Page 32

Jean pressed her fingers over her eye sockets. What a strange night, and not just because Charlie had been dressed in watermelon-pink satin, like a cross between a children’s TV host and a very niche stripper.

Fucking Smithson, that little shit. And he hadn’t even recognized her!

On some totally irrational but hard-to-shake level, it felt like Jean was being punished—as if telling Charlie the story had somehow manifested Smithson’s reappearance.

She should have kept a lid on all of it.

Her past, her feelings, her very short list of People to Trust. Her life had been perfectly fine before Charlie bumbled onto the scene.

Fine-ish.

Her stomach cramped. Jean couldn’t blame the beans because she’d left without eating any.

Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with her, hence the pathological attraction to dishonest sons of beverage magnates.

Not that her teenage crush on Smithson bore any resemblance to what she’d had—correction, thought she had—with Charlie.

With Smithson, at least fifty percent of the pull had been his status.

Her fling with Charlie was purely about wanting him .

Or rather, the person he’d pretended to be.

Speaking of lying, Adriana Freaking Asebedo was about to roll up in her blingin’ bus with her perfect skin and those mile-long eyelashes and her dance moves and her millions.

The tiny part of Jean still holding out hope that the Charlie/Adriana story was a tabloid rumor had officially shriveled up and died.

There was no way a star of her magnitude would play a beer festival in the back of beyond if she didn’t have a personal connection to the Pike family, not even speaking of the guilty-as-sin look on Charlie’s face.

Jean kicked her legs up and let them land like bricks. That felt pretty good, so she pummeled the bed with her bare heels a few more times. Then she added a groan, with a little growl in it, flopping back and forth on the squeaky mattress.

This was way more fun than analyzing feelings.

Scratch, scratch, scratch .

The noise was coming from just outside her wagon.

Did they have bears here? Wolves? Mountain lions? Was she about to be eaten, on top of everything else? What a perfect chaser to a fabulous evening!

Although it was really more of a tapping sound, now that she thought about it, so unless it was a weirdly polite bobcat, odds were her visitor was human.

A little voice inside her whispered Charlie , and Jean didn’t care to scrutinize whether it was coming from her head or her heart.

Was he back to perv on her shoes while conveniently forgetting to mention that his other girlfriend and his other other girlfriend were coming to this party?

Because Jean had no doubt Charlie was still attracted to her, on a purely physical level.

It was a low bar, but it pleased her to know she still held some sway over him. Power was power. You could use it.

“Come in,” she called, in her sultriest voice. He could try giving her the puppy-dog eyes, but Jean would stay strong. While also taunting him with a glimpse of what he couldn’t have.

Hildy stuck her head in, glancing around before stepping inside. “I was afraid I might be interrupting something. You know what they say—if the wagon’s rocking, don’t come a-knocking.”

“All clear,” Jean said stiffly, unwilling to admit that the only action happening was a temper tantrum. “Where have you been?”

“Chilling with the caterers. I make a mean garnish. Those little tomatoes carved like a rose?” she added, at Jean’s look of confusion.

“Why do you know how to do that?” It was hard to imagine Hildy Johnson working in food service.

“Boarding school,” Hildy tossed off, the way someone from Jean’s world might have said, Trader Joe’s. “There’s a whole underclass of PAs and valets and whatnot at these things. Nobody gave me a second look. But enough about my adventures.”

Hildy sat on the edge of the mattress, making a scooch over gesture. As soon as Jean moved, Hildy stretched out next to her, claiming one of the pillows. “Give me all the juicy details. Is he eating out of your hand yet?”

“I’m working on it. It’s a delicate operation… not a smash-and-grab.”

“Speaking of smashing, you could also torture the guy by hooking up with someone else right in front of him.”

“Like who?” Jean had barely noticed the other guests, beyond Smithson (who she’d rather stab) and the older Koenig, who was certainly more willing than his daughter but not in a way that raised Jean’s temperature.

It was hard to get in the mood for a sexy fling when you were still sorting through the rubble of the last one.

