Page 74 of Wicked Fortune

There’s a short line to get in, and I’m deleting spam from my email as we wait. I’ve just trashed a half-dozen ads for a brand of makeup I never wear when a text alert pops up. I tap it, thinking it might be Matthew, then almost drop my phone.

“What?” Clive says, and I realize that while my phone is still in my hand, I’d both jumped and squeaked.

I step closer so no one can see, then show him the screen, my hand shaking so badly he has to hold it still. It’s a photo of me and Jenny, our arms around each other as we strike a goofy pose beside the jaguar statue in front of our high school. I haven’t seen that photo in years, and as far as I know, the only place it now exists is in the yearbook from my senior year.

But it’s not just the picture. There’s a message, too. Be careful. He Knows You’re Snooping.

“Shit, girl. Who sent that?”

I can only look up into Clive’s eyes and shake my head. “I have no idea.”

We’ve reached the front of the line, and Clive cocks his head. I’ve known him long enough to translate the gesture: Going or staying?

In response, I smile at the woman taking names, though my smile is rather forced and probably looks a bit grim. She checks Clive off the list, adds my name as his plus-one, and ushers us in.

Easy-squeezy.

Although now that I’m inside, I can’t help but wonder if turning around and going back home would have been the better choice. Especially when Clive bends down to whisper in my ear, “What do we do now?”

That, of course, is a very good question. “Drinks,” I say. “I think we should get drinks.”

“Tacos, too?”

“Why not? Go big or go home, right?”

His grin matches mine, and despite the potential danger, I’m glad he came with me. “You willing to do the food and beverage run?” I ask. “I’m going to mingle.”

He frowns. “You think that’s safe?”

I shrug. “I don’t think we’re in an episode of Sopranos, if that’s what you mean. No one’s going to put a bullet in me out on the patio or toss a bag over my head and throw me on a plane to Algiers, wherever the hell that is. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll avoid dark corners.”

Honestly, it’ll make me feel better, too.

He hesitates, going only when I shoo him away and make him promise to bring back a very large margarita along with many, many tacos. Then I look around the patio, hoping to see a familiar face, but knowing it’s probably hopeless. I don’t know that many aspiring actors. Just a handful I met through Jenny, none of which seem to be here.

I already know Matthew rarely comes to the meet-and-greets since that has the unfortunate side effect of making the already nervous wannabes even more nervous. As for Elias Trent and Joel Carradine, I stupidly didn’t think about pulling up their corporate IDs until Clive mentioned it in the car. And Hardline’s IT department hasn’t yet installed the app on my phone that allows me to access the corporate database remotely.

Which means I’m flying blind.

Very blind since not one single person looks familiar. And even though I don’t expect anyone to tackle me here on the patio, I can’t deny that my nerves are frayed, and I’m seriously considering finding Clive, blowing off the party, and chilling on the couch with a movie. Preferably something ridiculously stupid and funny, with nary a suspense plot at all.

I’m trying to decide what flick would fit the bill when a camera flash and a woman’s giggle catches my attention. I shift toward the light, wondering if an actual celebrity is here, then laugh with delight when I see Wyatt Royce, a photographer I did some freelance work for a few years ago—both modeling and acting as his camera assistant, handing him lenses and all the rest that goes with being a photographer’s right hand.

He notices me at the same time that I see him, and his smile soothes my nerves. I head his direction, we meet halfway, and he sweeps me into a hug.

“Aria Parker. Don’t tell me you’re acting now?”

“Hardly. I told you about the time I was an extra.” I shudder. “Not my thing.”

“Then what are you⁠—”

“I’m working at Hardline now,” I tell him. “I’m Matthew Holt’s assistant.”

“Yeah? Good for you. Matthew’s a solid guy. How long have you been at Hardline?”

I glance at my watch.

He laughs. “That long?”