Page 47

Charlie had spent countless childhood afternoons in his father’s office. He was good at being quiet, even as a little boy. His dad probably thought Charlie was soaking up important business facts, but mostly he’d been lying under a table, reading about reptiles.

As the years went by, it felt less like a treehouse than a submarine, outside pressure squeezing from all sides. His dad wanted him to take the helm; Charlie couldn’t wait to pop the escape hatch.

Tonight was different because Jean was there, which meant Charlie wasn’t alone. He wondered what she thought of all the Pike memorabilia, the old beer signs mixed in with black-and-white family photos, as if the people and the promotional campaigns were telling the same story.

The bouncy-haired young woman from Jean’s wagon was sitting on the loveseat under the bay window. She waved sheepishly at Jean, mouthing a “Sorry.”

Jean shook her head. “Not your fault.”

The French doors burst inward, Mugsy hurrying over to Charlie. “You should have let me handle this,” she said, scowling at Jean. “Before it blew up.”

“Jean is not the problem,” Charlie said, before Mugsy could steamroll him. It was easy to be firm when you felt strongly about something. Mugsy looked taken aback, and then thoughtful, giving Jean a second, less hostile look.

“I trust one of you is about to tell me what the problem is,” Charlie’s dad said, sinking into his leather chair as the rest of a ragtag group that included both Koenigs, Smithson, and Sergeant Cowboy filtered into the room.

“How in heaven’s name did an event one hundred years in the making go kaput? ”

That struck Charlie as a slight exaggeration, but his dad had always been prone to hyperbole when stressed.

The girl with the curls glided across the room, beaming at Charlie’s father.

“Hildy Johnson of Johnson Media.” She reached over the desk to shake his hand. “It is such an honor to meet you. My uncle is a big fan.”

His father’s face seemed to be at war with itself, the mouth trying to smile while the eyes stayed tight. “Your uncle?”

“Richard Johnson. Also of Johnson Media. He enjoys a pale ale after a hard day of golf.”

Mr. Pike laughed, obviously flattered—and charmed. Charlie decided to seize the moment.

“Dad, I’d also like you to meet Jean.”

“Oh Charlie,” his mother sighed. “I’ve told you and told you. Her name is Eve.”

“Never mind her name, who is she?” his father demanded, tensing up again.

“My girlfriend. I hope.” It was ridiculous how much Charlie enjoyed calling her that. “We haven’t really discussed the terminology.”

“What about Adriana?” His father rubbed his forehead with both hands. “She came here for you, Charlie.”

Smithson pushed off from the wall, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops as he flicked his unmoving hair. “Technically, that was my get.”

“Of course,” Mr. Pike agreed. “Credit where it’s due.”

Mugsy looked like she was going to explode.

“What is it?” Charlie asked.

“Remember how I needed to tell you something?” Mugsy said under her breath.

He nodded.

“This is about that.”

“Right now?” Charlie whispered. They were beginning to attract attention, specifically from Emma Koenig.

“I should have told you before.” Mugsy sounded miserable.

He knew that feeling, when not speaking felt worse than the fear of what would happen when you did. “Then go ahead, Mugsy. Let it out.”

“You remember when I went to California, to talk to Adriana?” She rubbed her throat, like there was something caught in it.

Charlie nodded.

“We spent some time together. Adriana and me.”

“Okay.” Maybe Adriana had been angrier than Mugsy let on or said something mean that she didn’t want him to know about, because Mugsy was always trying to shield him from the harsh realities of life.

“There was a connection, I guess you could say.” The words emerged like Mugsy was winching them up from the bottom of the ocean. “It was unexpected.”

Charlie could tell she felt bad, which made no sense. “There was no reason for you not to like her. I liked her too.”

Mugsy winced. “I know. That’s sort of the issue.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine,” Charlie told her.

“I didn’t plan it.” She looked straight into his eyes, so he could see she wasn’t hiding anything. “I had no intention of anything like that happening, ever. I just… fell into it.”

“Fell into what?”

“Uh, Adriana it sounds like.” Smithson snorted at his own joke. “You hooked up with her? Day-um.” He shook out his hand like he’d touched something hot.

Charlie tuned him out, focusing on Mugsy. “When you said you had to stay because there was all that flooding and flights were canceled, that wasn’t the real reason?”

“The weather was really bad.” She sent him a pleading look. “It rained for days.”

“Rain on rain,” Charlie said, as the pieces fell into place. “A silent storm.”

Mugsy gave a reluctant nod.

Charlie glanced at Jean, whose wide eyes told him he was on the right track.

“That’s why Adriana agreed to come! It had nothing to do with me, or him.” Charlie flicked his fingers in Smithson’s direction. “Because you’re the one she wrote the song about.”

