Page 68 of Wicked Fortune

“Can’t. I’m bringing a friend, and he wants to meet in person.”

“Clive …” I’m sure he can hear the irritation in my voice. Why the hell is he telling other people about it?

“Trust me. You need to hear about this now.”

I nod, thinking. “Okay. But I don’t have much time. I’ll call down and leave your name with the gate. Meet me in the tower lobby. Bring some takeout.”

“Got it. You’ll need to leave Jonah Tucker’s name, too.”

“Will do,” I say, wondering why that name sounds so familiar. “What time?”

“We can be there in fifteen.”

“Perfect,” I say, thinking that gives me enough time to at least skim Joel’s file.

Once Clive’s off the line, I turn my attention back to the resume, but I’m having a hard time focusing. My skin feels prickly, and my heart’s beating just a little too fast. It’s excitement. And it’s fear. I’m close to something—I’m certain of it. And Jenny’s letter is what started it. “Thanks for kicking my ass into gear,” I whisper. “I promise I’ve got your back now.”

I feel a little chill and tell myself it’s Jenny giving me a hug from wherever she is now. A thank you for trying. And a promise that she’ll help keep me moving in the right direction.

With that thought—and Bree’s voice in my head chiding “way, way, way too woo”—I turn my attention back to the resume.

Joel Carradine’s one smart guy. No doubt about that. Third in his class at Harvard Law, then a cog in some big law firm before moving to the legal department of an international production company with projects at most of the major studios in the US and overseas.

According to his list of skills, he’s worked in international talent recruitment, cross-border negotiations, and even crisis management.

Each line seems normal enough, but the more I read, the more things feel slightly off. I can’t put my finger on it, but I also can’t shake the feeling that the seemingly innocent list of job skills hides something sinister. But I’m not an expert. Not by a long shot.

With a frown, I flip to the next page of the file. He was hired by Elias Trent and interviewed only by Trent. Considering he was hired as Trent’s second in command of the Talent Relations department, that doesn’t surprise me. I doubt that Matthew even saw the man’s resume before pulling it for review.

And why did he pull it in the first place? Hardline has thousands of employees. There’s no possible way—and no reason—for Matthew to review every resume. That’s why there’s a corporate chain of command.

I’m pondering that question when the timer I’ve set on my phone goes off. I snap photos of the resume, figuring that’s safer than making a photocopy.

Then I put the folder together and rush out of the office with a quick wave to Lila and a promise to hurry back after I grab a bite.

I drop the folder back at HR, then continue down to the lobby, just in time to meet Clive and Jonah as they stride into the building.

TWENTY-FOUR

As far as I know, the roof was never intended to be a dining area, but there are several metal tables bolted to the floor and I’ve come here a few times to sip coffee and clear my head, always upwind from the building’s few smokers who come here when they’re desperate. It’s not well-maintained like the rest of the building, but it’s functional, the breeze is nice, and there’s a lovely view of the lot and the mountains across the Valley.

Today, it’s not crowded at all, which is good because that means that Clive and Jonah and I can grab a table where we’re sure not to be overheard.

The guys drove through In-N-Out on their way here, and now we’re settled at a table, a spread of cheeseburgers and fries in front of us. I take a sip of Diet Coke, letting the fizz settle my nerves, then look between the two of them. My friend, who I’ve trusted for years. And Jonah, the guy I’ve just been introduced to. But who I’ll trust since he has the Clive seal of approval.

“So spill it,” I say to Clive, unwrapping one of the burgers. “What’s so urgent?”

He glances around, then leans in. “Two things,” he says, his voice low. “The first is Hardline’s Thirsty Thursday meet-and-greet.”

I lean forward. “Tonight?”

“Yup. And guess who has a ticket for himself and a plus one?”

“Ryan Gosling?” I quip.

He tilts his head and looks down his nose. “Me. It starts at eight. I’ll pick you up at seven-forty-five. We’ll be there by eight-fifteen. Never good to seem too eager.”

“Yes. Fabulous. Casual? Dressy?”