Page 98 of Wicked Heat

“Besides,” Noah adds, “they will never spot the trace.”

My stomach twists, but calms when Ash takes my hand, then leans over and whispers, “Trust me.”

“Okay,” I say. Because the truth is that I do.

With a smile to Noah, I scoop up some more salsa with a chip, then lean against Ash, determined to enjoy the evening.

Somehow, I manage to pull that off.

For the next hour, we don’t even talk about the blackmail. Instead, I sip wine as I listen to Ash and Noah catch up. Noah talking about how proud he is of his wife, who’s apparently a singer. And Ash sharing some info about the INX-20 in techno-speak, so I have only the vaguest of takeaways.

“Sorry, Bree,” Noah says as the waitress brings another round of drinks. “We haven’t caught up in a while.”

As I’m assuring him it’s no problem, my phone screen flashes with an incoming call from Kari. “And now you can catch up some more,” I tease as I stand. I head toward the exit into the hotel and park myself on the stair landing overlooking the ornate lobby. I know from experience that cellular reception sucks in the bar. Hopefully, I’ll be able to better hear my friend out here.

“Guess what!” Her voice is so enthusiastic I can practically see her bouncing behind the counter at Upper Crust.

“I’m not even going to try. Knowing you it could be anything from global warming to new sandals.”

“Not even close,” she says. “Martin and I are coming to Vegas!”

“Martin? I thought—” I cut myself off, realizing that Aria had gotten it wrong when she said Martin had moved from Kari to Maggie.

“You thought what?”

“I had his name wrong,” I lie. “I thought it was Marvin. But, listen, I hope you two have fun in Vegas. I’m kind of in the middle of a⁠—”

“We were hoping to have drinks with you. You’re there, right? I mean,” she adds, lowering her voice, “I saw one of those nasty articles about you and Ashton Stone, and that he’s paying you—well, anyway. I’m sure you know.”

“I do.” I try not to sound too cold. Kari can be pretty clueless, and she entirely lacks filters, but she’s still a friend. “It’s crazy the shit some of those tabloid reporters will think up. But we’re not in Vegas, anymore. We’re in Austin.”

“Oh. Why?”

I like Kari well enough, but she’s a gossip, so there is no way I’m giving her even a hint of a clue as to why I’m really here. “Ash lives here. I told him it’s one of my favorite cities, so he suggested we spend a few days here before going back to LA.”

“So, things are good with you two?”

“They’re great,” I say, with real enthusiasm. Because despite all the hell swirling around us, the me-and-Ash part of the equation is truly fantastic.

“Well, I’m totally bummed we won’t be seeing you, but I’m super-psyched that you two are getting along despite all that publicity bullshit.”

“It’s not fun,” I tell her. “But we’re doing okay.”

“Oh! Oh! I forgot to tell you. I finished Mystics at Dawn. It is just as good as Bethany’s first book.”

I press my hand against my heart, only then realizing how nervous I am about book two in the series. It’s still months from release, but considering how crazy my life has become, I’ve barely even thought about it. “I’m so, so glad to hear that,” I tell Kari. “Your opinion means a lot.”

She’d read an early manuscript of Reveries and had both pumped up my ego and given me some decent notes, so I’d offered her this book as well. “I still have one more round of revisions,” I tell her. “Anything—wait. Hang on.”

There’s a commotion across the bar, and I peer in to see folks standing from the two and four-tops, craning their necks toward the far side of the bar that opens directly onto the street.

At first, I can’t see a thing, then I see her. Kiki King. A multiple Grammy winner who I now remember lives in Austin.

“So sorry, but I have to go,” I tell Kari. “We’ll talk about the book later. Have fun in Vegas.”

“Oh, I just⁠—”

But my finger’s already on the button to end the call, and now I hurry back toward our table, hoping I’ll be able to catch another glimpse.