Page 75 of Wicked Fortune

“A few days, actually. You know Matthew?” I add, circling back to what I consider the most salient point of the conversation.

“Hard not to in my family.”

It takes me a second, and then I remember. Wyatt’s gained his own fame as a photographer, but he changed his name to do it, not wanting to ride on the coattails of his famous family. His grandmother was Anika Segal, a legend in Hollywood on the same par as Vivien Lorainne.

“So what do you think of him?” I ask.

“He’s a great guy,” Wyatt says. “Kelsey’s worked with Hardline on a few music vids,” he adds, referring to his wife, a dancer. “We’ve gotten to know him pretty well. Why?”

I shrug. “I’m, uh, still new at the job and getting a feel.”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, hell no.”

I take a step back, unnerved by the cocky grin that lights those golden-brown eyes. “What?”

“You. Oh, this is truly rich.”

“Dammit, Wyatt,” I say. “What are you talking about?”

Clive walks up with food, which he plunks down on a nearby table. Then he passes me a margarita. “Well, hello,” he says, clearly interested. I’m not surprised. With his gorgeous face and long, lean body, Wyatt is definitely Clive’s type. Just not his type.

“Down, boy,” I say, and Wyatt laughs.

“I’m flattered,” Wyatt says, “but the wife keeps me all to herself.”

“Pity,” Clive says, then extends his hand. “Clive Sterling. Undercover hetero and this one’s fake date,” he adds, tossing a nod my way.

“And a conversation hog.” I point at Wyatt. “You. Back on topic. What were you about to say?”

“I really shouldn’t.”

I cross my arms and stare him down. “You know I have Kelsey on speed dial.”

“Fine.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s just that I was talking to Matthew this morning. He was driving to San Bernardino County, and we were just shooting the breeze. He might have mentioned he was seeing someone. Sounded pretty happy about it, too.”

“Oh.” Despite the smile that immediately attacks my face, I regret saying anything about Matthew. Plus, I have to fight the very teenage-ish urge to beg Wyatt to tell me Every Single Thing including tone of voice. And bummer about the phone call, because facial expressions would have been nice, too.

“Too early for congrats?”

“I really like him,” I admit, in what I have to confess is an understatement. “It’s just—no one at work knows, and I’m here, and⁠—”

He nods, then presses a finger to his lips. “Your secret is safe with me. And good luck. Kelsey calls him a complicated guy, but I’d say he’s worth it.” He holds up his camera. “Technically, I’m on duty.”

“Right. Tell Kelsey we need to have lunch. It was great bumping into you.”

“You, too,” he says, then motions for me to stand next to Clive. We do, and he clicks off a few frames before raising the camera again in a wave.

“Wait,” I call.

He turns back, brows raised in question.

“Do you trust him?”

“Matthew?” He looks at me as if I asked if the moon is up in the sky. “Honestly, Ari? I’d trust him with my life. More important, I’d trust him with Kelsey’s.”

I nod, relief flooding my body. Because that’s an assessment that means a hell of a lot.

I take Clive’s arm and turn, intending to tug him into the crowd and let the mingling begin. But all I manage is the turn, because my path is blocked by a tall man with broad shoulders, honey-blond hair, and an expression on his chiseled face that makes perfectly clear he’s a man who expects to be both listened to and obeyed.