“Why do you think they’re here, Charlie?”
“For the centennial?” Even as he said it, Charlie knew that wasn’t the answer.
His father huffed a laugh. “We survived Zima, wine coolers, hard lemonade. Made a tentative peace with Red Bull. But I tell you this: I have nightmares about those alcoholic seltzers.”
“I didn’t know that.” He thought of sharing a nightmare of his own, like the one where he had gills but was stuck on dry land, except his father wasn’t finished.
“Tough times, Charlie. That’s what the last five years have been. We put a good face on it, but I don’t know how much longer we can go it alone. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
“Not… exactly,” he admitted.
“The Koenigs run a multinational operation. With their backing, we could expand our brand instead of watching it shrink down to nothing.”
“What about all the other people?” He tried to surreptitiously indicate the Canadians in their sun hats, flanked by the cider makers from France.
“Consolation prizes. We need deep pockets and global reach. Anything else is a Band-Aid. Might stave off the inevitable for a few years, but eventually it’s goodbye to generations of blood, sweat, and beers. And then what happens to you?”
Charlie couldn’t suppress a flicker of curiosity. Whatwouldhappen to him if the shadow of Pike’s Pale Ale wasn’t looming on the horizon, as it had been his entire life? He shoved that thought aside, not wanting to buy his freedom at the cost of his dad’s beloved business.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You weren’t there, Charlie.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay, because you’re here now. And together, we can turn this ship around.”
He made it sound like they’d done this kind of thing before—as if Charlie and his dad were an established team with an impressive record of wins, as opposed to two people who awkwardly coexisted when they couldn’t use Charlie’s mom as a go-between. Sometimes Charlie worried his father confused the uplifting movies he watched on cable with real life.
“I’ll try my best,” Charlie said, because that much was true. “How can I help?”
“I need you to be here, playing the part of my son and heir.”
“I am your son.”
“Then it should be easy. Philip Koenig is a family-first kind of guy. He’ll respect that we’re keeping the Pike legacy alive. With Smithson’s help.”
“About that, Dad—”
“Look alive,” his father said, cutting him off. “You want to help? Go talk to your girl.” Like most of Mr. Pike’s suggestions, it was an order in disguise. Rather than waiting for Charlie to comply, he smacked Charlie’s horse on the rump, sending mount and rider trotting ahead—on a collision course with Adriana Asebedo.
Chapter 23
Jean had seen some horrifying things in her day, but the sight of Charlie galloping toward his beloved on horseback rocketed straight into her top three. What did they think this was—a rehearsal for Adriana Asebedo’s next music video? Maybe they could CGI a carpet of wildflowers into the background. Add a slo-mo effect to her hair.
Not that Adriana needed the help. She looked natural in the saddle, like she spent her weekends cantering through meadows instead of wearing sequins on red carpets. Jean vaguely recalled that the pop sensation came from humble roots, maybe even someplace rustic enough to include horses. That had been part of her aesthetic in the early days, though obviously now she was much more sophisticated. Hard not to be when you were a kajillionaire.
As much as she wanted to look away, Jean found it impossible not to stare. It was borderline uncanny to encounter someone in the flesh whose face was so familiar from seeing it on a screen. Jean’s brain immediately cued up a slideshow of every random tidbit it had collected about Adriana Asebedo: the red dress she wore to her first VMAs; her transformation from cute teen singer to sultry adult; how she sold out every stop on her latest tour; the TV actress she was rumored to be dating in her early twenties; that time one of her songs casually confirmed Adriana was bi and everyone lost their minds, in the positive and negative sense; and of course the video for “Silent Storm,” which Jean definitely had not pored over like a crime scene investigator after CharlieGate, looking for clues. Too bad she hadn’t studiedAdriana’s love life a little more carefullybeforeCharlie flashed his tattoo.
It would have been a lot to take in, even without the flames of jealousy slow-roasting her from the inside. If Jean squinted at her sideways, it was almost possible to pretend Adriana was an ordinary person. Pretty, but not inhumanly so—a girl next door with expensive clothes and professional styling who did not subsist on junk food and restaurant leftovers. The two beefy dudes trailing her, who looked like they’d be more comfortable riding tanks, changed the vibe, but maybe everyone was supposed to pretend they were invisible.
Jean wondered if the security detail could hear what Adriana was saying to Charlie. The pop star was smiling, but it looked like a serious conversation.I missed you. I missed you too. I love you. I love you more. Let’s go be rich and beautiful together. I thought you’d never ask.
That was just a guess. Despite her best attempt at reading lips, she had no idea what they were discussing—especially after Charlie’s other lady friend rode up beside her, blocking Jean’s view.
“Eve, huh.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, but Jean heard the undercurrent of suspicion. “Sockless Tommy’s niece.”
Jean tensed. “That’s right.”
