Page 38 of Wicked Fortune

“What?” I sag with relief when I find three pills still in the bottle. I swallow them dry, then wash them down with a gulp of wine as Bree gives me the stink-eye.

“You’re a mess, my friend.”

“And that,” I say, “is why I hung up. You don’t need to be dealing with my mess right now. You’re leaving the country in just a few hours. That gives you a complete and total pass on all my drama.”

“I can sleep on the plane.” She flops onto the sofa, then leans forward, her hands on her knees as she looks at me hard. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” I say, the words coming as automatically as please or thank you.

“The hell you are. Jenny is dead. And maybe it was suicide, and that’s a tragedy. But maybe she didn’t kill herself. And you’re in the thick of it, my friend. If there was foul play—” She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. “Dammit, Ari. I can’t lose you. Not ever.”

I bite my lower lip as tears prick my eyes. “I love you, too. You know that right?”

“Well, duh.”

We both laugh, and I plop my ass onto the sofa next to her, then scrub my hands over my face. “Ash is going to kill me.”

She waves a hand in dismissal. “He respects the Girl Code. Besides, he’s pulling an all-nighter to prep for a call at six in the freaking morning. Then we head out. We’ll both sleep on the plane.”

“What time do you have to be at the airport?”

She shrugs. “It’s flexible. We’re taking one of Damien’s jets. Grayson’s piloting.”

“Poor little rich bitch,” I say, fighting a smile.

She laughs. “I know, right? My in-laws rock. I mean, I love Ash, but skipping the TSA line? That’s a reason to get married right there.”

“You’re not wrong,” I say, and we share a grin that lasts a good twenty seconds before hers fades.

“I can stay if you need me. Truly.”

“The hell you can. Besides, I’m fine.”

From the way her eyes narrow, I can tell she doesn’t believe me. Doesn’t matter, because no way am I holding my BFF back from the Grand Prix. “I’ve got this,” I say. “Big girl. All grown up.”

She lifts a shoulder. “Sometimes I wonder.”

I cock my head, then flip her the bird.

“Really? That’s your best comeback?”

“What can I say? It’s late. And I’ve had a hell of a long day.” I drop back onto the couch beside her, then hook an arm around her shoulder.

“I wish I could help more,” she says.

I shrug. “It would be weird if both of us applied to work at Hardline. And the man’s producing your movie. Not to be crass, but you don’t want to piss him off before it hits theaters. Me?” I shrug. “I’m nothing to him.”

“Oh, please,” she says. “The man bought you lingerie. He flirted at Masque. And I saw the way he looked at you that time by Damien’s pool.”

“No way,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as pleased as I am to hear that little tidbit of info.

“Way,” she says. “Definitely way.” She shifts on the sofa to look at me more directly. “And I saw the way you looked at him, too.”

The words hang there, waiting for me to deny them. But I can’t. They’re true. And if I try to lie … well, this is Bree. Lying isn’t an option.

“He can’t be involved,” I whisper. “Someone in Hardline, maybe, but not Holt himself.”

I see her shift, ready to argue, but all she does is nod, then squeeze my hand. “No,” she says, “he can’t.”