I’d searched around online for any details concerning Ivy & Wine. A small NYC blog had posted a short snippet, but there was no mention of the investors or Hunter. Other than that, no other blogs had any details about the restaurant. I checked real estate and development websites to no avail. It wasn’t until I searched the New York State Corporations Database that I got my first break. There was a registered agent listed under Ivy & Wine, LLC, one I wasn’t expecting to find: Hunter’s wife, Colette. The wife he loves and respects oh so much.
I searched around on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram for any information I could find about Colette. From what little I could gather from digitally stalking her, she was a sweet woman from northern New York whose great-great-great-grandfather created the airplane or something. (Okay, clearly I didn’t read the whole article.) All of her Facebook photos were of her and Hunter vacationing in the Hamptons and Cape Cod. She was from old money and Hunter owed every inch of his new restaurant to her. Meanwhile, he was traipsing around NYC humping anything that moved behind her back.
I just need proof…
I sat beside Josephine on the futon and angled my body toward her. “I think I have a plan, but I need your help.”
She arched a brow. “With what?”
“How do you feel about going undercover?”
She dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “Please don’t make me do something I’ll regret.”
…
Hunter’s social media presence was nothing if not predictable. If there was something cool going on in the city, he had to tweet, blog, and post about how he was somehow involved. He was a “VIP” at every club in the city, he’d been to every bar opening this side of the Mississippi river, and he’d even once “sipped sizzurp with The Biebs #now-imabelieber”. I nearly gouged my eyes out after reading that tweet.
Fortunately for me, his annoying need to brag about his adventures meant that I knew exactly where he planned to party on Friday night while his wife was out of town. His tweets leading up to the event read like this:
@BigGameHUNTER12334: Can’t wait to party hard this Friday. #whenthewifeisawaythemicewillplay
@BigGameHUNTER12334: VIP 2Nite @OakBar #bottleservice #wheninrome
@BigGameHUNTER12334: We go hard #pregame #sippinondrank
And then of course, his wife had to chime in…
@Colletteinthecity: Don’t have too much fun without me! ;)
@BigGameHUNTER12334: kissy face
Lord help us all.
Essentially he had the Twitter feed of a fourteen-year-old girl and the body of an overweight middle-aged man. He was basically begging for karma to bite him in the ass.
I closed Twitter and slid my phone into the small black backpack I’d picked out for the occasion. That, on top of my black beanie, black jeans, and a black long-sleeved shirt made me look less like a criminal and more like every other girl going out in the city on a Friday night. Hipster fashion really took the edge away from my badass vibe.
“Jo, you ready?” I yelled across the apartment.
She’d been fighting me on Operation Hunter Becomes the Hunted for the last two days, but there was no way around it. I couldn’t be the bait for Hunter because he knew I hated him. He’d see right through the plan. Jo was my only option.
“Why do I have to wear this blonde wig? I look like Shakira.”
The blonde wig was partly for dramatic effect and partly because I knew Hunter liked blondes.
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s not pretend your skinny ass has even half the hip action Shakira does. C’mon. Let me see it.”
The bathroom door opened and Jo stepped out wearing our pre-planned outfit: a slinky red dress with matching heels. She looked sexy, and just a tad slutty—perfect for Hunter.
Jo propped her hand on her hip and shook her head. “This is such a terrible idea.”
“No! It’s brilliant. It’s going to work.” I paused. “Wait, you didn’t tell Julian, right?”
“No, but I feel like I should. Isn’t this technically cheating?”
I threw my hands up. “No! It’s not like you’re going to have sex with him or anything.”
She blushed. “I don’t know! You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with me about all this.”
“Okay. You’re right. All I expect you to do is seduce Hunter and get him to admit all of his secrets so we can blackmail him.”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s all?”
I shrugged. “Let’s make it hurt.”
Chapter Forty
Lily
In the movies, they make the art of seduction seem simple. A pretty woman walks over to the target at the bar, he hits on her, bada bing bada boom, the FBI swoops in and deactivates the bomb, thus saving the world.
In reality, Jo wasn’t a secret agent. Not even close. The world would have exploded like thirty minutes ago if the FBI were relying on her.
“I don’t know. He seems busy. Maybe we should give him a few more minutes?” she asked, peering over her shoulder at Hunter for the thousandth time. I shook my head and took another sip of my water. I was purposely staying away from alcohol so I’d have my wits about me, but Jo was about to drive me to hard liquor.
“We’ve been here for an hour. Eventually you’ll have to go talk to him.”
“Or maybe we can scrap the plan and come up with something better. Maybe he didn’t pay his taxes last year. We could pretend to be the IRS.”