Hildy stuck her head in, glancing around before stepping inside. “I was afraid I might be interrupting something. You know what they say—if the wagon’s rocking, don’t come a-knocking.”
“All clear,” Jean said stiffly, unwilling to admit that the only action happening was a temper tantrum. “Where have you been?”
“Chilling with the caterers. I make a mean garnish. Those little tomatoes carved like a rose?” she added, at Jean’s look of confusion.
“Why do you know how to do that?” It was hard to imagine Hildy Johnson working in food service.
“Boarding school,” Hildy tossed off, the way someone from Jean’s world might have said, Trader Joe’s. “There’s a whole underclass of PAs and valets and whatnot at these things. Nobody gave me a second look. But enough about my adventures.”
Hildy sat on the edge of the mattress, making ascooch overgesture. As soon as Jean moved, Hildy stretched out next to her, claiming one of the pillows. “Give me all the juicy details. Is he eating out of your hand yet?”
“I’m working on it. It’s a delicate operation… not a smash-and-grab.”
“Speaking of smashing, you could also torture the guy by hooking up with someone else right in front of him.”
“Like who?” Jean had barely noticed the other guests, beyond Smithson (who she’d rather stab) and the older Koenig, who was certainly more willing than his daughter but not in a way that raised Jean’s temperature. It was hard to get in the mood for a sexy fling when you were still sorting through the rubble of the last one.
“Whoever you want. My point is that we can get a story even if you don’t want to fully commit. To the role.”
Obviously Jean knew what she meant; there was no other type of commitment on the table. The offer still rankled.
“You don’t think I can do it. Because of Adriana.”
“I never said that. Who am I to tell another woman what she’s capable of? Especially a force of nature like you.”
Jean grunted, only partially appeased.
“But if you do have a change of heart,” Hildy continued, “we can still give the people what they want.”
“Meaning?”
“Seeing Adriana back with her Silent Storm.” She was careful not to look at Jean.
“Why does anyone care? They don’t even know him.” The person who had a right to an opinion was Jean. Not that she really knew him either, except in the Biblical sense.
“Or we push the love triangle with this other chick,” Hildy said, correctly reading the wagon. “How long has it been going on? Does Adriana know? Was she the girl-next-door who got cast aside for the glitter of fame?”
“I can tell you one thing about her. She was at the resort with him.”
“Ouch,” Hildy said.
“It’s whatever. Doesn’t make a difference where she’s from.”
“You don’t think having a history matters?”
“How can she compete with Adriana Asebedo? Even that ice maiden is going to have her work cut out for her, and she’s some kind of Booze Princess.”
“Especially if someone new catches his eye,” Hildy hinted.
“Who?” If there was another frosty beer heiress swanning around this place, Jean was going to riot.
“You.”
“Oh. Right.” Jean rubbed her temples. “If anyone’s taking him for a ride at this little rodeo, it’s Eve.”
“Literally,” Hildy agreed.
“If it comes to that.” Jean tried to sound noble, like she was a spy behind enemy lines prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice.
