizes the extent her relationship with Leonardo colors how people around here think about her,” Deegan went on. “She doesn’t flaunt it or use it to her advantage—she doesn’t think that way—but other people do. Other people,” he said, sipping his margarita, “meaning most everyone around here.”
“Her clients?”
He shook his head. “The Leonardo connection might get them at first, but it wouldn’t keep them—and once they get to know her, they forget about him. It’s just going to be hard for her to figure out who her real friends are and who’s just pretending because of her godfather.” Deegan studied Jeremiah a moment, his damp skin drying quickly in the last of the day’s sun. “I know you think I’m a jerk. No, no, it’s okay, you’re not the first. I just…well, I do respect Mollie.”
“That’s good,” Jeremiah said.
Griffen scrambled out of the pool and snatched a towel out from under Deegan, tossing it over her shoulders as she pulled up another lounge chair and poured herself a margarita. “Are you two talking about Mollie while she’s up trying to figure out what to wear? Shame on you.” She smiled, sliding onto her chair. “Men.”
Mollie emerged from the brick walk and joined them on the terrace. She wore a little black dinner dress with a jacket that hid her bruised neck. Simple earrings, no rings, no bracelets, no necklace. Hair brushed out, pale and shimmery in the fading light. She was, Jeremiah thought as she gave him a curt nod, more stunning than she realized.
Also not sure about having him behind her gates. “As you can see, I’m running late.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Deegan. “Stay as long as you like. You remember how to lock up?”
“Yep. Have a good time. Griffen and I will make sure the silver stays safe.”
Mollie gave a mock shudder. “I’m beginning to understand why my parents don’t own anything. It’s too complicated.”
“What’s so complicated about locking the door and turning on the alarm system?” Deegan was highly amused. “Ah, the different worlds we live in. See you in the morning, Mollie.”
“Thanks for letting us hang out here,” Griffen said.
“No problem.”
“If the phone rings, do you want us to answer it?”