Lisa
Jennie said nothing, sipping her martini and quietly staring off at the horizon.
"I was jealous," I admitted finally.
"Let's let the topic drop before one of us humiliates herself any further," she suggested primly.
"Let's not. What's life without a little humiliation, a little pain? A little honesty?"
"A little honesty? Okay fine. You are under the idiotic assumption that I'm some ladylike wallflower who needs a boost of confidence," she scoffed.
"I certainly didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. It's written all over your 'let me save the day' cape."
I gestured at the towel. "Do you want this to be pants or a cape? Because I'm willing to do whatever makes you happy."
"Then leave me alone on the only night that I get to be myself." She enunciated every word like it was a threat.
"No."
She stood, and I thought for a moment that she would try to strangle me. But once again, her magnificent restraint kicked in.
"You're a piece of work, Manoban."
"You want to shock me? Then show me. Show me the real Jennie," I demanded, rising to my feet.
She spread her arms wide, vodka skimming the rim of her glass but not daring to spill.
"This is it. I'm wearing boxer shorts that I stole from an ex-boyfriend who thought he wanted to marry me until he found out that I cared about him less than starting my own business. I squeezed in a kickboxing class between here and the office because spending all day every day toning it down for the world is frustrating. I block out every Wednesday night to be alone. And you are ruining it. I've done every appearance you've scheduled. Dressed the way you asked. Smiled the way you instructed. I deserve my Wednesday."
"Toning it down?" I repeated, purposely ignoring the rest.
"I'm not some shrinking violet or other delicate flower. I'm a badass, Manoban. I'm aggressive, very, very smart, and powerful. I'm intimidating. And if I don't 'tone it down,' people start to whisper things like 'bitch' and 'gird your loins' when I walk past. I have things that I need to accomplish. And I can't do them all if everyone is terrified of me or too busy cracking jokes about how I'm a Devil Wears Prada boss."
She was finally coming into focus for me. And oh, did I like what I saw.
"If you're such a badass, why are you letting people like me and Irene and your mother tell you where to be and what to do?"
Unexpectedly, she flopped back in the chair. "That's the billion-dollar question. Isn't it? What's your theory, smart guy?"
"Oh, you won't like my theory," I chuckled.
"There are a lot of things about you I don't like. What's one more?" she said airily.
Oh, yes. If the prim and proper Jennie Kim was tantalizing, this unedited, confident version was irresistible to me. I was going to make a very big mistake, and it was likely going to be quite costly.
I'd enjoy every second of it.
"I've spent three weeks watching you. You're a chameleon. Competent in front of the directors. Terrifying for your assistants. Temperamental teenager to your father. The passive-aggressive good daughter to your mother. The unreachable CEO to your colleagues. The question is, which one is the real you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Manoban."
"Oh, but you do," I said, stepping into her space. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."
I could see her temper flaring just below that flawless surface.
"Your job is to make this situation go away not get inside my head," she reminded me.
"Let's discuss the psychology of vulnerability, shall we?" I said. We were as close as we could be without touching.
"You've seen my calendar. I don't have time for a psychology class."
"You're in the business of selling things," I said. "Tell me, Jennie, do you lie about your products? Make outrageous claims?"
"Careful, Manoban," she warned me. "Questioning my integrity is not the way to a long and healthy life."
My smile was hard. "Or are you transparent? Authentic? Are you clear about exactly what your products are?"
"You already know the answer to that, and if this is how you earn your astronomical fee, I'm going to want a refund."
"How am I supposed to sell you, Jennie?" I asked.
"Sell me?"
"That's what I've been hired to do. Sell you to the public. Make you relatable, desirable, trustworthy. Show the world that their money is safe with you. And I can't do that with a mask. I can't make a facade likable. If you want to win, you need to do it as you."
"You're being ridiculous." She crossed her arms over her chest.
"And you're hiding behind the pretty ice queen routine. If you don't show me who you really are, then how am I supposed to sell you?"
"You can't be serious. The entire world revolves around photo filters and airbrushing. Sound bites written by professional manipulators. Paid advertising. Nothing is real anymore," she shot back.
I laughed without humor. "Only if you're playing the small-time, love. And you're not small-time."
