Chapter 15

It took almost a week for me to get back to normal, but Friday afternoon Marty surprised me by showing up at the Brazilian Court, looking like a true Palm Beacher in his linen shirt with a cashmere sweater draped over his shoulders, khakis, and loafers with no socks. His fake Rolex would pass all but the closest of inspections.

As I assessed him spinning in my doorway and looking a little like a model, all he said to me was “Got any plans?”

I let the smile spread across my face as I said, “None at all.”

I almost thought he’d take me for another walk along the beach, but he told me to dress up and not expect to be back at the hotel for quite a while. I had no idea what that meant.

We hopped into his BMW and drove across the bridge into the center of downtown West Palm. Traffic was much heavier than it was on the island, and I was curious where we were headed.

He turned onto some side roads, obviously to throw me off and have some fun. The man took his games seriously, and I loved that. Then we found ourselves westbound on Okeechobee once again and crossing over I-95.

Finally I had to ask, “Where are we going?”

His goofy smile was infectious as he said, “You’ll see. We’re just going to play a game. Are you up for that?”

I could’ve said That depends, but I really was in the mood for something different. I needed to get my head out of my troubles, at least for a little while.

So I grabbed his free hand, which was resting on the gearshift. “Yes.”

When Marty pulled in to the Bentley dealer off Okeechobee, I became even more curious. This was a fun game, and I had no idea where it was headed. I knew there had to be some connection to seeing Brennan in his own Bentley the other day, but I was happy to watch the whole thing unfold.

I was in a dress that was more appropriate for an evening event but could pass for business attire at some of the higher-end jewelry stores or any of the shops on Worth Avenue. The Christian Louboutin pumps on my feet weren’t the easiest things to walk in, but they made my calves pop, so I had thrown a pair of comfortable shoes into the bag Marty had told me to pack.

I resisted the urge to ask questions and spoil the spontaneity as we walked, hand in hand, through the front door of the dealership and stood next to a dark red Mulsanne. Marty looked through the window of the car and down the hood like he was checking for imperfections. That drew a salesman like chum draws sharks.

We endured the introductions and a few minutes of small talk until the tall salesman, about forty-five, who could’ve been selling Mazdas as well as Bentleys, said, “So what, exactly, brings you out here today?”