Lisa
Jennie looked decidedly unamused when we pulled up to Bluewater's private airfield.
The helicopter was ready and waiting. An attendant passed us each a headset, and we were ushered onboard, heads ducking low beneath the twirling blades.
"A helicopter, Lisa?" Jennie groused, her voice crackling in my ears, as she removed the scarf from her head.
"Darling, what's the fun of being a billionaire if you can't take a helicopter to a gala?"
Primly, she arranged the skirt of her dress over her legs. "Tell me we're not landing on the rooftop of the hotel."
I chuckled. "We're landing ten minutes away from the event and a car is waiting for us. No one will know it was Jennie Kim bypassing the traffic tonight."
We took off, lifting from the ground in a defiance of gravity and within seconds were swooping over the bay.
Jennie was glued to her window. Even billionaires could take a moment to appreciate the cerulean waters as the sun sunk lower on the horizon.
"Thank you for this, Lisa," she said quietly in my ear.
I reached out and took her hand. She didn't turn away from the window, didn't snatch her hand back. Nor did she bite my head off. It was a very small, satisfying win.
--
The Forsythe-Lowenstein Children's Memorial Hospital Gala was hosted by the very posh Club Indigo Hotel. The entrance to the hotel was set up like a Hollywood red carpet because if Miami's wealthy set were going to show up and open their checkbooks, they damn well wanted to be photographed doing it.
It made my fingers itch to lift a wallet or sparkly bauble. Just for fun. Just to remind myself that I could.
Jennie leaned in to my side in the back seat of the limo. "Don't even think about picking anyone's pockets, Manoban."
Mind reader. She knew me so well.
"I'm astonished and devastated that you would think that," I teased.
"Um-hmm." It sounded like a purr.
The limo eased forward another car length.
"Are you ready to be romantically ambiguous?" I asked, changing the subject.
"You're not going to use this as an excuse to grab my ass, are you?"
I didn't need an excuse. I needed a clear, direct opening from her. Until I received such a message, loud and clear, my flirtation would be entirely in words and long, smoldering glances.
"No, but you grabbing one of my perfect cheeks wouldn't hurt. Remember the power dynamics, love. You're the boss. You're in charge. You're the one being adored."
"And the one doing the groping." She sounded downright cheerful about it. "Are you sure sparking rumors that we're involved is the best strategy?"
"Positive."
The limo made it to the front of the line, and we were expelled onto a rich, gold carpet lined with society photographers and gossip bloggers. Jennie stunned in the sleek, black dress.
I kept my hand at the small of her back longer than necessary. Long enough for a few of the more canny press to ask if we were here together professionally or personally. Jennie locked eyes with me, allowing a secretive smile to light up her face. "Ms. Manoban and I are good friends. We enjoy spending time together," she said, her fingers landing lightly on my lapel. The camera flashes exploded in a show of fireworks.
It wasn't an ass grab. It was a classier kind of possession.
I offered her my arm, and together we climbed the steps, leaving the questions behind us.
Inside, we were guided by white-gloved attendants to the ballroom. Restrained South Beach was the flavor of the room. Pillars and arches flanked a dozen sets of French doors. The white stucco walls were bathed in nightclub purple lighting. Gold damask tablecloths were draped over tables topped with elaborate candle and flower displays. Heavy gilt chandeliers dripped crystals from the mission-style ceiling above.
I was in the wealth tier that preferred to write a check and avoid $20,000-a-plate dinners. But this level of financial responsibility required appearances, gowns, jewels, and an entire evening for the money to be best spent.
"There you are, Jennie." Venice Kim entered behind us, lovely in Hollywood creamy silk. Jiwon Kim's mob-boss broad shoulders fought against the restraint of Hugo Boss. The tone was lightly disapproving.
"Hello. We must have beat you here. We managed to make it in record time," Jennie said, leaning in to kiss her mother on the cheek. It was a greeting designed for cameras.
"Don't be silly, darling. Arriving too early makes one look desperate," Venice trilled.
Jennie looked as though she were about to break her mother's nose.
As a precaution, I took her hand and squeezed.
She bared her teeth in what might have passed for a smile. If the individual were stupid. And inebriated. Or face blind.
I understood women like Venice Kim. They could both fiercely love their daughters and still feel as though they were in direct competition.
"Hey there, slugger," Jiwon said, grazing a kiss on his daughter's cheek. "Manoban," he said with a brisk nod.
"Lisa." Venice smoothed the sharp edges from her tone and looked me up and down. "How lovely to finally meet the person who understands just how important perception is." It was a compliment directed at me and a jab at the rest of her family.
She offered her hand, knuckles up. Dutifully, I kissed it, aware of the flash of a photographer's camera.
"This is ridiculous," I heard Jennie growl next to me.
"Oh, there's Bethenny," Venice said, patting her perfect coif as she side-eyed her husband's ex-wife from several yards away.
