“Berkley Brighton, the whiskey billionaire.”

“Of course.”

Joanne James didn’t waste her energy on small-time fish. She only went after the big, big catches. She was Bigtime’s resident black widow, but she didn’t kill her husbands. Instead, Joanne bled her hubbies dry, added their money to her own considerable fortune, and somehow managed to wiggle out of paying for anything—even her own divorce attorneys. In a way, it was her own personal superpower. Joanne was a legend in Bigtime, and more than a few society mamas urged their daughters to emulate her marriage merry-go-round.

“I thought you would have asked Bella Bulluci to design your gown. She did your last two, didn’t she?” I couldn’t resist the dig. Joanne had gone to Bella after complaining that my services were too expensive. As if. Fashion genius like mine was priceless.

Joanne swallowed some champagne. “To be honest, I did ask Bella first, but she turned me down.”

“Really? Why?”

Joanne waved her hand, and I squinted at the sudden glare. The diamond boulder on her finger could easily feed the people of a third world country for years. “Oh, she said she was taking some time off to concentrate on family affairs because of her father’s death. I think she just didn’t want to bother with it.”

Bella Bulluci was one of Bigtime’s most popular designers, next to me, of course. Bella had plenty of talent, but I’d always thought her creations were a bit conservative, tame even. Bella was very fond of solid colors and subtle pinstripes. I was more of a polka-dot, plaid, and leopard-print girl. All rolled into one. With neon sequins and a feather boa to match. I signaled the bartender and ordered another drink. I didn’t like being anyone’s second choice, but my eyes strayed H o t M a m a

19

back to Joanne’s ring. That thing had to be at least ten flawless carats. Being a superhero had plenty of perks, but there was one major drawback—it was a pricey occupation. We all had to pitch in to keep the Fearless Five out and about fighting crime. Carmen and Henry didn’t contribute much to our annual budget. They couldn’t with the pitiful paychecks they earned as newspaper reporters at the Exposé. My father wasn’t much better off. Even though he was the chief of police, his salary wasn’t what it should be, mainly because most of the city’s budget went to repairing the municipal buildings, bridges, and overpasses that we superheroes and ubervillains obliterated during our epic battles. That left Sam and I to shoulder the monetary load. With his various business interests and billion-dollar bank balance, Sam gave the most for the greater good. But I chipped in at least five million every year. Sometimes more. Outfitting Joanne James with wedding gown number six would keep us all in black leather and orange red spandex for the foreseeable future.

“Have your assistant call the store, and we’ll set something up for later this week,” I promised and downed my third gin and tonic.