Page 36

Jean stepped onto the grassy shoulder to allow the slowly approaching vehicle to pass. She’d gone for a walk assuming everyone else had already left the premises, only to find herself caught in a rural traffic jam (one human, one automobile) within minutes of abandoning her wagon.

“Nothing to see here,” she said through her fake smile. “Keep on moving.”

Like everyone else in her life, the driver ignored Jean’s wishes, pulling up alongside her and rolling down a tinted window. Her first thought was that Hildy must have commandeered a luxury sedan. She seemed like a person who would change cars for the evening the way other women swapped handbags.

“Need a ride?”

Jean blinked at Adriana Asebedo, alone in the back seat. The sensible answer would have been no, I want to commune with the dusty gravel and my sad feelings , but once again Jean’s curiosity got the better of her.

“Where to?”

“Deadwood.”

“Why not?” Resisting temptation had never been Jean’s strong suit, which was why she seldom tried. Might as well do a little recon behind enemy lines. And if that failed, it would be worth it for storytelling purposes. When the hell else was Jean going to be in a car with a megacelebrity?

The front passenger door opened and one of Adriana’s burly security guys stepped out. “Phone?”

She shook her head. It looked like he wanted to pat her down, so she turned out the pockets of her sleeveless tunic, lifting the hem to show there were no hiding places in her faux leather leggings, unless he wanted to do a cavity search.

He opened the rear door, waiting until Jean fastened her seat belt to close it behind her. For a guy with a neck the size of a tree trunk, he gave off strong nanny energy.

“So what’s your story?” Adriana asked, before Jean could sort through her mental list of Top Five Conversation Starters for Pop Stars. “Are you one of them?”

“The booze crew? No. I’m an artist.” It felt good to tell the truth, like wiggling your bare toes after peeling off sweaty socks at the end of a long shift.

Jean half expected Adriana to zone out after that perfunctory show of interest or turn the conversation to herself. Instead the other woman studied her in silence.

“Did you design that?” She pointed to the tattoo peeking from under the strap of Jean’s tunic.

“Yeah.” Jean stuck her arm out to give her a closer look. “It’s my drawing. I didn’t ink it on myself.”

Adriana lightly touched the outline of the plumeria with the tip of her finger. “Cool.”

“I know.”

The singer smiled, more in understanding than amusement.

And why not? They were both creative people, and art existed on a higher plane than a romantic rivalry—if that was even the right word, since Jean wasn’t sure they were competing for the same prize.

Maybe she should quit pussyfooting around and straight up ask.

Seen any other good tattoos lately? Like maybe a snake?

“So why are you here?” Adriana asked, before Jean could throw a metaphorical glass of water in her face.

“Unfinished business, I guess you could say.” If you didn’t want to sound like an unhinged person frothing at the mouth about REVENGE!

Adriana’s lips curved just enough to display her famous dimples. “I guess that makes two of us.”

Oh, so she wanted to play the charmingly self-deprecating card?

Good luck with that. Jean wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of asking.

Obviously they were both talking about Charlie, not that Adriana seemed to be aware of that.

Unless she did know, and Jean was about to be dropped in a ditch along a deserted stretch of highway.

“Not just here for a beer party in the boonies, then?” Jean kept her voice light, like a person with no personal stake in the answer. Just makin’ conversation. Tra-la-la!

“It’s not my usual scene,” Adriana agreed. “I’m trying to fix my karma. Or maybe it’s selfish. I don’t know.”

“Am I an angel or a devil?” Jean asked rhetorically. “Story of my life.”

Adriana gave her another considering look, twisting one of her rings around her index finger. “You were riding with Margaret this morning. Are you two friends?”

Oh boy. Even though she kept her voice steady, Jean heard the twinge of emotion. It wasn’t a casual question, which meant Adriana most likely knew about Charlie and Margaret.

“She’s very beautiful, don’t you think?” Adriana added, looking at her lap.

Make that definitely knew, hence the probing for intel about the competition. Jean felt a surprising reluctance to be the bearer of bad news. Something about those big round eyes that looked a little tired, like someone as famous as Adriana should be immune to human frailty.

“Sure, I’d paint her. Whoever she is. Another beverage person, presumably.” Jean added a vague hand wave, hoping that would be enough to introduce reasonable doubt.

