Page 16

The soft whoosh of the revolving door dragged Jean’s attention from the origami python she was folding as a surprise for Charlie.

She hoped the person entering the lobby was another employee, because her shift was over in fifteen minutes, and the last thing she needed was to get stuck helping a needy guest. Not when Charlie had been texting her all day with hints about his plans for the evening like, I hope you’re ready to swing, my jungle queen.

Followed by an immediate, From vines, in case she thought he was proposing a threesome.

Readying her customer-service smile, Jean stood and faced the front entrance. And then blinked several times, certain her eyes were playing tricks.

“Surprise!” said the voice of someone who should have been on a different continent. The beaming young socialite and erstwhile acquaintance of Jean’s roommate’s boyfriend held both arms wide, her halo of dark curls dancing like they had their own wind machine. “Miss me?”

“Hildy?”

“I know!” She bounced up to the desk, setting down an overnight bag that probably cost as much as Jean’s last car. “It’s like old times.”

That was not Jean’s first thought. “What are you doing here?”

“It felt like you were all hanging out without me, so I decided to join the fun.” Propping both arms on the counter, her unexpected visitor leaned in. “And I’m hot on the trail of a story, so two birds, one stone.”

Hildy Johnson was many things: college student, niece to one of the most powerful men in media, and an aspiring magazine editor who was hopefully one day going to permanently hire Jean’s best friend Libby as her star reporter.

And possibly send a steady stream of illustration work Jean’s way.

She was also a champion meddler, a quality Jean both recognized and respected, though she didn’t necessarily want to get roped into one of Hildy’s schemes at this precise moment in time.

“Should I book you a room?” Jean asked.

“That can wait.” For someone who had just flown across an ocean, Hildy was buzzing with energy, her skin practically giving off sparks. “Don’t you want to know what it is? My big lead?”

Jean surreptitiously checked the time. “Totally,” she lied. “Although that’s really more Libby’s department.”

“Which obviously I stopped there first, only apparently, she’s off ‘taking pictures of birds’ with her lover man,” Hildy said, adding index-finger air quotes.

“I don’t think that’s a euphemism. That is what they’re doing. Since Jefferson is a wildlife photographer.”

“Mmkay,” Hildy said doubtfully. “Super inconvenient for me, but don’t worry. I’m already working on Plan B.”

Jean felt a prickle of foreboding. She thought of texting Charlie to tell him she’d be late, but there was still a chance she could make a quick exit. Quick-ish. “Good for you.”

“Right? It hit me on the way here. Since I wasn’t going to invite myself to stay at your apartment.”

“Not if you aren’t current on your tetanus shots.”

“Plus this way I can be right here with you, in the thick of it. Honestly, you’re in an even better position to help. Hashtag silver linings.”

“Because you need an artist, or is this a hospitality emergency?” Jean would happily toss a pile of towels at Hildy on her way to Charlie’s.

Hildy glanced over both shoulders before answering. “Is there somewhere more private we could talk? Ideally with a bar.”

The revolving door spun, spitting Pauline into the lobby to take over for Jean on the concierge desk. Clearly the universe was bending itself to Hildy’s will. Sighing, Jean sent a quick text to Charlie. Need to take care of something. Be there as soon as I can. Sorry.

She’d make it up to him later. Stepping around the desk, she grabbed Hildy’s bag. “Right this way, mademoiselle.”

“It’s a missing person,” Hildy confided when they were seated at a secluded two-top near the terrace bar. She glanced down at the menu. “Which as you know is totally in my wheelhouse.”

“You’re not talking about yourself, are you?

” A few ratings cycles ago, Hildy had been the subject of a media firestorm after briefly getting lost in a snowy wilderness, an experience she’d managed to parlay into a choice internship with her uncle’s company.

Despite her general bias against nepo babies, Jean admired the gamesmanship.

“This is a way bigger story,” Hildy assured her. “ Major celebrity.”

Jean racked her brain for someone famous who’d disappeared lately. She hadn’t exactly been keeping track of the latest gossip, especially since Charlie came into her life. “I give up.”

“Adriana. Asebedo.” Hildy gave each of the pop star’s names the weight of an asteroid crashing down from the sky.

“Adriana Asebedo is missing?” Jean really had been out of touch, living her sexy cottage era. “And you think she’s staying here ?”

“Uh, no. There’s no way she could travel without a security detail. I’m talking about someone Adriana Asebedo–adjacent.” Hildy danced her perfectly sculpted eyebrows up and down, like that should be a big enough hint.

“The Beatles?” Jean guessed.

“No, silly. Her ex. Who she wrote the song about.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“‘The Lost Weekend.’ Her ‘silent storm’?”

“No shit. Seriously?” That song was legendarily horny, with a hooky melody and tinge of melancholy that basically said, ‘I had the best sex of my life but now my lover is gone, and I’ll never stop yearning for their touch.

’ It wasn’t just a hit; that song was a cultural phenomenon that had spawned its own catchphrase: the Lust Weekend.

