His eyes were firmly on the road when he said, “Promise me you’ll stop seeing Violet.”

“Promise me you’ll stop ignoring my calls and texts.”

He could have pointed out that there was no reason for him to respond to her. It was over. Finished. Kaput. But now he knew what Nat was capable of. He had to manage her carefully.

“I promise,” he said, glancing over at her. She looked terrible—sticky, sloppy, disheveled—but he was still attracted to her. “We can talk next week, when I’m back in the city.”

“Okay,” she acquiesced. “I’ll blow Violet off.”

“Do you need more money?” he asked hopefully. “If I wasn’t generous enough when we met for lunch, I can give you more.”

“This isn’t about the money,” she said, and he could hear the pain in her voice. “This is about us.”

It had been worth a try.

The Bridgehampton Community House with its two-story portico was visible now. The luxury bus was already there, loading a handful of unfortunate passengers who had to head back to the city on a Saturday afternoon. He’d purchased Natalie a ticket on his phone while she’d said goodbye to Violet. They were just going to make it. Stomping on the gas pedal, Gabe squealed onto the street, pulled the Mercedes up a few yards away from the massive idling cruiser.

“I’ll be back in the city on Monday,” he said, turning to his sniveling passenger. “We can talk properly then.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he said, hiding his exasperation as well as he could. “You have to get on the bus now.”

She took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring slightly, her chest rising. But she didn’t move. Was she going to defy him? Refuse to get out of the car? He would drag her by the hair onto that bus, if he had to. He’d do anything to get her out of here, away from Violet, away from Celeste. Exasperation and panic fluttered in his chest and throat. He was about to plead with her when she lunged.

Her mouth came down hard on his, her tongue forcing its way between his lips. She had vaulted the console, was almost straddling him. Her breasts, under his daughter’s T-shirt, pressed into his chest. He didn’t want to respond, didn’t want her to know how hot she made him, but when her hand reached down to his crotch, his dick betrayed him. She stopped then, gave him a bleary, self-satisfied smile.

“I’ll see you in the city,” she said. She got out of the car, grabbed her overnight bag from the back seat, and strolled to the bus.

He tore out of there like a bat out of hell, but within a couple of minutes, he realized he had to pull over. Gabe’s heart was beating erratically, and for the second time that day, he worried he was about to have a heart attack. On the side of the road, he attempted to breathe slowly, deeply, but it felt like there was a giant rock pressing down on his chest. This feeling was strange, unfamiliar. He was sweating and vibrating, a lump of emotion lodged in his throat. He hadn’t cried in decades, hadn’t cried at his own parents’ funerals, but he was going to now.