“She makes teas,” Adriana corrected. “Really good ones. Not alcoholic.”

“Oh yeah.” Jean nodded as the realization struck; that must have been what was in the get-well basket Charlie had left at her door, before tiptoeing away with the exaggerated motions of a mime.

His criminal instincts were clearly limited to the romantic arena.

“Very soothing. As much as I can be soothed.” She glanced at the security guards. “Not that I’m a dangerous person.”

“You tried her tea?”

“It was in a hospitality basket.” No need to mention she’d gotten it from Charlie.

“Ah.” She seemed weirdly relieved. “Not a custom blend?”

“Nope.” Maybe focus less on the tea and more on who your man is seeing behind your back, Jean thought at her. A little friendly suggestion.

“And the blonde girl?”

“Emma the frost maiden?” Jean shook her head. “I don’t see that happening.”

Adriana jumped on that, like she wanted to believe but needed hard evidence. “Why not?”

“One, old people suck at matchmaking. They’re way too obvious, like a cat in tap shoes.

And two, I don’t get the impression Emma has much use for other humans.

” What Jean didn’t say, because it would have been weird, was that no one could compete with Adriana Asebedo.

Charlie was probably dumping Margaret right now, if he hadn’t already.

Jean needed to hustle if she wanted to bring her evil plans to fruition before Charlie and Adriana rode off into the sunset together.

Fortunately, she thrived under pressure.

“You don’t think there’s anything there?” Adriana pressed.

“Nah. Here today, gone tomorrow.”

The singer fell silent, fiddling with her rings again. “It’s not always like that, though. Sometimes you meet a person and it’s lightning. It marks you. The burn is so bright, you can’t get it out of your head afterward.”

“Like your retinas are fried?” Jean knew she was deflecting, and maybe Adriana did too, because she gave her an arch look.

“That’s never happened to you?”

“If it did, I’d find a way to get it out of my system.” And I’d sure as hell never admit we were both talking about the same guy.

“And how would you do that?” Adriana sounded equal parts dubious and intrigued.

“Obviously it would depend on the situation. Like in your case, you’d probably write a song. Let it all out in the lyrics.”

“And hear it played everywhere I go for the next ten years? No thank you.”

“Huh. That would suck.” Like seeing Pike’s Pale Ale everywhere, for the rest of Jean’s life. “Option two would be to hate them instead.”

Adriana pulled her glossy ponytail over her shoulder, running her fingers through it like she was checking for snarls even though every strand was perfectly smooth, not a split end in sight. “Really hate them or just pretending to yourself?”

Damn. Adriana Asebedo, straight for the jugular. “You should be on 60 Minutes .”

“I have been on 60 Minutes . Twice.”

“As the host, not the guest. Bringing the hard-hitting questions.”

“Turn the tables,” Adriana mused. “Force someone to talk to me about their innermost feelings.”

“Exactly!” Jean didn’t think they were at the high-five stage yet, so she smacked her own palm with the back of her other hand. “Give people a taste of their own medicine.”

Adriana considered this, lips pursed. “I guess that’s something to think about. If Plan A goes tits up.”

“It’s good to have options,” Jean agreed.

A few minutes later, they parked in a dark lot that was empty apart from a party bus with blacked-out windows, equally suited to prison runs or pub crawls. Adriana’s security detail led them into the building, alert for threats. Maybe they were worried about a raccoon ambush.

“We’re going to have dinner upstairs,” Adriana said. “Do you want to join us?”

It was flattering to be asked, even though Jean had no desire to watch the Charlie-and-Adriana show at close range. “I think I’ll hit the tables.”

“Then I hope it’s your lucky night.”

Jean couldn’t bring herself to say, you too! “Thanks for the lift.”

As soon as Adriana and her entourage were out of sight, Jean wandered deeper into the casino, past the slot machines and video consoles. All of these booze nepo babies had money to burn, so Jean might as well win some of it from them at poker.

Speaking of ripe for the plucking, she heard Smithson badgering another player and was surprised to see that it was Charlie. So he wasn’t having dinner with his long-lashed love after all.

As she approached the table, Jean sized up the situation. Charlie looked pale and uncertain, while Smithson was gloating as he raked an armful of chips over to join his pile of winnings.

Oh hell no.

“Deal me in,” she said, pulling out a chair.