Genre Fiction
![Wendy Heard - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B079ZQMTH1.jpg)
You Can Trust Me: A Novel
"With its sizzling wit, flash-bang plot, and scorching social commentary, Wendy Heard's You Can Trust Me is THE hot thriller of summer 2023."-Layne Fargo, author of They Never Learn
"A blazingly sharp, sexy, feminist thriller for those who wished The White Lotus season two was told from the POV of Mia and Lucia."-Halley Sutton, author of The Hurricane Blonde
In this "slick and stylish thriller" (Wanda M. Morris, All Her Little Secrets), two best friends grift their way through the California elite, until a scam goes awry.
Summer and Leo would do anything for each other. Inspired by the way each has had to carve her place in a hostile and unforgiving world, and united by the call of the open road, they travel around sunny California in Summer's tricked-out Land Cruiser. It's not a glamorous life, but it gives them the freedom they crave from the painful pasts they've left behind. But even free spirits have bills to pay. Luckily, Summer is a skilled pickpocket, a small-time thief, and a con artist-and Leo, determined to pay her own way, has learned a trick or two.
Eager for a big score, Leo catches in her crosshairs Michael Forrester, a self-made billionaire and philanthropist. When her charm wins him over, Leo is rewarded with an invitation to his private island off the California coastline for a night of fabulous excess. She eagerly anticipates returning with photos that can be sold to the paparazzi, jewelry that can be liquidated, and endless stories to share with Summer.
Instead, Leo disappears.
On her own for the first time in years, Summer decides to infiltrate Michael's island and find out what really happened. But when she arrives, no one has seen Leo-she's not on the island as far as they know. Plus, there was only one way on the island-and no way off-for the coming days. Trapped in a scheme she helped initiate, could Summer have met her match?
"A blazingly sharp, sexy, feminist thriller for those who wished The White Lotus season two was told from the POV of Mia and Lucia."-Halley Sutton, author of The Hurricane Blonde
In this "slick and stylish thriller" (Wanda M. Morris, All Her Little Secrets), two best friends grift their way through the California elite, until a scam goes awry.
Summer and Leo would do anything for each other. Inspired by the way each has had to carve her place in a hostile and unforgiving world, and united by the call of the open road, they travel around sunny California in Summer's tricked-out Land Cruiser. It's not a glamorous life, but it gives them the freedom they crave from the painful pasts they've left behind. But even free spirits have bills to pay. Luckily, Summer is a skilled pickpocket, a small-time thief, and a con artist-and Leo, determined to pay her own way, has learned a trick or two.
Eager for a big score, Leo catches in her crosshairs Michael Forrester, a self-made billionaire and philanthropist. When her charm wins him over, Leo is rewarded with an invitation to his private island off the California coastline for a night of fabulous excess. She eagerly anticipates returning with photos that can be sold to the paparazzi, jewelry that can be liquidated, and endless stories to share with Summer.
Instead, Leo disappears.
On her own for the first time in years, Summer decides to infiltrate Michael's island and find out what really happened. But when she arrives, no one has seen Leo-she's not on the island as far as they know. Plus, there was only one way on the island-and no way off-for the coming days. Trapped in a scheme she helped initiate, could Summer have met her match?
Editorial Reviews
"You Can Trust Me isa propulsive, sun-drenched adventure with smart, sharp commentary on wealth and power. Come for the Glass Onion–esque island and eat-the-rich mentality; stay for the clever, layered female characters."-Grace D. Li, New York Times bestselling author of Portrait of a Thief
"With hell-for-leather pacing and anchored by a pair of con artists with genuine love for each other, You Can Trust Me is as addictive as it is original."-Eliza Jane Brazier, author of Good Rich People
"You Can Trust Me is scrupulously plotted with two of the most memorable protagonists I've read in a while. It is an absolute must-read."-Kimberly Belle, internationally bestselling author of The Personal Assistant
"You'll devour this dynamic, pulse-pounding tale. I loved it."-Kaira Rouda, USA Today bestselling author of The Next Wife
"A breathless adventure!"-Wendy Walker, bestselling author of What Remains
"You Can Trust Me had me hooked from the start. . . . Electric."-Kate Alice Marshall, author of What Lies in the Woods
"I inhaled You Can Trust Me. Wendy Heard ratchets up the suspense, even before any bodies hit the floor. It's a brilliant look at class, sex, gender, and more!"-Amina Akhtar, author of Kismet
"Wicked and whip-smart, You Can Trust Me is an absolute winner. Wendy Heard surprises at every turn with her skillful plotting, searing wit, and shrewd characters. This thriller is one irresistible ride from start to finish."-Hilary Davidson, bestselling author of Her Last Breath
"Clear your schedule and settle in . . .&nbs...