She huffed out a breath. "I don't have time for a philosophical discussion. Lay your insanity out for me."
"Happy to. When you are vulnerable and authentic, people automatically gravitate toward you. They are reprogrammed to like you because you aren't wearing a mask. You aren't hiding from them. You're brave enough to be real in a world full of people too terrified to be themselves."
"You want me to go out there in that world full of people who already openly hate me? Who would give anything to see me fail and be destroyed in the process?"
"You've already been torn down," I reminded her. "Now it's time to rebuild you. And if we rebuild you as you, you'll be untouchable."
"Untouchable? You're awfully confident in your abilities."
"Trust me, Jennie," I urged. I needed her to trust me.
She shook her head, took a sip of her drink. "Is this your approach with all your clients?"
I laughed. "God, no. Some of them are simply terrible people. Those I give shiny masks. But you? You're playing it safe and small. Whether it's fear or just all that you know, there's a much bigger, brighter world out there for people like you."
"People like me," she repeated.
"I'm not here to kiss your ass, darling. I'm here to strip you down and make the world fall in love with you. That's not possible with all my clients."
"I'd rather have a mask."
"Do you want to change the world or hide from it?" I asked.
"Why can't I do both?"
"Because you're Jennie fucking Kim, and you have something to say. You're not some media mogul with two mistresses and an angry wife. You're not some vapid starlet with a DUI and a drug problem."
"Do you really believe you can get me out of this mess?" she asked, showing the first real hint of rawness.
"I know I can. In fact, I'll guarantee that you'll be in a better place than you were before you got in that idiot's Ferarri. But in order for that to happen, you have to trust me."
She stared out at the horizon for a long beat. "What do you see when you look at me?" she asked finally.
"You're passive aggressive rather than direct," I said. "Your apologies are purposely lackluster. You do things just to annoy your mother because you have to do something to make her realize she doesn't run you. You let Irene, your CMO, take the office that should be yours and then meet in hers because 'there's more room.'"
Jennie smirked into her martini.
"You'll go toe-to-toe with your father in a shouting match and then wear a color your mother insists makes you look washed out. Yet you'll turn around and compliment a low-level employee by name. You go about getting what you want by any means possible. And I respect that."
"You respect that?" she scoffed.
I leaned over into her space, revved when she didn't pull back. "Your self-control is not just admirable. It's a goddamn turn-on."
She studied me, that sexy, smug smile still tugging on lips I wanted desperately to kiss again. "And why is that?" she asked finally.
I leaned closer still. "Because I want to strip you of that exquisite self-control of yours and see what's underneath. I want you naked and begging because the only thing in the world that matters to you is my cock settling between your perfect thighs," I confessed. "I want to conquer you because you're unconquerable."
We were so close I could feel her breath on my cheek.
Her nipples pebbled under the thin material of her tank. I longed to reach out and swipe my thumb over them both. I wanted to hear that intake of breath the first time I touched her in a way that neither of us could walk away from.
She raised her glass as if she couldn't possibly care that I was an inch away from her, and my dick had turned to stone. "What makes you think I'd let you conquer me?"
"Ah, Jennie," I said, giving in and stroking a finger down her bare cheek. I trailed it down her neck and across the sharp clavicle, then dipped it lower, under the scoop of her tank and over the curve of her breast. "That's the fun part. Don't you think? See which of us conquers the other?"
I could feel her heartbeat speeding under my finger. Her chest was rising in silent, short pants. I was harder than marble. I wanted to kiss her again. Taste her. To pull down those boxers and lick her.
Then I'd burn the ex-boyfriend's underwear and give her anything she wanted as long as it was mine.
"You don't sleep with your clients," she pointed out.
"I haven't wanted to before now."
"We are a supremely bad idea," she reminded me.
"I agree. But wouldn't it be a fun mistake to make?"
"I don't have room for any more mistakes," she said.
Giving myself some much needed space, I took my seat again. "How do you decide who you trust?" I asked, abruptly changing the subject. Blandly.
"Stop trying to push me off-center."
"Just answer the question."
