Ex-grifter Phoebe Graves’ new life threatens to come crashing down around her in the next unputdownable novel from the New York Times bestselling authors of the Addicted series.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Krista and Becca Ritchie’s Destructively Mine, which is out April 29th 2025.
My mom had slipped into high social circles in Charleston and landed on the cotillion’s board of directors. She’d pretended to be my wealthy aunt who was presenting me to society at the upcoming debutante ball. She examined the length of my thirteen-year-old body with the same intrusive gaze, and she said, “We might need to work on some things to make you more . . . just more.”
This is a way for her to tip me off. To let me understand
this is a ploy like in Charleston. An act. She might as well be winking at me.
It just makes a wave of sudden grief roll over me, and my eyes burn. I’m trying not to glare like I have gnarled, rooted history with her.
Stella fingers her teardrop diamond earring. “Like I was telling you”—she speaks to Elizabeth and Addison—“Phoebe is a work in progress, but if you’d seen how rough around the edges her ex-husband is, you’d understand how perfect they are for each other.”
Little does Stella know, my mom has always drawn hearts around me and Rocky and tried to smush us together like two slices of PB&J.
Nausea flips my stomach. Rocky. I need to find Rocky.
The urge grows tenfold. At least Hailey is safe from our moms. If she was at work serving with me today, she’d go sheet white seeing Addison. I rest easy remembering she’s at the loft and taking care of Trevor after the Halloween horror story from last night.
He was stabbed.
I feel like I’m being metaphorically stabbed, so there’s that.
Stella adds, “Grey makes much more sense than pairing her with Jake Waterford.”
“She has good bones,” Addison announces, pushing her tortoiseshell glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “We can work with it.”
I don’t want them to work with anything that belongs to me. Not my body, not my mind, and stay the hell away from my heart. It already feels pulverized from one betrayal. Before anyone can stop me, I say a quick “I’m not interested” and beeline for the exit.
Katherine Rhodes, the manager of guest relations and my boss, intercepts me. “Where are you going?” Her red eyebrows arch in both panic and disapproval. “We’re swamped, and ladies are waiting at the bar.”
“I don’t feel goo—”
“No, no. You leave now, I’ll have no choice but to terminate you.”
I use the only card I have. “Jake won’t be happy about that.” It comes out sharper and more threatening than I intend.
She bristles.
Jake Koning Waterford is a Koning boy. It’s Claudia’s maiden name and often touted over Waterford since Koning is the true source of their wealth. Jake is an heir to one of the oldest beer companies in America, and his family owns this country club.
I might be two seconds from breaking up with him, but Katherine doesn’t know that.
Surprisingly, she waffles. I thought it’d be a knockout punch. An ace in the hole. What the fuck? “You’ll be suspended then,” she snaps. “He’ll compromise with me on this.”
“Will he? I’m his girlfriend.” “I’m his godmother.”
I blow back a little. I did not think they were that close. “Jake never said . . .”
“Well, I’m not shocked. You’ve barely been dating.” Not wholly untrue. She’s eagle-eyeing the restless ladies at the bar. “You leave, you’re suspended for two weeks. No pay.”
I need the money.
I’ve been trying to make an honest living in Connecticut with Hailey, and that also means relying on my paycheck to cover rent. She took off today, and I don’t think we can both afford to skip.
Money wins over my emotional state, and I hightail it to the bar. Thankfully I’m not being approached by Stella and her new matchmaker—sorry, I mean, con-artist friends.
While assisting the four women in pickleball skirts, I practice patience as they ask for mimosas. Being short-staffed really sucks. There is no bartender I can tag in, and so I quickly pour champagne into the polished flutes.
“I’m telling you, Jem, he made an appearance this morning. Early. We were the only ones here.”
“She’s right,” a freckle-cheeked early riser named Laura
vouches. “You can’t blame him for not wanting to be a part of the afternoon rush. He’s so sweet and tenderhearted, and after what happened . . .” They let out a collective pity sigh.
I’m . . . so lost.
I’d love to soak in the juicy gossip, but my head is already crammed full.
“Did you see him, Phoebe?” Jem asks. So much for staying out of this.
“Who?” I splash orange juice in the glasses.
“Trent Koning Waterford,” Laura tells me like she’s introducing Angelina Jolie. Full name status.
Trent is Jake’s oldest brother. A brother that I’ve never met. “Huh,” I say, my interest piquing. “I did not happen to see this specter of a man.” Hailey thinks Trent doesn’t exist. He’s been the Bigfoot of Koning brothers, rarely appearing at town gatherings. Always spoken of in hushed settings.
Case in point.
“Well, he was here,” Laura defends. “He even said hello to Anika.”
“He did.” Anika smiles proudly while I hand her a mimosa. “I just wish he felt like he could be a part of the community. We’re all here for him after . . .” She leaves the sentence hanging.
They’re waiting for me to ask. They’re not going to leave until I do.
Fine.
Admittedly, I kind of want to know. “After what?” “His wife’s passing,” Laura says solemnly.
My brows jump. “He was married?”
“He’s thirty-two, dear,” Jem tells me, sipping her mimosa.
They all now have their drinks.
Laura bows closer to ask me, “Doesn’t the staff here call him the ‘unofficial fourth widower’?”
“Um, I haven’t heard it if they do, but I’m sort of still new.” And maybe the other servers wouldn’t want to talk about Jake’s brother in front of his “girlfriend”—so I’ve been left out of the staff gossip, too. Maybe Hailey has as well, just by association with me.
Being ostracized by both the elite and the service is not a great feeling. I wipe down the counter. “Why is he an unofficial widower and not just official?”
Jem says, “I suppose it’d be more official if Trent stopped by the club more than once in a blue moon.”
“Right.” I toss a towel under the cabinet.
“He married his prep-school sweetheart right after graduation,” Anika fills me in. “She passed away suddenly.”
“Aggressive stage-four melanoma. It was four years ago,” Laura chimes in. “He’s sworn off dating ever since. He’d be the most eligible bachelor in town, but Scarlett was his truest love.”
They all admire his devotion to his late wife, and I’d be more touched by the story if I weren’t so confused.
I’ve gotten the strong impression that Jake hates Trent. He not-so-lovingly has Trent’s ringtone set as “Highway to Hell” by AC/ DC. He grumbles Trent’s name under his breath. Groans whenever he has to answer his calls.
Surely Jake, who’s empathetic toward his little sister’s plights, would have a soft spot for his grieving brother?
It’s starting to feel like Jake is the actual asshole. But I can’t worry about the Koning boys. I have a bigger mess to trek through.
After I entertain the ladies for another few minutes, they take their mimosas to the sunroom, and I check on the status of my boss. She’s on the phone at the hostess podium and jotting on a notepad.
All clear.
I hustle out of the dining room, and my soles squeak on the marble floor in the rotunda. I spy the cucumber water. For guests only. Fuck it, if I’m suspended, then I’m going to be a hydrated suspended bitch. I pour a glass and chug the water on my route to where I believe Jake probably went.
I can’t believe I’m hunting for my fake boyfriend before even contacting Hailey and Rocky. This feels so wrong.
But finding Jake seems imperative. And not just so he can reason with Katherine and help me take the day off with pay. He said he’d call Rocky, and he’s likely pitching the extension of this fake dating scheme to him—and things have just drastically changed.
Excerpted from DESTRUCTIVELY MINE by Krista and Becca Ritchie, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2025
