Page 7 of Wicked Fortune

Bree should know better than anyone that people aren’t always what they seem. But when I see her shudder, I immediately regret my words. “Oh, Bree, I’m so sorry. But just because you know and like him⁠—”

“Yes. Fine. Point made.” Her voice is as sharp as a blade. “He could be the devil himself and how the hell would I know?”

I wince, mentally kicking myself even harder. I know she’s fragile, and I went there anyway.

But I’m right.

“All I’m saying is that maybe she slept with him thinking he’d cast her, but he’s a cold, unfeeling son-of-a-bitch who tossed her aside, and she was going to go public.”

“Don’t bite my head off,” Bree says, “but I really don’t think Matthew’s that guy. Besides, that dude’s seen all kinds of scandal. I don’t think a threat from Jenny would rattle him.”

“How can you know that? The guy’s a machine.” Holt has his fingers in every form of media and entertainment, from local magazines to recording artists all the way to Oscar-winning films. And from what the gossip rags say, he is very hands on with all Hardline projects. “Even if he didn’t kill her, I bet he knows who did. And he’d keep it quiet to save his business.

“You know I’m right,” I add, meeting Bree’s dark eyes. “He’s a machine who has a billion-dollar industry to protect. How many machines do you know who have a conscience?”

She just shakes her head.

“The dude’s got power,” I say, laying out the understatement of the year. “He’s the kind of guy who has to be in control, everything set up exactly his way. And I bet he’s the kind of guy who has no trouble holding onto his secrets, too. The kind of guy who can put on the good face that everyone likes, but underneath, he’s rotten to the core.”

“Ari …”

Her voice is chiding, and I know what she’s going to say. I hold up a finger. “Don’t even go there.”

I watch her face, thinking that she’s totally going to go there.

He’s not The Cat, Ari. Not every man is The Cat. There are some men you can trust.

But she stays silent. She knows damn well that no matter what my personal issues might be, my read of Matthew Holt could very well be dead-on perfect.

Dead on.

I shiver, thinking about what I’d put in motion two days ago—and hoping I wasn’t about to make a huge, giant, gargantuan mistake.

I start to speak, intending to tell her the rest of it. But at the last minute I call back my breath and curve my lips into a silent smile.

It doesn’t fool her at all. That’s the downside of having a bestie. It’s really freaking hard to keep a secret.

“Spill it,” she says, cocking her head and crossing her arms. And when I hesitate, she lifts a single eyebrow and stares me down. It’s a trick we taught ourselves when we were eleven years old. We’d practiced in front of the mirror for weeks until we had it down. And we only pull out the one-brow raise when one of us means business.

“Fine,” I say, trying to make my voice sound matter-of-fact. “I’ve got an interview for a job as Holt’s personal assistant. I’m going to get that job,” I add. “And I’m going to learn the truth about those parties, about Hardline, and about Matthew Holt. I’m going to find out who killed Jenny,” I add. “And that’s a promise.”

THREE

Bree gapes at me. “He hired you as his PA?”

“Well, not yet.” I offer up a casual shrug. “I happened to learn that he needs a new assistant. His old one’s getting married and moving to London.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I told you. Three dreams. I haven’t been sitting on my ass for the last few days.”

“So you snapped your fingers and got an interview? The man’s like Damien. You don’t simply jump to the head of the line.”

I shrug.

“Seriously,” she presses. “How the hell did you land an interview like that?”

“Fine, fine,” I say. “Nikki got me pushed up the list.” She’s become a friend of mine through Bree. And Damien Stark might be a billionaire master of the universe, but he’s also a surprisingly nice guy.