Page 31 of Maneater (The Mavens #1)
TWENTY
JOSIE
The next day and a half are uneventful, and after our chaotic morning and intimate breakfast, Rowan does everything in his power to avoid me.
In fact, I don’t see him for the rest of the day after our breakfast, nor do I see him the following day.
We also seem to be hitting wall after wall while trying to further narrow our suspect list.
This is why tonight’s cocktail party is important: it’s a great opportunity to mingle and watch employees work.
We’re both in full Mavens’ attire, and I’m finishing up my dramatic smoky eye makeup for the evening while Rory sits at the small desk and continues to jot down thoughts and ideas, trying to find connections.
“There was another leak,” Rory says, a pen behind her ear, scrolling on her phone. “Mentions of Gene rubbing sunscreen on his new girlfriend. No photos, fortunately, but they seem to be from the same day we arrived here.”
“The same day, we saw Regina Reynolds on her phone.” I think about that contemplatively. I have my own gut instinct on it, but I pose the question to Rory all the same. “Do you think she could be our guy?”
She thinks on it for a moment before shaking her head, confirming my own thoughts. “Regina? No.”
We’d already determined that Regina is probably the leak, though, from Rory’s hacking; she hasn’t been to other resorts, so we can’t be completely sure just yet. But she’s not responsible for the sabotage.
“Look at the data. The leaks span too long and over multiple resorts. Whatever is happening here is a centralized issue. The leak is a problem, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not our issue for this assignment. The problem just happens to be here at the same time.”
I tip my head, thinking. “Okay, that makes sense. The leaks started, what? A year ago?”
She nods again. “According to Annette and my research, September of last year. Four resorts since, no rhyme or reason to where, though I’m assuming there’s someone higher up giving her intel on who is going to be where.
” She gives me a look, a question I can interpret without words, and I shake my head in answer.
“No, no. I don’t think it could be Rowan.”
She gives me a look, not disbelieving but asking for more information so I can explain. We never judge one another’s gut feelings, but we expect each other to explain them.
“I told you, I got him to open up at breakfast. He’s stressed about the leaks and not in a tell-me-to-make-me-feel-bad-for-him kind of way.
He seemed shocked that he let the leaked info slip at all.
” My gut tells me that slip of his is why I haven’t seen him since breakfast. Not because he’s exceptionally busy, but because he realized he was far too comfortable around me.
“I agree,” she says, surprising me a bit. “I just need to make sure we’re always on the same page.”
I nod, understanding, before changing the subject, not wanting to talk about Rowan.
“Okay, so what next? Jeff is off the list for the foreseeable future,” I say of the excursion employee with a broken leg. If he were our guy, I doubt he would have purposely injured himself in a way that, from what I’ve heard, will need surgery.
“Next, I want to try to get some information from employees. I think our guy works for the resort. Horace would be the easiest, most obvious suspect, but my gut says it’s not him.
” We both know that having an innate connection to your gut is half the battle in this career.
“He doesn’t seem the type to want to put that much work into something.
But I’d also like to confidently cross him out, so engaging with him more would be good. ”
I nod, agreeing. “Knocking him out for good early would clear our list up. He’s going to be at the cocktail party tonight.”
“How do you know that?”
“I may or may not have bumped into him at breakfast yesterday. He was very disappointed to see you weren’t with me, but I told him we’d try to make an appearance tonight.”
I smile and nod.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint him,” I say, spraying a healthy dose of perfume into the air and walking through the cloud before sliding into my shoes to head down to the party.
“I’m going to get a drink and talk to the bartender,” Rory says as we move into the ballroom where the cocktail hour is being held, and I nod. Bartenders see all, so if you can get one on your side, it’s always beneficial.
I look around, trying to find a target, and my eyes narrow on the incoming hallway as I spot Horace and Regina.
I turn back to Rory, who is in a gorgeous short, light green dress that flares at her hips and stops at mid-thigh, her blonde hair moving down her back in a straight curtain.
My dress is strapless, tight all over, and a pretty burnt-orange color that looks amazing with my hair, which is blown out into loose waves, my makeup is all smoky eyes, and a red lip.
Essentially, I’m in full-blown man-eater mode.
“I’m going to stick around up here, I think. Then wander around, see if I can catch anything.” She gives me a perplexed look for a moment before nodding, never questioning my methods the way I never question hers, and we part ways.
I mingle a bit at the entryway, smiling and nodding to a few other guests I’ve seen around before.
That’s when I catch Regina waving for Horace to go ahead of her into the party, putting up a one-minute finger and tipping her head toward the ladies’ room. He nods, then moves toward the main room.
Regina doesn’t head into the bathroom as implied.
Instead, she steps back and moves through her bag in a way I’ve done myself a million times.
She’s not looking for anything, not really.
As she digs, her head moves up, observing, looking down the hall and into the party, then toward the lobby.
It’s a move I’ve done a million times, discreetly trying to take in your surroundings and find something worth noting without drawing attention to yourself.
I smile at Horace as he walks past, who nods before getting pulled away by Daniel, who clearly wants to show the high roller around.
Regina’s eyes look like they could be locked on her date, but I know better.
From where I’m standing, I can see her eyes are locked on Gene and his new girl, Jenny, as they approach the party, and I realize there’s a good chance Regina knew they were coming in behind her and she wanted an excuse to catch an extra glance at them.
Jenny gives the attendant a wide smile and thanks him, rejecting a drink before she walks into the cocktail party.