"With hell-for-leather pacing and anchored by a pair of con artists with genuine love for each other, You Can Trust Me is as addictive as it is original."-Eliza Jane Brazier, author of Good Rich People
"You Can Trust Me is scrupulously plotted with two of the most memorable protagonists I've read in a while. It is an absolute must-read."-Kimberly Belle, internationally bestselling author of The Personal Assistant
"You'll devour this dynamic, pulse-pounding tale. I loved it."-Kaira Rouda, USA Today bestselling author of The Next Wife
"A breathless adventure!"-Wendy Walker, bestselling author of What Remains
"You Can Trust Me had me hooked from the start. . . . Electric."-Kate Alice Marshall, author of What Lies in the Woods
"I inhaled You Can Trust Me. Wendy Heard ratchets up the suspense, even before any bodies hit the floor. It's a brilliant look at class, sex, gender, and more!"-Amina Akhtar, author of Kismet
"Wicked and whip-smart, You Can Trust Me is an absolute winner. Wendy Heard surprises at every turn with her skillful plotting, searing wit, and shrewd characters. This thriller is one irresistible ride from start to finish."-Hilary Davidson, bestselling author of Her Last Breath
"Clear your schedule and settle in . . .&nbs...
Readers Top Reviews
Hannah O. Christense
Summer and Leo are conwomen who are always on the move. When Leo sets her sights on billionaire Michael Forrester, she thinks she’ll finally be able to pay Summer back for everything she’s done for her. However, when Summer isn’t able to get in contact with Leo after her date with Michael, she takes matters into her own hands to find her friend and cons her way onto Michael’s private island where not everything is as it seems. YOU CAN TRUST ME by Wendy Heard was a fast-paced ridiculous ride and I was immediately sucked into the plot! This book was ultimately about the friendship between Summer and Leo, which was so beautiful, and the stakes one is willing to take for the one they love. Summer and Leo were such strong characters and their backstories helped shape them in a nice way. The twist hit me right before it was revealed, and it was shocking and heartbreaking at the same time. This is going to make for the perfect beach read this summer!
James P. McKinley
Simplicity is sometimes all a story needs to be and this thriller has that in excess. It’s a fun little book with great characters that aren’t too dumb and a plot that makes the reader want to keep going late into the night.
Reviewer
I loved the relationship between the two main characters and the adventures they got into were unexpected and thrilling. Such a perfect summer read and really makes you think.
RS
3.5 stars rounded up! Mixed review, here we go!! I absolutely loved Summer and Leo! Scam artist and pickpocket, living off of the wealth of others with no home to call their own but the back of a tricked-out Land Cruiser. These girls truly represented "living life to the fullest" in every possible way. I also really loved the premise of this novel. The storyline was tense and terrifying at times, but I can't say that I agree with the other reviewers that are saying it was fast paced. It was akin to a roller coaster with quite a few uphill climbs. There was a lot of bouncing back and forth between Summer and Leo's POVs, past and present. I think that this actually ruined some of the suspense for me. I'd get all worked up and then read something completely off topic, distracting me from the best feelings one can have while reading a thriller. The reasoning behind Leo's disappearance was extremely odd. I am not discounting the idea. It just wasn't an OMG moment for me. I would have loved to have more "scammer" activity from the girls. I think this would have added more of a dangerous and exciting vibe to the story. With all that being said, I did like this book. I just didn't love it. I think that the POVs alternating so frequently took away from me giving this book a 5-star rating.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter One
Summer
Los Angeles
Tuesday, June 6
The line for this abominable Hollywood nightclub is ten miles long. Twentysomethings crowd together, passing vape pens back and forth as bouncers survey the queue and beckon the prettiest people to the front. Good. For my purposes, the bigger the crowd and the more exclusive the venue, the better.
