Hildy took a moment to savor Jean’s reaction before setting down her menu. “I think I’ll have a Pike’s Pale Ale. Seems appropriate, under the circumstances.”
Jean had forgotten Adriana’s ex was some kind of beer person. That was what passed for normal in celebrity land: not an actor or a Formula One driver or a record exec, like her other lovers, but still filthy rich and camera ready. The song about him spent longer at number one than the relationship had lasted, which only seemed to intrigue her fans more.
“You can see it, right?” Hildy pressed the fingertips of both hands to the tabletop, like it was a piano she was about to play. “The Bangin’ Beer Baron drops off the face of the earth, only to resurface months later. Where has he been? Does he still love Adriana? Is there a chance they’re getting back together? It’s mystery, it’s second-chance romance, it’s sex. This story has everything.” She sat back, staring at Jean as if she expected her to burst into applause.
“And you think he’s staying here?”
“I’m like eighty percent positive. Which is why I need your help.” Hildy batted her lashes.
“What are you picturing here, fake room service? Or the two of us hiding in a laundry cart, and then we burst out and say ‘gotcha!’ There are four hundred rooms at this place.”
Hildy waved this off. “We’ll be strategic. First, there’s thetiming. He would have checked in about a week ago, because that’s when he was supposed to get on a connecting flight through the airport here, but according to my sources, he went AWOL instead. Second, he’s notoriously press shy, which means he won’t want to be recognized. Last time there was a probable sighting, it was a mob scene. Somebody tagged a guy who kind of looked like him on Insta and the next thing you know, they’re shutting down a Trader Joe’s because shit got real in the salsa aisle. Because he’s allegedly a sex god,” Hildy added, at Jean’s perplexed look. “Everyone wants to throw their panties at him. Or gift wrap the guy and deliver him to Adriana so she can be eternally grateful.”
“Alive or like… a hunting trophy?”
“Who can say? Parasocial relationships are a tricky beast. I could write a whole dissertation about it, if I wanted to stay in school that long. But obviously this is where I belong. In the heart of the action.” Hildy sat back, her expression smug. “He’s not going to be in the main building. Too risky. You must have a supersecret special place for VIPs. A private villa or the penthouse level or something right on the beach?”
“There are cottages,” Jean admitted, following a silent internal battle. It wasn’t like she could pretend they didn’t exist. Hildy was more than capable of checking the website.
“Great. That’s where we’ll start the search.”
“There’s more than one.” Somewhere in Jean’s nervous system, an alert was chiming.
“We only care about the ones with a hot young guy staying alone. Unless he’s not alone, which would be a whole other layer to the story. ‘Prince of Pilsner Cheats on Adriana!’ That kind of thing. Though obviously I’d make it way classier.”
“I thought they broke up.”
“The public will still have strong feelings about him bringing his ‘silent storm’ to a different harbor, if you feel me.”
Jean was not in the mood to analyze Adriana Asebedo’s sex metaphors. “If he’s even here. Much less seeing someone new.”
“Which is why we’ll cross-reference with the check-in date, do a little recon, and then bingo, Charlie Pike.”
Jean was pretty sure the blood that should have been animating her brain had all drained down to her gut. “His name is Charlie?”
“I know, right? They never call him that. It’s always Sexy Sudsy. The Hottie of Hops. Besides, I’m sure he’s registered under a fake name. But that’s not going to stop us. You know why?”
Jean shook her head.
“We know how to ID him beyond a shadow of doubt.”
“We do?” Jean asked faintly.
“One of my cousins plays tennis with a guy who was in the same dorm as Charlie Pike in college, long before the Adriana days. And as we all know, locker rooms can be a gold mine of information. Especially about certain unique physical characteristics.” She cleared her throat suggestively. “The kind you can’t disguise with a pair of glasses.”
“Are we talking about dicks?”
“No.” Hildy wrinkled her nose. “Tattoos.”
“Does he have a full sleeve?” Jean wondered if Hildy could hear the edge of desperation in her voice.
“Like that would narrow it down. Do you want to guess? I’ll give you three tries. Location or what it is.”
This was one game Jean had no desire to win. On the other hand, the suspense was about to kill her. She crossed her fingers under the table. “Tramp stamp?”
Hildy stuck her thumb out as she shook her head. “That’s one.”
“Barbed wire around the bicep?”