My stomach churns as Regina reaches into her bright blue clutch purse, which matches her dress, pulling out a phone and tapping the screen before slipping it back into the bag and making her way to the entrance of the party, her shoulders back and her smile wide.
Not the fake kind of wide, like she needs to put her carefully curated face back on, but the kind that says job well done . Mission accomplished .
I don’t like it.
Not at all. And, unfortunately, it has nothing to do with her invading someone else’s privacy or breaking the rules of this establishment.
To my absolute horror and utter denial, it has everything to do with the conversation yesterday with Rowan and the look of concern on his face when he confessed it was weighing on him.
Everything to do with how exhaustion clung to him almost visibly, how his shoulders slumped when he told me about the press leaks, and how, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t solve the problem.
And most of all, I’m horrified at my sudden urge to try and alleviate it.
Maybe I could help in this small way. It wouldn’t help our mission, and it wouldn’t stop whoever is causing trouble around the resort, but I’ve begun to convince myself that it will help clear the air—one less thing muddying the waters of our investigations.
I watch as Regina moves casually, grabbing a drink off a tray that’s being graciously walked around in the lobby. Finally, she reaches the entrance to the main room.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there are no bags at the cocktail mixer,” the employee at the door says, tipping her head toward a gilded sign that reads, “No phones or bags, please!”
“Excuse me?” Regina asks scathingly. The attendant gives her a soft, apologetic smile, clearly used to this reaction and totally unfazed.
“To create a better experience, we insist that no one bring any personal items into the ballroom.”
“But… But…” She’s floundering, trying to find an excuse to be the exception before she says, “But this has my medication in it.” Regina lifts her clutch to her chest, and I roll my eyes at the obvious lie. God, some people are just not good at bending the truth.
“If there are any life-saving medications that you need to have on you at all times, they should have been on your file,” the attendant says with concern, then taps at a tablet that was sitting next to her a few times. “Let me look?— ”
“No, no,” she murmurs. “It’s not…” Another sigh escapes her as she looks around the space and into the room where Gene and Jenny disappeared. “It’s not life-saving. Just gas pills.”
The attendant gives her another far too soft and understanding look.
“Well, if you need anything in that bag at any time, you can either request that we get it for you or leave the party and grab it from the room over there.” She points to where people have been leaving their belongings all night.
“How do I know no one is going to steal anything?” she asks, further piquing my interest. Now, what could she be hiding in there that she doesn’t want anyone to find?
“It has video recording from all angles. Is there something highly valuable in there? We can take it and secure it for you in a safe where no guest can access it.”
“No, no,” she says a bit too quickly to be casual. “I’ll…” She looks like she’s contemplating leaving before a loud laugh comes from the room, and she sighs. “I’ll put my things in the room.” Then she storms off to the coatroom.
I stand at the very entrance of the party, seeming to be enjoying the view of the ocean from one of the many windows, but I’m really watching the reflection behind me in the glass to track when she leaves.
Finally, she does, looking a bit begrudged but smiling at Horace, who meets her not far into the room.
He takes her arm and leads her into the party.
Rory is inside, and I know she’ll keep an eye out once she sees Regina enter, so instead of following her into the party, I make my way to the bag room.
Once they’re out of sight, I make a gesture like I forgot something in case there are any eyes on me, then make my way toward the bag room.
I’m semi-surprised when I’m allowed to enter without any fanfare or proof that I’ve left something inside.
Then I look around the room, as if I’m searching for my bag, but really I’m looking for Regina’s bag, and also to see if anyone is in the room or entering soon.
The only other person in here is a woman, who is finding a far back corner of the room to leave her bag.
She looks around the room, and I avert my gaze as I scan the room for the blue bag.
Moments later, she walks out, and I let out a relieved sigh as I spot the blue clutch.
As I approach it, I attempt to look as casual as possible for the benefit of any security cameras and discreetly try to reach for my phone, which is tucked into my bra strap.
Then I’m moving through Regina’s bag. Her phone is right on top, and I quickly grab it, praying she’s one of those people who uses a common password.
One, two, three, four, five, six doesn’t work to my dismay, but I smile when 1-1-1-1-1-1 does, opening to her most recent screen, her notes app.
Instantly, I start taking photos. The most recent note says, “J not drinking, pregnant?” which makes me nauseous.
This asshole is not only invading people’s privacy but also speculating about the poor woman in this way.
Any mission featuring celebrities always brings a mixed feeling of ickiness, partly because while I am thoroughly entertained by celebrity drama, I also can’t imagine my private life being so on display, with every move being dissected in such a way.
As I move through her notes, I see that a few days ago, she wrote that the couple was at the pool, enjoying the sun, and he was rubbing sunscreen into her.
Bingo. She’s our leak—for this location, at least.
I look around the room and listen for an incoming guest before I slip out her wallet.
There is her ID, which states her name is Regina Sands.
It’s not the name she gave us, but it’s not too far out of the realm.
I wonder if we expand our search to simply guests named Regina around the time of the leaks, what we would find.
Quickly, I snap a picture before slipping it back in and continuing my hunt.
That’s when I hit the jackpot: a business card tucked carefully between the folds of her wallet with the contact information for an editor at Fan Magazine .
I take one last photo before sliding my phone back into my bra, then close everything up and hang the purse back up, straightening my back as I stand and smile at my own job well done.
I may not have pinpointed the culprit of the sabotage, but I have found the source of the celebrity intel leak.
It feels good to be able to give something to the client.
I’m just about to try on my heels and head to the party to schmooze a bit when I hear a familiar deep voice fill the room.