I bypass the line and give the bouncer a pretty smile. He looks me up and down and unclips the red velvet rope. It's not just my ass that's getting me inside; the last time I was here, I slipped him a Benjamin. Sometimes you have to spend money to make money. "Have a nice time," he says.
"Thanks." I stroll through the darkened hallway, pay the cover charge, and present my ID to a woman behind a little glass window. Music thumps from within like a heartbeat.
My phone buzzes in my purse while my wrist is getting stamped. It's Leo. Going in. Wish me luck! The words are followed by a money bag emoji and a photo of the stairwell leading to the rooftop hotel bar we cased out together. She's downtown tonight, a handful of traffic-clogged miles away from me.
I reply, You got this. I think she's nervous. I've tried reassuring her; we all have unlucky streaks. She'll feel better when she has cash in hand, a feeling I relate to on a soul-deep level. Money is security. Money is doctor appointments, gas in the tank, food-and we're running low.
I take my ID back-I'm moonlighting as someone named Claire tonight-and stow it in my bra. My car key is a hard little lump beside the license. I never keep my key in my purse. You can't tell what might happen to the things you're carrying.
I pull the nightclub door open. Warm, steamy air blasts into my face along with an assault of "Smack That" by Akon. I cringe, remembering the theme tonight is early aughts. The club smells like booze, cologne, and sweat. I stroll through the room, getting oriented. On the left are bottle service tables, a series of booths partitioned off with velvet ropes. Ahead is the double-sided bar with bartenders working frantically, arms flashing. Cocktail waitresses dart back and forth, graceful little hummingbirds sipping from flowers.
On the right is the packed dance floor, a bearded DJ presiding over it like a cult leader. My eyes follow the walls out of habit, locating the restrooms and the door that leads to the back room and service exit. I bypass dancers and tuck myself into a corner to take stock. The crowd is mostly early twenties and stupid rich, which is of course why I chose this club. I was tipped off by some UCLA students, and I can see in a single glance that tonight will be worth my time.
A smile creeps across my face. I didn't realize how much I've been worrying about our little dry spell until now. All my energy had been used to reassure Leo.
I take fifteen minutes to select my people. It helps to nickname them-an old memory trick a veteran salesman taught me-so I work up a mental list that includes Yacht Chad (spiky blond hair, expensive boat shoes, drunk); Tennis Chad (looks like Yacht Chad but with brown hair); Fitness Amber, who's trying to twerk while drinking her weight in Long Islands; and Med Student Jen, who's going to be really bummed when she realizes she lost her ID but who looks enough like me to be my younger sister.
I move to a corner near the bar and stroll back and forth until I catch one of the cocktail waitresses logging in to the point-of-sale terminal. Heidi, employee number 120801. Perfect.
The DJ pivots to "Milkshake" with a vengeance. The crowd cheers drunkenly, and the college girls turn around so the boys can grind up on their L.A.-toned butts.
I slip along the perimeter of the club and let myself into the ladies' room. Inside, someone is vomiting in the handicapped stall. I lock myself into the smaller stall and pull off my black dress. Underneath, I'm wearing a crop top with a deep V-neck and a pair of butt-cheek-baring booty shorts. Two bras have my cleavage welling up to an almost comic degree. It's overkill; my chest is big enough. I can hear Leo's voice in my head, teasing me about it. But the more my boobs bust out of my shirt, the less anyone will look at my face. Speaking of which, I slide on a pair of nonprescription glasses, which will be another thing people notice instead of my features.