“Whoever you want. My point is that we can get a story even if you don’t want to fully commit. To the role.”

Obviously Jean knew what she meant; there was no other type of commitment on the table. The offer still rankled.

“You don’t think I can do it. Because of Adriana.”

“I never said that. Who am I to tell another woman what she’s capable of? Especially a force of nature like you.”

Jean grunted, only partially appeased.

“But if you do have a change of heart,” Hildy continued, “we can still give the people what they want.”

“Meaning?”

“Seeing Adriana back with her Silent Storm.” She was careful not to look at Jean.

“Why does anyone care? They don’t even know him.” The person who had a right to an opinion was Jean. Not that she really knew him either, except in the Biblical sense.

“Or we push the love triangle with this other chick,” Hildy said, correctly reading the wagon. “How long has it been going on? Does Adriana know? Was she the girl-next-door who got cast aside for the glitter of fame?”

“I can tell you one thing about her. She was at the resort with him.”

“Ouch,” Hildy said.

“It’s whatever. Doesn’t make a difference where she’s from.”

“You don’t think having a history matters?”

“How can she compete with Adriana Asebedo? Even that ice maiden is going to have her work cut out for her, and she’s some kind of Booze Princess.”

“Especially if someone new catches his eye,” Hildy hinted.

“Who?” If there was another frosty beer heiress swanning around this place, Jean was going to riot.

“You.”

“Oh. Right.” Jean rubbed her temples. “If anyone’s taking him for a ride at this little rodeo, it’s Eve.”

“Literally,” Hildy agreed.

“If it comes to that.” Jean tried to sound noble, like she was a spy behind enemy lines prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice.

“No, I mean an actual ride. On horses.”

“What?”

“Trail ride, baby. Didn’t you look at the schedule?”

“I was a little busy establishing my cover.”

“Good thing you have me. It’s almost like I really am your PA.

” Hildy sounded strangely excited by the thought.

“So yeah. Tomorrow morning. I wonder if he’ll help her get on the horse.

And then her mount gets spooked, and he has to go charging after her to save her?

Some of that early-morning mist, everyone’s breathing hard—” Hildy broke off with a hiss when Jean pinched her.

“It sounded like you were having an episode.”

“You know what we need?” Hildy gripped Jean’s wrist. “A picture .”

“Right now?” It wouldn’t be the most inopportune moment Hildy had chosen for a selfie, but Jean wasn’t sure she could dredge up a smile.

“Tomorrow. Of Charlie and Adriana, preferably on horseback.”

“You want me to do it?”

“You’re going to be closer than I am.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know.” It was one thing to talk a big game about spilling Charlie’s secrets. Sneaking a photo of him in a private moment felt a lot more deliberate. Jean’s vision for revenge was more about the personal touch. Messing around with him one-on-one.

“I guess it is a bit early to risk getting busted. Let’s let things play out a little longer. Watch and wait. Can I ask you something?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“What do you really want from him? When all is said and done.”

Damn. Somebody wasn’t pulling her punches. “I want—” Jean broke off, waiting for an answer to surface that she could bear to admit. “I want him to take it back.”

“Something he said?”

“All of it.” Who he’d pretended to be and what he’d made her feel—the good parts and the bad. Jean needed more than an apology from Charlie. It had to be a complete rewrite of the past if she was ever going to get rid of this creeping sadness.

“Sounds like we have our work cut out for us,” Hildy said on a yawn. She rolled over, tucking her hands underneath the pillow.

Long after her companion’s breathing slowed, Jean lay awake in the dark trying not to imagine what Charlie was doing at that moment.

Sipping champagne with Adriana? Having a cozy family meal with his other lady friend, who his parents clearly knew and liked?

Talking mergers and acquisitions with the ice maiden?

It was only Jean who had to show up under false pretenses, skulking around with a borrowed name because the real her wasn’t good enough to bring home to mama. Maybe if Jean had been rich or connected or famous, she wouldn’t have been swept under the rug with the rest of the trash.

The rush of anger had a calming effect. She was doing what needed to be done.

If that meant kicking off her villainess era, so be it.