Page 67 of Wicked Fortune

But how ruthless? And why? Money? He’s got plenty of money.

“—auction next week. The club … Maida Vale.”

I frown. I went to London with my parents after high school, and our hotel was in Maida Vale.

So there was going to be an auction in London?

“Not like … clusterfuck.” Matthew’s voice is as sharp as a knife, and I want to scream with frustration. Just lay it the fuck out for me. Say the words to make me certain that this isn’t what it sounds like.

Or—dammit—to make me certain that it is.

“—tomorrow’s event,” Joel says, and I think he must have turned away because he’s much harder to understand. I press my ear to the crack, then snap back when I hear “Jenny.” At least I think I do. Maybe it was Minnie. Or even Kenny or Penny.

I’m not sure.

Except in my gut, I know with absolute certainty. They’re talking about my friend. My dead friend.

An innocent woman who got caught in a horrible net.

And though it makes me sick to even think it, I’m terrified Matthew was at the heart of whatever horrible scheme reeled her in and got her killed.

So what the hell do I do now?

I spend the rest of the morning in my office, pretending like I’m getting work done. Matthew only pops his head in once to tell me he has to drive out to Redlands to deal with some trouble on a shoot that’s currently over-budget, and that he’ll be gone the rest of the day.

I nod and smile and tell him to drive safe and I’ll see him in the evening. And then—once he’s closed the door behind him—I put my head on my desk and tell myself I don’t really know anything, and the tears pricking my eyes are for pussies. I’m not allowed to freak out until I’m sure. And I’m not sure yet.

But I will be. I’ll do whatever it takes to figure this out, and the first thing I’m going to do is check out Joel Fucking Carradine. From what I know he hasn’t been with Hardline that long. But there he was in Matthew’s office. If this were a movie, that would be because he’s shifting jobs, moving from the outside into the inner circle.

And I figure since this is a company that makes movies, I could do worse than using movie lore to figure out what’s going on.

Which is why I end up back in front of the same Human Resources clerk I met on my first day. Only this time, I need the file for Joel Carradine. For my boss, of course.

“Here you go,” she says, returning with a thin file. “But didn’t he already look at it? The log shows Mr. Holt reviewing the digital file a few weeks ago.”

I shake my head, confused. “I’m new. I didn’t know personnel files were in the system. He, um, just asked me to get it.”

“Well, just take it. He may have a reason for wanting the hard copy. But here,” she says, handing me a piece of paper. “That’s the instructions on how to access the system. If you’re his PA, you may be doing that a lot. And it’s easier than popping down here all the time.”

I thank her, then take the instructions and the file. Then I hurry back to the office and log onto the system. Sure enough, with the access code I have as Matthew’s PA, I have full access to the files of everyone who’s ever worked at Hardline. And that includes seeing the electronic trail of everyone who’s taken a peek.

Pretty cool.

Even though I have the hard copy, I almost click on Joel Carradines’s file, figuring that I can print anything of interest. But I stop myself. If I can see who’s accessed it, so can Matthew. And just in case I’m wrong about him—please, please don’t let me be wrong—I don’t want him to know I’ve been poking around.

And even if he’s as pure as Ivory soap, I don’t want him to ask me what I’ve been doing. I want to trust him—but I have to be smart.

And right now, being smart means considering the worst.

I pull out the small notebook I keep in my purse, then label a page with “JC.” I’ve just flipped to Joel’s resume when my cell rings. I grab it, see it’s Clive, and answer with, “I’m right in the middle of something.”

“Meet me for lunch.”

I check the clock. It’s already twelve-fifteen. “I can’t. Seriously, I need to get through this project before⁠—”

“I want to talk to you about the party,” he says, his voice oddly stressed. “You know. About why we were there.”

“Oh.” A chill like cold fingers crawls up my spine. “I’m, uh, working on exactly that right now. And I’m kind of under the gun. Can’t you just tell me?”