THE LAST PLACE Molly Quinn wanted to be tonight was at the Merchant Seafarer Resort, wearing a snug cocktail dress and her feet in a new pair of heels that added a good three inches to her height and blisters on each of her pinky toes.
A parking attendant took her keys and she handed him a generous tip before taking a breath and entering the luxurious lobby. Cool air washed over her and she made a conscious effort to tamp down her irritation. It didn’t help that she’d been in heels since seven this morning, in the office early to prepare for a deposition. After a grueling day with clients who’d acted more like children than adults, she’d changed at the office, left an hour early and then fought the traffic to get to the resort on Nantucket on time. Tomorrow she had to be in court by ten, so she had no option other than to drive back to the city tonight and get in at an ungodly hour. Why had she done this again?
She had to admit, it was a gorgeous spot. Positioned above a white-sand beach, with sloping grounds leading to the ocean, the Seafarer was a Nantucket icon: grand, timeless and a bastion of wealth and opulence. But Molly would have much preferred sitting on her balcony, sans footwear, sipping on a glass of rosé to attending such an event, no matter how wonderful the cause.
“Molly! You made it.”
Ryan O’Neill appeared out of nowhere, striding across the lobby as if he owned it, dressed in perfectly tailored Armani. Tall, with striking blue eyes and a hint of Irish red in his chestnut hair, he garnered attention wherever he went. Lately he’d received a good amount of attention because of his divorce from a somewhat obscure actress—one who was more recognizable now because of the public nature of the split. Ryan had brought the money into the relationship, and Molly had been the lawyer in charge of ensuring he kept as much of it as possible.
Moreover, she liked him, and they’d become friends of a sort. He was a train wreck at the moment on a personal level, but he was a nice, fun guy, and she hadn’t been able to say no when he’d asked her to attend tonight’s dinner and auction with him. No one wanted to attend these things alone and make for an odd number at a sponsored table—especially when you were the sponsor.
“Ryan.” She smiled genuinely and held out her hands. He took them and gave them a squeeze, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek in greeting.
“Thank you for coming tonight. There’s nothing worse than attending these things alone.”
She grinned up at him, feeling a little of her annoyance dissipate. “You’re welcome. Sorry I’m a little late.”
“It’s just getting started. Let’s get you a glass of wine, shall we?”
“Just one,” she cautioned. “I have to drive back to the city tonight.”
“Ah, yes. No staying at the hotel tonight, I remember.” He put a hand at her back and chuckled a little. “You do like to follow the rules.”
“Always.” She arched her back and moved away from his hand slightly, not wanting to settle into the touch that was both solicitous and...a little too familiar. She looked up at him, all Irish roguishness and twinkling eyes, and suppressed a sigh of irritation...and maybe a hint of regret. “Which is why I accepted your invitation tonight when I said no to the others. Officially you’re no longer my client, so I’m not breaking any rules.”
“Yet.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Still not staying the night. But nice try,” she teased. If she thought he really meant it, that his overtures were more than flirting, she would have refused the invitation. But she knew he was still a bit too raw from his divorce to do more than be charming.
He laughed now as he guided her from the lobby to the ballroom where the dinner and silent auction for a new opioid treatment center was being held. The other reason she hadn’t been able to say no to him was because she knew that it was a personal cause. Ryan’s brother had been in and out of rehab since he was twenty-two. Ryan had confessed to her during one of their meetings that finding the painkillers in his wife’s bag had been a critical moment in deciding if he wanted their marriage to continue. He’d immediately had Molly’s sympathy. And if she were being honest, the ugliness of his divorce had exhausted her and made her wonder if her exorbitant fees were, in fact, worth it.
But that was behind them now. The ballroom was stunning. Tables were bedecked with ivory and gold linens, and flower arrangements, heavy with lilies, sent out a pungent, exotic scent. The room was already half full of other guests, who mingled with long-stemmed or highball glasses in their hands. Chandeliers dripping with crystal winked over the assembled crowd, and soft music played. A waiter approached and Molly took a glass of something white and cool as Ryan asked for a whiskey.
It was a good cause. There was food. She had a good-looking, fun date. And she still really wanted to be home and out of the shoes and dress and Spanx that kept her figure smooth and a size smaller beneath her dress. As the Lycra dug into her ribs, she heard her mother’s voice in her head, reminding her of the extra ten pounds she always carried, and how certain dresses simply weren’t flattering. One day she was going to burn every single slimming garment she owned and say the heck with it.
For a while she and Ryan mingled, then moved on to peruse the auction items.
Each one represented a grand adventure, a trip of a lifetime. Displays were arranged with some featuring promotional videos, while others had representatives in attendance. She gawped at the offerings. There was an African safari. A castle in Provence, among the heady scent of lavender fields. Italy—including gondola rides in Venice, a wine agriturismo in Tuscany and a side trip to Malta and the famed Blue Grotto. The rain forest in Costa Rica and mountain climbing in Nepal. Bids had already been made on some of the adventures, and she sipped her wine and wondered what it would be like to actually take a trip like that. These were bucket-list items, she realized. Bucket lists to help those, like Ryan’s brother, who may never have the chance to do any of their bucket-list items if they didn’t kick their addictions.
It made her pause and think about her complaints that were really, in the overall scheme of things, small stuff. She had all this money and a great career and she wasn’t happy. So maybe it was time for a change. For some time she’d felt that family law was a mistake, and a bit too soul-destroying. The trouble was, she wasn’t at all sure what would make her happy.
Ryan was chatting to someone a few feet away and Molly stopped at a table, her attention caught by a monitor where killer whales curved through the waves, their dorsal fins straight and tall. The shot shifted to a group of kayakers sliding through the water, with huge sequoia trees, rolling hills of grapevines and a view of the ocean from a luxury hotel room. The words Island Outdoor Adventures crossed the screen, with the smaller words Vancouver Island, Canada.
Canada. Maybe