Mugsy’s blush confirmed his hypothesis.

“Which means she’s also Honey Baby,” Jean filled in, like they were a team of detectives.

“Because her skin is golden or the sweetness of the taste?” Emma Koenig’s tone was as clinical as ever, so there was a lag before the full meaning registered.

“I knew there was more to the story!” Jean’s friend Hildy lowered the fist she’d just pumped. “Sorry. Pretend I’m not here.”

Smithson snorted. “I should have guessed you weren’t rocking Adriana’s world, Chuck.”

“Zip it,” Mugsy told him, as the patio doors opened again. Adriana entered the room, a few paces ahead of her security team.

“Is everything okay?” She looked to Mugsy first.

“I don’t know.” Mugsy seemed to be having a hard time meeting her eyes. “Are you mad at me, Charlie?”

“Not mad,” he said slowly. “Maybe a little disappointed. I wish you would have talked to me.”

“You had barely broken up. I didn’t know what you were feeling, and the last thing I wanted was to hurt you.” Mugsy blew out a breath. “I thought if I never saw her again, that would be my punishment.”

Charlie gave up trying to puzzle that one out. “How would that work exactly?”

“Then we would both be unhappy. And it wouldn’t be like I took something from you.”

“Why would I want you to suffer, Mugsy?”

She smiled sadly at him. “You wouldn’t. I wasn’t being logical.”

“As I tried to tell her, before she blocked my number,” Adriana said.

Funny how he and Mugsy had both run away and been chased here by the women they—well, he couldn’t speak for Mugsy, but Charlie knew how he felt about Jean.

He hoped Mugsy would give happiness a chance, but it wasn’t for him to tell her what that meant.

For now, she still looked like her conscience was scratching her like a sandpaper shirt.

“Some things are too personal to share,” he told his oldest friend. “I know how that feels. And I’ll always love you, so stop worrying.”

Mugsy cleared her throat. Emma handed her a lace-edged handkerchief.

Smithson tapped his gigantic watch. “You know I get paid by the hour? The sexy part is over, so let’s wrap this up.” Crossing his arms, he turned to stare at Jean.

“I’m not scared of you, Smitty the Shitter.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“What did you call me?” He took a step toward her.

“You heard me. Did you really think people were going to believe someone left a whole Toblerone on the seat of your bumper car? Please.”

“How do you know—uh, what are you talking about?”

“You really don’t remember me? Maybe if you search that tiny little organ you call a brain, it’ll come to you. Travel back to your high school days.” She made wibbly-wobbly fingers in his face. “A little burger joint you trashed.”

He squinted at her. Jean stared back.

“Holy shit. Cheese Fries? I can’t believe it’s you. Didn’t recognize you without the uniform.” Smithson looked her up and down. “Are you stalking me? You always were kind of obsessed.”

“No, you absolute dipshit. I’m here for Charlie. He’s the one I’m in love with!”

Mrs. Pike gave a gasp that turned into a sigh of delight.

Sergeant Cowboy clapped. “Speak your truth, short stack.”

Several phones dinged at once. Mr. Koenig frowned as he checked his notifications.

“What is it?” Mr. Pike asked, fumbling for his own phone. “Pike’s Past Its Peak.” His voice faded as he read. “That’s… quite a headline.” He blinked rapidly, as if trying not to cry.

Charlie didn’t have an alert set up for brewery news, so he borrowed Mugsy’s phone to see what had pushed his father to this unprecedented state. It was short but to the point:

The beer company better known for the private life of scion Charlie Pike IV is on the auction block, according to inside sources.

You didn’t have to be a business genius to know that wasn’t the image his father had been desperate to project this weekend.

“What did I tell you?” Smithson slapped Mr. Pike’s desk with the flat of his hand. “Somebody’s been talking to the press, and I think we both know who it was.”

Jean’s friend Hildy glanced over Mr. Koenig’s shoulder, scanning the screen of his phone. “Mmmm, no. Even if corporate news was my beat, which it’s not, Beverage Business Quarterly is not a Johnson Media property. Nice try.”

“Then who ratted us out?” Mr. Pike asked the room at large. “It had to be someone with insider knowledge.”

Smithson made a show of starting to say something before cutting himself off with a shake of the head, wiping a hand over his mouth like he needed to physically contain the words.

“What is it?” Mr. Pike asked.

“I’m just thinking, maybe it was Chuck.”

Charlie pointed at himself, certain he’d misheard.

“Your dad told me how you’re always trying to bail on the business.” Smithson shrugged, as if it were a casual remark instead of a devastating accusation. “Don’t really have a head for the game.”

“That is not what I said,” Mr. Pike protested.