I pull my long hair into a tight bun to hide its length, which is distinctive-it falls t...
Summer
Los Angeles
Tuesday, June 6
The line for this abominable Hollywood nightclub is ten miles long. Twentysomethings crowd together, passing vape pens back and forth as bouncers survey the queue and beckon the prettiest people to the front. Good. For my purposes, the bigger the crowd and the more exclusive the venue, the better.
I bypass the line and give the bouncer a pretty smile. He looks me up and down and unclips the red velvet rope. It's not just my ass that's getting me inside; the last time I was here, I slipped him a Benjamin. Sometimes you have to spend money to make money. "Have a nice time," he says.
"Thanks." I stroll through the darkened hallway, pay the cover charge, and present my ID to a woman behind a little glass window. Music thumps from within like a heartbeat.
My phone buzzes in my purse while my wrist is getting stamped. It's Leo. Going in. Wish me luck! The words are followed by a money bag emoji and a photo of the stairwell leading to the rooftop hotel bar we cased out together. She's downtown tonight, a handful of traffic-clogged miles away from me.
I reply, You got this. I think she's nervous. I've tried reassuring her; we all have unlucky streaks. She'll feel better when she has cash in hand, a feeling I relate to on a soul-deep level. Money is security. Money is doctor appointments, gas in the tank, food-and we're running low.
I take my ID back-I'm moonlighting as someone named Claire tonight-and stow it in my bra. My car key is a hard little lump beside the license. I never keep my key in my purse. You can't tell what might happen to the things you're carrying.
I pull the nightclub door open. Warm, steamy air blasts into my face along with an assault of "Smack That" by Akon. I cringe, remembering the theme tonight is early aughts. The club smells like booze, cologne, and sweat. I stroll through the room, getting oriented. On the left are bottle service tables, a series of booths partitioned off with velvet ropes. Ahead is the double-sided bar with bartenders working frantically, arms flashing. Cocktail waitresses dart back and forth, graceful little hummingbirds sipping from flowers.
On the right is the packed dance floor, a bearded DJ presiding over it like a cult leader. My eyes follow the walls out of habit, locating the restrooms and the door that leads to the back room and service exit. I bypass dancers and tuck myself into a corner to take stock. The crowd is mostly early twenties and stupid rich, which is of course why I chose this club. I was tipped off by some UCLA students, and I can see in a single glance that tonight will be worth my time.
A smile creeps across my face. I didn't realize how much I've been worrying about our little dry spell until now. All my energy had been used to reassure Leo.
I take fifteen minutes to select my people. It helps to nickname them-an old memory trick a veteran salesman taught me-so I work up a mental list that includes Yacht Chad (spiky blond hair, expensive boat shoes, drunk); Tennis Chad (looks like Yacht Chad but with brown hair); Fitness Amber, who's trying to twerk while drinking her weight in Long Islands; and Med Student Jen, who's going to be really bummed when she realizes she lost her ID but who looks enough like me to be my younger sister.
I move to a corner near the bar and stroll back and forth until I catch one of the cocktail waitresses logging in to the point-of-sale terminal. Heidi, employee number 120801. Perfect.
The DJ pivots to "Milkshake" with a vengeance. The crowd cheers drunkenly, and the college girls turn around so the boys can grind up on their L.A.-toned butts.
I slip along the perimeter of the club and let myself into the ladies' room. Inside, someone is vomiting in the handicapped stall. I lock myself into the smaller stall and pull off my black dress. Underneath, I'm wearing a crop top with a deep V-neck and a pair of butt-cheek-baring booty shorts. Two bras have my cleavage welling up to an almost comic degree. It's overkill; my chest is big enough. I can hear Leo's voice in my head, teasing me about it. But the more my boobs bust out of my shirt, the less anyone will look at my face. Speaking of which, I slide on a pair of nonprescription glasses, which will be another thing people notice instead of my features.
I pull my long hair into a tight bun to hide its length, which is distinctive-it falls t...