Bethenny Kim—she'd kept the last name in what I could only assume was a solid "fuck you" to Venice who had tempted Jiwon out of his wedding vows and into her bed—had made shrewd investments with her prenup money and now headed the board of two charities. Where Venice was tanned and blonde, Bethenny was a lovely mix of Vietnamese and Welsh backgrounds.
She approached in a shimmery, simple column of gray. Her dark hair was cut with razor-like precision to her shoulders. Her hands were ringless. The only adornment she wore was a pair of chandelier earrings that glistened like her dress.
"Is that one of those new designers?" Venice said the word "new" as if it were lemon juice on her tongue.
"Of course," Bethenny said, leaning in for a more sincere hug from Jennie. "I enjoy supporting new artists wherever I find them."
Venice pursed her lips and scrambled for her next match point.
"Jennie, you look stunning as always. What is your secret?" Bethenny asked, giving her an affectionate squeeze.
"Why, she uses her own products religiously," Venice said, steering the conversation back toward something winnable. "Of course, it's unfortunate poor Jennie didn't inherit my side's genes."
"Bethenny, it's wonderful to see you. Lisa, how about a drink?" Jennie offered suddenly. She squeezed my hand in an S-O-S.
"You read my mind."
"Oh, darling, first we need a picture," Venice insisted.
She waved a photographer over and positioned herself between her husband and me. Jennie and Bethenny were pushed to the outskirts.
"Mrs. Kim, look this way," the photographer coaxed.
"I am, darling," Venice trilled.
"I meant the other Mrs. Kim," he said.
If looks could kill, the photographer would have been impaled on one of the skewers of shrimp that were being passed around.
"There's always plenty of room for more Mrs. Kims in the world," Bethenny said lightly.
Jennie coughed to cover a laugh, and we all smiled big, phony smiles for the camera.
"How about that drink, Manoban," Jennie said when it was over.
"How about several?"
We abandoned what could be dubbed as the sinking ship that was Venice Kim's plans for an evening of event domination and headed in the direction of the bar.
"Or your plastic surgeon's phone number on speed dial," Jennie seethed under her breath.
"What was that?"
"Only the perfect comeback for my mother."
"She seems to be a bit… competitive," I offered.
"My entire life, she's demanded that I be successful in whatever I do while still cutting me down for not being exactly like her." Jennie ordered a champagne. I stuck with beer.
"That's quite the mixed message."
"And don't even get me started on how my father wishes I were the son he never had or rather a better version of the useless son he was saddled with. I keep hoping that they'll move to New York or Paris or anywhere but here. It would be nice to have some breathing room."
"Have you tried hypnosis?"
"What? Bring a hypnotherapist to family dinner to implant suggestions?" Jennie laughed.
"Please pass the potatoes. Seattle is nice this time of year," I teased.
"If I get desperate, I'll consider it."
We took our drinks and found our table front and center, of course, near the stage.
Jennie eyed the stage and shuddered.
"What was that for?"
"Oh, just remembering how I met Chu, Nayeon, and Chaeyoung."
"I'd like to hear that story." How did four female billionaires find their way to each other? Was it luck? Money? Had they bonded over their bank accounts, or did it run deeper?
"Maybe someday," Jennie mused. "For now, let me catch you up to speed on the wealth in the room."
While I emptied my beer, she began a rundown, light on background, heavier on current gossip, keeping me entertained.
I knew most of them. Miami was a smaller town than most realized. I'd worked with several people in the room. Some discreetly on—shall we say—sensitive issues. Those clients gave me a subtle nod before disappearing back into the crowd.
It was fascinating, really. I ran a successful business. I had money in the bank. Perhaps not with the same number of zeroes but still respectable.
Yet to some of them, I was a mere servant. They paid me to meet their needs. It was an unsettling thought. One that had me offering a more personal thank you to the woman in the checkered vest who buzzed by and took my empty beer bottle.
She smiled at me.
"Someone is a fan," Jennie mused, watching the waitress disappear into the crowd of the wealthy and the well-dressed.
"Believe it or not, I have some concept of how it feels when other people set rather ridiculous expectations for you," I said, itching for another beer. I settled for Jennie's champagne flute.
"That's mine," she said when I took it and sipped. "Get your own."
"I'd rather have yours."
"We can't always have what we want," she reminded me.
"But we can certainly try."
"Everyone's looking at us," she said, doing a subtle scan of the room.
"It's because they're trying to decide if we're sleeping together," I told her.
"We just got here. Word hasn't had time to spread."
I pulled out my phone and called up a gossip blog at random.
Billionaire Jennie Kim mixes business and pleasure with date Lisa Manoban.
"Never underestimate how quickly salaciousness travels," I advised, showing her the screen.
"You better be right about this, Manoban. Otherwise, my father might try to beat you to death with a centerpiece tonight."