She turned her back on the sky and faced me. "The same way anyone chooses. Just because I've got a higher tax bracket doesn't mean I exist in a different world of relationships," she said.
"Humor me and explain," I insisted dryly.
"Past experience is generally a good indicator of who can be trusted," she said.
"Is it now?"
"Cut to the chase, Manoban."
"Alison," I said. "You give her full access to your life. You rely on her."
"I trust Alison implicitly," Jennie said.
"How about your friends? Nayeon. Jisoo. Chaeyoung?"
"Yes, of course."
"You trust your father?" I pressed.
"Of course," she said, exasperated.
"Even though he—and the rest of your board—went behind your back and hired me? That's very big of you."
She schooled her features into her classic Ice Queen expression. "Point, Manoban?"
"Irene," he said. "How do you know you can trust her?"
"Irene?" Jennie laughed as if the question were ridiculous. "Because she held my hair when I threw up Cristal on my twenty-first birthday. Because she was there with me in the lab from the beginning. Flawless is our vision. She's the only one who believed in me. Because she's kept secrets."
"Yet she isn't your partner. Neither is your father," I pointed out.
"You're annoying me with your questions," she said.
"I'm asking simple, direct questions. You say you trust people, yet it looks to me as though you're keeping them at a precisely measured distance."
She stayed silent for a long beat, and I wondered if I'd pushed too hard, then decided it didn't matter.
"Both your father and Irene are minority shareholders. Your father could have invested in your company. You could have given Irene a bigger piece."
"Lisa, how I structure my company isn't any of your concern," she said, her tone frosty.
"Jennie," I replied in an exact imitation of her own chilly annoyance. "I'm merely doing my job. I need to know who you trust and why if we're going to get you out of this situation."
She turned back to the sunset. She looked tired, and I wondered if all of this was taking an invisible toll on her.
"My father has steamroller tendencies and no understanding of—or interest in—the female skincare industry. As a director, he's encouraged to provide guidance and feedback, not direct the vision of my company."
"And Irene?" I pressed.
She sighed and chose her words carefully. "While she has been there since the inception of Flawless, she doesn't have—forgive the pun—skin in the game. She wasn't lucky enough to be born into a trust fund as I was. I fronted the cash. I own the company."
"There's more you're pretending to be too polite to say," I pointed out.
"Irene has never been one to bleed or sweat for a cause." Her shoulders tensed. "She cares as much as is convenient. I don't mean that flippantly. She cares deeply for me and for Flawless. But not everyone is interested in making their work the top priority for every one of the twenty-four hours in a day. I understand that and respect it."
"Is there a resentment there?"
"You mean does Irene resent me?" she clarified. "I think she's quite comfortable with our arrangement. In fact, there are many times I envy her ability to prioritize her personal life. She has no qualms about escaping for a long spa weekend or taking every single one of her vacation days. Her life is her priority. Flawless is mine."
"And you wonder if anyone can care as much as you do if they aren't willing to put in the time," I guessed.
She paused. "Maybe."
"I care," I said. "And I'm not going to stop until you have what you want."
The last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon.
She returned to the chair next to me and sat. "No offense, but I'll believe it when I see it," she said.
"How about a side wager?" I offered.
"You want me to bet that you won't save my reputation?" she asked with a laugh.
"I'm very competitive. The higher the stakes, the better I perform."
"We're not discussing your bedroom habits," she said haughtily.
"Funny. See? No one in the world knows what a wicked sense of humor you have. I can show them."
"I'm a real comedian," Jennie said dryly.
"If you're as smart as I know you are, you'll see this as an opportunity to win no matter what. Choose something that will make you feel like you've won."
"What are the terms?" she asked, pursing her lips.
"I will deliver you your IPO."
"And if you don't?"
"What do you want from me?" I asked. "Name it."
A slow, devious smile transformed her face. "Fine. I want fifty percent of Alpha Group. You save my company or lose half of yours."
It was small potatoes in comparison to Flawless, and we both knew it. But Alpha Group was mine. I wouldn't lose it without putting up one hell of a fight, and Jennie knew it. Her calculating brain was enthralling.
"It's a bet," I said, raising my bottle to her.
She lifted her glass. "It's a bet," she echoed.