Page 51 of Maneater
“But… But…” She’s floundering, trying to find an excuse to be the exception before she says, “But this has my medication in it.” Regina lifts her clutch to her chest, and I roll my eyes at the obvious lie. God, some people are just not good at bending the truth.
“If there are any life-saving medications that you need to have on you at all times, they should have been on your file,” the attendant says with concern, then taps at a tablet that was sitting next to her a few times. “Let me look?—”
“No, no,” she murmurs. “It’s not…” Another sigh escapes her as she looks around the space and into the room where Gene and Jenny disappeared. “It’s not life-saving. Just gas pills.”
The attendant gives her another far too soft and understanding look.
“Well, if you need anything in that bag at any time, you can either request that we get it for you or leave the party and grab it from the room over there.” She points to where people have been leaving their belongings all night.
“How do I know no one is going to steal anything?” she asks, further piquing my interest. Now, what could she be hiding in there that she doesn’t want anyone to find?
“It has video recording from all angles. Is there something highly valuable in there? We can take it and secure it for you in a safe where no guest can access it.”
“No, no,” she says a bit too quickly to be casual. “I’ll…” She looks like she’s contemplating leaving before a loud laugh comes from the room, and she sighs. “I’ll put my things in the room.” Then she storms off to the coatroom.
I stand at the very entrance of the party, seeming to be enjoying the view of the ocean from one of the many windows, but I’m really watching the reflection behind me in the glass to track when she leaves. Finally, she does, looking a bit begrudged but smiling at Horace, who meets her not far into the room. He takes her arm and leads her into the party.
Rory is inside, and I know she’ll keep an eye out once she sees Regina enter, so instead of following her into the party, I make my way to the bag room.
Once they’re out of sight, I make a gesture like I forgot something in case there are any eyes on me, then make my way toward the bag room. I’m semi-surprised when I’m allowed to enter without any fanfare or proof that I’ve left something inside. Then I look around the room, as if I’m searching for my bag, but really I’m looking for Regina’s bag, and also to see if anyone is in the room or entering soon.
The only other person in here is a woman, who is finding a far back corner of the room to leave her bag. She looks around the room, and I avert my gaze as I scanthe room for the blue bag. Moments later, she walks out, and I let out a relieved sigh as I spot the blue clutch. As I approach it, I attempt to look as casual as possible for the benefit of any security cameras and discreetly try to reach for my phone, which is tucked into my bra strap.
Then I’m moving through Regina’s bag. Her phone is right on top, and I quickly grab it, praying she’s one of those people who uses a common password. One, two, three, four, five, six doesn’t work to my dismay, but I smile when 1-1-1-1-1-1 does, opening to her most recent screen, her notes app. Instantly, I start taking photos. The most recent note says,“J not drinking, pregnant?”which makes me nauseous. This asshole is not only invading people’s privacy but also speculating about the poor woman in this way. Any mission featuring celebrities always brings a mixed feeling of ickiness, partly because while I am thoroughly entertained by celebrity drama, I also can’t imagine my private life being so on display, with every move being dissected in such a way.
As I move through her notes, I see that a few days ago, she wrote that the couple was at the pool, enjoying the sun, and he was rubbing sunscreen into her.
Bingo. She’s our leak—for this location, at least.
I look around the room and listen for an incoming guest before I slip out her wallet. There is her ID, which states her name is Regina Sands. It’s not the name she gave us, but it’s not too far out of the realm. I wonder if we expand our search to simply guests named Regina around the time of the leaks, what we would find. Quickly, I snap a picture before slipping it back in and continuing my hunt.
That’s when I hit the jackpot: a business card tucked carefully between the folds of her wallet with the contact information for an editor atFan Magazine.
I take one last photo before sliding my phone back into my bra, then close everything up and hang the purse back up, straightening my back as I stand and smile at my own jobwell done. I may not have pinpointed the culprit of the sabotage, but I have found the source of the celebrity intel leak. It feels good to be able to give something to the client.
I’m just about to try on my heels and head to the party to schmooze a bit when I hear a familiar deep voice fill the room.
TWENTY-ONE
ROWAN
I wasn’t planning to come to the cocktail party tonight. In fact, I’ve been trying to avoid Josie to the best of my ability, but somehow, I find myself walking toward the side of the resort with the ballroom. The cocktail party is a weekly event at the resort, where guests are encouraged to dress up and mingle, meet fellow guests upon arrival, or have some fun before heading out.
But I know that it really means that Josie will be in a gorgeous dress meant to draw attention, and all eyes will be on her. Although I’m well past the point of admitting I’m headed there with the sole intent of seeing Josie, I’m telling myself it’s because she was hurt not long ago and that I want to make sure she’s okay. I mean, it’s my duty as the highest-ranking employee at this resort right now to ensure a valued customer is well-treated.
She could sue, for all I know. Right?
Right.
The truth is, everything Josie Montgomery does is a complete and total mindfuck. Every time I bump into her, although I leave annoyed or frustrated, I also leave a bit lighter, as if the bantering wedo relieves some kind of pressure that has been building up within me long before the issues at the resort began.
I know I should be more focused on these fucking sabotages, trying to figure out who is setting them up and why, but no matter how hard I dig, I keep hitting wall after wall. None of it makes sense, and none of it adds up. The only thing I could reasonably think is that the culprit is someone who wants this resort to fail. Horace Greenfield could be a good option, considering he checked in nearly two weeks ago, around the time the first issue occurred, and was the closest to securing this location for himself before I outbid him. Unfortunately, I can’t find any real proof to tie the issue to him, other than the fact that he’s been on the site during all the sabotages.
But instead of trying to figure out where he would get the opportunity or who would be his accomplice on-site to do this, I’m walking toward the cocktail party, eyes locked on a woman in a burnt orange dress. Dark hair spills down her back, and her hips sway as she moves toward the room where we have guests leave their bags so they can have a better time at the cocktail party. I get stopped by an employee who has a question about hors d’oeuvres, but I keep an eye on the room for her. Once I’m free, I finally move toward the room to find it empty of everyone but Josie.
She’s in a nearly sinful orange dress that, from this distance, I can see hugs every curve to perfection, closing the top of a blue clutch before hanging it on one of the dozen or so hooks lining the wall.
“Dress looks good,” I say, and her body jolts. When she turns and sees me, her green eyes are wide and panicked, and in a rare moment of her dropping her guard, I can see past the bombshell mask she puts on all the time and see therealJosie. A bit silly, definitely still flirty, but now, there’s a hint of nervousness. Maybe evenshyness. The ego in me wants to think it’s because I’m here, but in my gut, I know it’s not that. It’s something different altogether that I still can’t quite pinpoint.
