Lisa
I pulled my car into Jennie's crushed seashell driveway and hopped out whistling. It was a beautiful day. The humidity had broken a bit, leaving coastal Florida to enjoy the blue skies and ocean breezes. Best of all, I had a shiny new puzzle to solve.
And she was going to be very unhappy to see me.
Hands in pockets, I strolled up the winding walkway to her front door.
I could let myself in again, but I'd scandalized Jennie enough yesterday. I stabbed the bell with a finger and turned my back on the door to admire the neighborhood. Bluewater was an exclusive gated enclave that, according to my research, my pretty new puzzle had developed with three of her friends. Six years ago, these 2,500 hundred acres had been little more than a swampy mess of overgrowth and trash.
Now, it was home to some of the wealthiest, most eclectic residents Miami had to offer.
They'd built something incredible here. Waterfront mansions tucked away behind lush landscaping. Meandering golf cart and bike paths. Luxurious condo buildings. A secluded marina and private airfield. Even a colorful village of exclusive boutiques and restaurants.
It was impressive. She was impressive.
The door opened, and the security woman from last night eyed me with suspicion. Alison Chang. Only daughter of Korean parents. She'd been active duty Marines for several years before branching out into security consulting and personal assisting.
"You're back," she stated, gaze lowering to my crotch.
"I'm afraid I came fully clothed this time," I said, offering my most charming grin.
"She'll be disappointed," Alison predicted.
"That I'm back or that I'm wearing pants?" I quipped. Humor was one of my best weapons. I was quite charming and funny when circumstances required.
Serious Alison's lips quirked as if they were considering a smile.
"We're getting ready to leave for the office," she said.
I stepped around her, rubbing my palms together. "Perfect timing. I'm here to drive you."
"Oh, she's really not going to like that," Alison sang under her breath.
She followed me into the two-story foyer. Staircases on either side wound their way up to the second floor and a mezzanine that overlooked both the foyer and the living room or whatever the exorbitantly wealthy called it.
My bank accounts were by no means anemic. But this was another level… Yet I didn't find it cold or over-the-top luxurious. There was a pair of running shoes next to the door, papers and a candy wrapper on the entry table. They were next to an exquisite orchid arrangement. But the details suggested there was a human somewhere underneath Jennie Kim's layers of polish.
"Boss? Ride's here," she called.
"All I can say is if this day is as bad as yesterday was, I'm selling everything and buying a tiny house on an island." Jennie jogged into view, stilettos clutched in one hand. She was dressed like she was headed to the club for a girlfriends' lunch. A pale pink linen skirt and jacket. A lady who lunched.
Her bare feet skidded to a stop on the cool marble. "No!" She pointed at me like one would a bad dog.
I grinned. "You need to change," I insisted, giving her a once-over.
"Absolutely not," she snapped. "I refuse to pretend to be someone else just to distract from one stupid misstep that should have no bearing on—"
"Your outfit, love. Change your outfit," I clarified.
Jennie sputtered and glanced down. "My outfit?"
"You do look a little 'Easter church dinner,'" Alison observed.
I was really starting to like this woman who hadn't stun gunned me.
"I'm respectable."
"What else is in your closet?" I asked, taking Jennie's hand and pulling her down the hallway toward the master suite I'd snooped through last night.
She tried to dig in, but her heels couldn't find traction on the smooth marble.
"Let go of me!"
Releasing her, I pushed through the double doors of her closet.
"You need to be human," I instructed, pawing through the meticulously organized racks. "Showing up as Boardroom Barbie isn't helping your case. Here," I tossed a pair of cropped jeans at her.
She caught them on reflex. "Jeans? Are you insane?"
Her horror was laughable. I turned to face her. "You've never worn jeans to the office?"
"On Sundays, when no one else is there. I have an image—"
"That's precisely the problem. Your image is frosty corporate princess. Who wouldn't love to see cracks in that armor? We need to humanize you and take advantage of the attention."
"Take advantage? I want it to go away," she said, still clutching the jeans to her chest.
"What would you wear if you were going out with friends?" I asked.
"What?"
"Shirt. Fun. Casual." I snapped my fingers.
Still smoldering with anger, she pointed to the far end of the closet. I rifled through a handful of t-shirts and neatly folded sweaters. "Here." I tossed her a sleeveless peplum sweater in black.
"We're going to be late," she complained, glaring down the length of the dressing room at me.
Her anger was… entertaining. And a little arousing. I'd expected a prim and proper, polite hostess. Finding a temperamental woman instead was a bonus.
"I rescheduled your morning," I told her, perusing her shoe selection.
"You did what?"
I looped my fingers through a pair of strappy magenta heels. "Jennie, love, I understand your desire to remain in control. However, while revolutionizing skin care might be your area of expertise, polishing images and managing crises is mine. This would go more efficiently if you'd just trust me."
"Trust you? You broke into my house and took a bath!"
"We can argue in the car. Go change."
"I will never trust you of all people. Not if you were the last human being on the face of the planet."
I would have bet money that she was going to stomp her bare foot, but she restrained herself. Another point in her favor. Restraint meant she was capable of being reasoned with.
She disappeared from the dressing room, muttering a string of four-letter words.
"Wear your hair down," I called after her.
I heard a distinct "Kiss my ass" before she closed the bathroom door and locked it with a snick.
I took a quick look inside a few drawers in the large custom island and found many of them empty. I pulled out a belt, then chose a pair of aviator sunglasses from her rather paltry collection. Obviously, Jennie Kim had other interests in life besides clothes and accessories.
I sensed her in the doorway before she spoke.
"Well?" she said, annoyance dripping.
The jeans were fitted and ended a few inches shy of her ankles. The top accentuated her waistline, and the cut made it fun yet stylish.
"Exactly right," I said, handing her the shoes.
She steadied herself on the granite of the island and slipped her feet into them. I guessed the designer would sell out by tomorrow.
"Very nice. You don't look at all like a drug addict."
"Your approval means the world to me," she said dryly.
In response, I took the end of the belt and fed it through the first loop at her waist. Jennie slapped my hands away and took over the task.
"I can't believe I'm listening to you," she muttered.
"Trust me, love. I won't lead you astray." I shoved my fingers into her hair and ruffled the brunette tresses.
She batted at my hands and nearly fell into her collection of trousers. "What are you doing?"
I flipped her hair over in a messy side part. "Perfect."
"I thought that was the problem," Jennie said snidely, securing her belt with a violent tug.
"Come on. We're late," I said, brushing past her.
"You are infuriating! I am going to murder you and have Alison feed your body to Steve!"
I led the way out of her bedroom, noting the massive bed was precisely made.
"Steve?" I was intrigued.
"It's better you don't know," Alison piped up from the kitchen where she was checking the locks on the terrace doors. The entire house offered a panoramic view of blue water.
"Let's go, ladies. We have minds to change today."
"I don't see why you need to drive us to work," Jennie complained as I half shoved her into the passenger seat of the Escalade.
"You're not very friendly in the mornings, are you?" I teased.
"She needs caffeine for polite. Sugar and carbs if you want friendly," Alison piped up from the back seat.
"I can make that happen," I promised. I might be charmingly underhanded when the occasion called for it, but I didn't break my promises.