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A week of access to Hildy’s deep pockets confirmed one of Jean’s long-standing suspicions: the only thing standing between her present circumstances and total world domination was an influx of cash.

Short on rent? Hildy covered the next month on the grounds that Jean was on assignment for Johnson Media, so it was basically an advance on salary.

New wardrobe and travel expenses? Ditto.

Which meant Jean could pretend it didn’t matter when the manager at Dolphin Bay let her go on the grounds that her work didn’t meet their standards of discretion and guest satisfaction.

As if! She’d provided plenty of satisfaction—way more than Charlie deserved. But whatever. Jean had no desire to stick around to witness the Charlie Pike frenzy.

She wondered how long it would take the hordes of reporters and fangirls to realize he was gone and slink back to their subterranean lairs. If Jean didn’t have bigger fish to fry, she would have stood out there with a megaphone:

Let me save you some trouble! He’s not as good as he looks!

On the inside, anyway.

But there was no time for that, because the wheels of vengeance were in motion.

Forget the sting of betrayal; Jean was pure action and forward momentum now.

It was lucky her best friend was still trekking around Kauai, because Libby would have asked how she was feeling, and tried to get her to process the emotional fallout from trusting the wrong guy.

But Jean had no interest in reliving the past, and sympathy could only slow her down.

A change of scenery and some risky behavior was the medicine she needed now.

Once Hildy ferreted out the information that the Pike family was holding a private centennial celebration at their estate in the Black Hills, the plan quickly coalesced over mai tais and coconut shrimp.

“It’s Fyre Fest if it wasn’t Fyre Fest,” Hildy reported, having checked in with the cousin of one of her sorority sisters.

“A smaller, more exclusive Coachella, with a select group of influential invitees. Well, influential in the beverage industry, which is not as glam as they’d like us to think, but whatever.

You’ll dazzle them with your wit and charm. They’ll be eating out of your hand.”

Jean grunted, ruthlessly suppressing an image of feeding Charlie dark chocolate and mango in bed.

“You’re the perfect inside woman,” Hildy assured her, mistaking the grumbling for self-doubt. “Charlie Pike is notoriously press shy, yet you managed to get past his defenses.” She raised her glass to Jean. “Which means you could do it again.”

“Hell yes, I can. I’ll blow up his life.

See how he likes them apples. The world needs to know who he really is.

” Not a shy, snake-loving future farmer enjoying his last taste of freedom but a spoiled little rich boy with a dubious relationship to the truth.

Never trust a trust-funder. Jean chugged her drink, enjoying the warmth spreading under her skin.

Who needed a lover’s embrace when there was so much rum in the world?

“If I’d known who he was, I would have had my guard up, since this is clearly his MO. ”

“First Adriana, now you,” Hildy agreed, with a flattering lack of irony. “He loves ’em and leaves ’em.”

It took Jean a beat to realize she meant “love” in the sense of making love.

Hildy wasn’t implying that Charlie had been in love with her.

Since obviously he wasn’t. “They must have been planning this for a long time. The party.” As opposed to Charlie’s side hustle scamming the ladies with his fake naivete.

“At least a year,” Hildy confirmed. “For an event of this scale. Any time you want to get a bunch of bigwigs together, the scheduling is a nightmare. Worse than a wedding.”

Which meant that Charlie—Mr. I Hate Crowds and Have No Plans for the Future—knew all along that he was about to skip town.

Because according to Hildy’s intel, his name was right there on the invite: Charles Pike IV and parents Charles III and Sandy Pike request the pleasure of your company as they celebrate 100 years of Pike’s Pale Ale…

A far cry from, Can you come over tonight, I have a surprise for you.

Ha!

Though you could argue Jean had gotten a very big surprise. Several, if you counted the discovery of Charlie’s other woman.

“You see what they’re doing with the ‘Special Performance by a Mystery Guest’ bit?

” Hildy waved a shrimp at her. “Dangling the possibility that Adriana Asebedo will be there, which obviously there’s no way, but it gets people talking.

‘Ooh, their son knows her, I wonder if that’s who they mean?

’ And then they’ll get some tribute band or one-hit wonder to play the actual concert, but it won’t matter because by then they’ll have a captive audience of drunk CEOs.

Pay a few C-list celebrities to mingle with the suits, call the caterer, and voilà!

Corporate nirvana. They’ll be pushing the Prince of Pilsner schtick hard.

Probably have a big blowup of his picture in People magazine. ”

Charlie would hate that , Jean thought, before giving herself a mental slap. What did she really know about him? Nothing true.

“I didn’t think you were into this gossipy stuff. Sex lives of celebrities. Or people who used to have sex with celebrities.” Jean felt the lower half of her face twist and had to pretend she’d swallowed a piece of shrimp cartilage, thumping her chest to sell it.

“I’m into winning ,” Hildy corrected, politely ignoring Jean’s drowning-on-dry-land bit.

“Same.” Their eyes met, and Jean saw the same mix of steely determination and a light buzz reflected back at her.

“To the sisterhood of scorned women.” Hildy tried to clink glasses, but Jean slid hers out of reach.

“Except I’m nobody’s victim.”

“Preach!”

“The way I see it—” Jean stuck out her arm, fingers bracketing a point in the middle distance like it was a movie screen—“I was too easy on him before. Now the gloves are off. This is about showing him what he’s missing.

” With a little help from a provocative new wardrobe. Good luck ignoring that, Charlie.

Hildy poked at the ice in her glass with a hot-pink straw. “I get that. You want payback, but without admitting he hurt you in the first place.”

“Exactly! It was supposed to be two sexy strangers having a good time and then going their separate ways. But no, he had to ruin everything, so now he’s going to pay.” Probably. If she went all the way. In the not sexy sense. Jean scowled into her drink. “Why are men the way they are?”

“If I knew that, I’d write a bestselling book and then franchise it into a podcast and series of self-healing workshops and branded yoga apparel.”

That was something Jean appreciated about Hildy: she had an eye for opportunity.

It didn’t matter that her agenda wasn’t identical to Jean’s.

There was enough overlap to make the partnership work.

Hildy would get her in the door, and Jean would teach Charlie a lesson he’d never forget.

Everything Charlie had done to her—lying, seducing, and then leaving—was about to get served right back to him.

Doubling down on the deception and dicking around with someone’s feelings.

And then she’d one-up him by letting the press (aka Hildy) have a field day with his secrets. Jean kept imagining tabloid headlines like “Charlie Pike Is the Father of My Alien Baby” or “I Saw Bigfoot Kissing Charlie Pike,” but she’d leave the details to her co-conspirator.

“This is going to be epic,” Jean said, ripping the tail off another shrimp.

“If we’re talking about my story, then hell yes. There is dirt to be dug.” Hildy tapped the side of her nose. “I can smell it.”

“That’s definitely part of it,” Jean agreed.

The same way a fuse was part of a bomb.