Hildy took a moment to savor Jean’s reaction before setting down her menu. “I think I’ll have a Pike’s Pale Ale. Seems appropriate, under the circumstances.”

Jean had forgotten Adriana’s ex was some kind of beer person.

That was what passed for normal in celebrity land: not an actor or a Formula One driver or a record exec, like her other lovers, but still filthy rich and camera ready.

The song about him spent longer at number one than the relationship had lasted, which only seemed to intrigue her fans more.

“You can see it, right?” Hildy pressed the fingertips of both hands to the tabletop, like it was a piano she was about to play.

“The Bangin’ Beer Baron drops off the face of the earth, only to resurface months later.

Where has he been? Does he still love Adriana?

Is there a chance they’re getting back together?

It’s mystery, it’s second-chance romance, it’s sex.

This story has everything.” She sat back, staring at Jean as if she expected her to burst into applause.

“And you think he’s staying here?”

“I’m like eighty percent positive. Which is why I need your help.” Hildy batted her lashes.

“What are you picturing here, fake room service? Or the two of us hiding in a laundry cart, and then we burst out and say ‘gotcha!’ There are four hundred rooms at this place.”

Hildy waved this off. “We’ll be strategic.

First, there’s the timing. He would have checked in about a week ago, because that’s when he was supposed to get on a connecting flight through the airport here, but according to my sources, he went AWOL instead.

Second, he’s notoriously press shy, which means he won’t want to be recognized.

Last time there was a probable sighting, it was a mob scene.

Somebody tagged a guy who kind of looked like him on Insta and the next thing you know, they’re shutting down a Trader Joe’s because shit got real in the salsa aisle.

Because he’s allegedly a sex god,” Hildy added, at Jean’s perplexed look.

“Everyone wants to throw their panties at him. Or gift wrap the guy and deliver him to Adriana so she can be eternally grateful.”

“Alive or like… a hunting trophy?”

“Who can say? Parasocial relationships are a tricky beast. I could write a whole dissertation about it, if I wanted to stay in school that long. But obviously this is where I belong. In the heart of the action.” Hildy sat back, her expression smug.

“He’s not going to be in the main building.

Too risky. You must have a supersecret special place for VIPs.

A private villa or the penthouse level or something right on the beach? ”

“There are cottages,” Jean admitted, following a silent internal battle. It wasn’t like she could pretend they didn’t exist. Hildy was more than capable of checking the website.

“Great. That’s where we’ll start the search.”

“There’s more than one.” Somewhere in Jean’s nervous system, an alert was chiming.

“We only care about the ones with a hot young guy staying alone. Unless he’s not alone, which would be a whole other layer to the story. ‘Prince of Pilsner Cheats on Adriana!’ That kind of thing. Though obviously I’d make it way classier.”

“I thought they broke up.”

“The public will still have strong feelings about him bringing his ‘silent storm’ to a different harbor, if you feel me.”

Jean was not in the mood to analyze Adriana Asebedo’s sex metaphors. “If he’s even here. Much less seeing someone new.”

“Which is why we’ll cross-reference with the check-in date, do a little recon, and then bingo, Charlie Pike.”

Jean was pretty sure the blood that should have been animating her brain had all drained down to her gut. “His name is Charlie?”

“I know, right? They never call him that. It’s always Sexy Sudsy. The Hottie of Hops. Besides, I’m sure he’s registered under a fake name. But that’s not going to stop us. You know why?”

Jean shook her head.

“We know how to ID him beyond a shadow of doubt.”

“We do?” Jean asked faintly.

“One of my cousins plays tennis with a guy who was in the same dorm as Charlie Pike in college, long before the Adriana days. And as we all know, locker rooms can be a gold mine of information. Especially about certain unique physical characteristics.” She cleared her throat suggestively.

“The kind you can’t disguise with a pair of glasses. ”

“Are we talking about dicks?”

“No.” Hildy wrinkled her nose. “Tattoos.”

“Does he have a full sleeve?” Jean wondered if Hildy could hear the edge of desperation in her voice.

“Like that would narrow it down. Do you want to guess? I’ll give you three tries. Location or what it is.”

This was one game Jean had no desire to win. On the other hand, the suspense was about to kill her. She crossed her fingers under the table. “Tramp stamp?”

Hildy stuck her thumb out as she shook her head. “That’s one.”

“Barbed wire around the bicep?”

Another finger went up. “Second strike.”

Jean had a hard time swallowing around the bitterness in her throat. “Please tell me it’s not a snake.”

“Damn!” Hildy smacked the table with her hand. “I can’t believe you got that. But you’ll never guess where it is.”

“You might be surprised.”

Hildy’s eyes narrowed in speculation. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“No,” Jean said honestly, standing up from the table. This was a time for action, not words.

“Where are you going?” Hildy reached for her bag. “Does this have something to do with Charlie Pike? Jean! Let me come with you.”

“Not now, Hildy.” Somebody was about to get his ass handed to him.

Snake and all.