Jennie

"Billionaire breaks internet with sassy new cut"

"Salons city-wide report flood of requests for the Jennie cut"

"Hotter before or after? Jennie Kim's aggressive haircut"

I was off my game today. I'd accidentally spent the night at Lisa's after a few hours of leisurely yet mind-blowing lovemaking. The woman was a sex god, and she was at my beck and call. I'd overindulged, woken up twined around her like a vine, and had to do a mad scramble home to shower and change.

Things had changed this weekend. Gears had shifted. I couldn't put my finger on exactly what had happened, but I felt vaguely anxious and excited.

I blamed it on being too late for coffee. I stormed the offices of Flawless like a warrior charging the enemy. Alison trotted on my heels to keep up.

Lisa was at her office, taking care of someone else's crisis for once. And I was going to take advantage of the babysitter-free time to get some of my actual work done.

"Rosario, can you have two double espressos sent up to my office?" I asked on my way past the front desk.

"Absolutely, Ms. Kim. Your haircut is killer."

I'd styled it myself in a rush this morning and had to admit it still looked pretty fantastic.

"Thank you," I called over my shoulder.

It was the first of many haircut compliments volleyed my way as I headed for my office. It was just hair, people. Get a grip.

"I see you played with scissors this weekend."

Maxim lounged in the salon's doorway in a purple shirt that appeared to be missing a few buttons and a leather hip holster for his styling tools. His mustache twitched.

"Do you approve?" I asked, fluffing the short layers.

He gave me a long follicular perusal. "I do," he said finally. "Who is this hair maestro? Tell me their name so I can add them to my mortal enemies list. Miami isn't big enough for the two of us."

"I think your reputation is intact," I said with an eye roll. "Lisa isn't in the hair game professionally."

"Well, well, well," Maxim mused. "Ms. Fixer appears to be excellent with her hands."

Alison snorted, and I elbowed her, earning a wheeze and then her silence.

"Good morning, Ms. Kim," my assistants chorused.

"Great hair," Yuna grinned.

"Love it," Haruto said, not to be one-upped.

"Thanks," I said dryly, picking up my messages.

Alison and I stepped inside, and I leaned against the door.

"The amount of time and energy people spend on my hair is ridiculous," I complained to her. "Why are they interested in my hair? Why would they buy a shirt just because I wore it?"

"Because they want to be like you," Alison said, cracking her gum.

I ditched my bag in its usual place and headed straight for my desk. "Then go to college and study biochemistry and spend every waking minute building a company."

Alison snorted. "That's idealistic."

"Idealistic is thinking that a new shirt or an expensive pair of shoes will make you famous," I scoffed. "Why can't everyone just be themselves?"

She flopped down on the couch. "You of all people are asking that question?"

"Don't be an ass."

"I'm pointing out that you of all people should understand why, boss. You put on your obedient daughter mask or your terrifying boss mask. They're putting on their Jennie Kim makeup or doing their Jennie Kim workout in hopes that they can capture part of your essence."

I blinked at her. "You've been hanging around Lisa too much."

"I think you're right. She's rubbing off on me. I need to take her to a shooting range or a dirty hook-up bar and Alison her up a little," she mused.

"You two have gotten pretty close," I observed.

Alison lolled her head to the side on the back of the couch. "You're the one having toe-curling sex with Tea and Crumpets."

"Do you like her, though? I mean, what do you think of her?" I asked.

She propped her boot-clad feet on the coffee table. "You really like her, don't you?"

I took a breath, let it out. "I do. A lot. And it scares me. I feel like I'm missing some gigantic warning sign."

"Not everyone is out to get you or to use you," she said.

"Is that your read on her?"

She gave me a baleful look. "If you're asking me as a skeptical security hood, the guy manipulates peoples' feelings and opinions for a living. She picks pockets and paints phony pictures."

"And if I'm asking you as my friend," I pressed.

"My read is her feelings for you are real, and they are scaring the shit out of her."

I sank back in my chair, relief softening the rigidity of my shoulders. As long as we were both scared shitless. As long as we were both in this. As long as this was real and not some challenge or conquest or spin.

Alison's opinion mattered. I trusted her, and she was telling me I could trust Lisa.

"Dammit, now I'm wasting a Lisa-free morning analyzing my relationship with her instead of getting actual work done," I complained

"You're banging a sex god, and your hair is perfection. I feel zero sympathy for you," she said.

A moment later, Yuna entered with the espressos and, sensing my impatience, hurried right back out.

"Finally," I muttered to myself. I sipped my coffee and opened up the slew of files for the product development team meeting this afternoon. I had the new designs from the e-commerce department waiting for my approval and the god-awful IT report on recommended upgrades to our infrastructure. There was a very long Urgent column.

I also needed to touch base with the sales managers. A conference call would do it. But those tended to run very, very long. People in sales loved to talk. And talk. And talk.

There was also my never-ending updates from legal. As of last night, the SEC hadn't asked for any additional documentation, and I was taking it as a hopeful sign that all of our I's were dotted and T's crossed. Given the upswing in public perception, this IPO might just happen after all.

I thought about Esther in the lab, bopping to the Grateful Dead while she waded through the data coming in from the cohort labs. My sigh was mighty.

"You blowing up balloons over there, boss?" Alison mused over her coffee and self-defense magazine.

"Nope. Just loving my job," I said, skimming the last quarter's sales on our Nouveau Face cream. It was selling like crack-laced hotcakes in the European market. We were outselling our direct competitor's product—La Sophia's Skin Riche—by a two-to-one margin. That was satisfying. La Sophia was a company with a seventy-year history, and Flawless was beating them at their own game. At least internationally. They still edged us out domestically, but their days were numbered. When Flawless's scar treatment made it to the market, I planned to leverage the attention for brand-wide recognition.

There was a tap on my door, and then Haruto poked his head in. "Excuse me, Ms. Kim?" He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Yes?" I said, without looking up.

"There's a journalist from Building Fortunes here. She says she has an appointment."

I dropped my highlighter. "Why does she have an appointment?"

Journalists didn't get appointments with me. They got returned phone calls from my publicist who fed them benign, boring information. Building Fortunes was the biggest online business magazine in the country. It was run by a media heiress who had the foresight to shift her family's print holdings to digital. While newspapers around the country folded or scaled back to skeleton crews, Building Fortunes aggressively snapped up readers and advertisers.

Haruto looked wary. "Ms. Manoban made the appointment last week."

Ms. Manoban was a dead one.

"Oh, good," Alison muttered from the couch. "I remembered to charge my stun gun last night."

"Why is she here?" I asked.

Haruto shifted his weight on his feet. "She's here to do a three-day, in-depth interview. The story will run on the front page of the website next week. All-access."

In-depth. All-access. I hated all of the words echoing in my head.

There was a brisk knock, and the three of us watched in horror as the door swung open.

"Ms. Kim, I have three days with you, and I'd like to make the most of my time. May I come in?" She was already in. The dreaded journalist looked less like the grungy paparazzi I expected and more like a disapproving boarding school mistress.

Her pantsuit was prim. Her high-necked blouse buttoned to the base of her throat. She had dark skin and cool, appraising eyes that appeared to have already made several unfavorable assessments about me.

I rose, gritting my teeth. I would rather face a mob of people openly hating me than be followed and judged by a professed-to-be neutral stranger. At least with the mob, I knew where I stood.

"Ms…"

"Moon. Byul Moon." She crossed to my desk and held out her hand.

Moon. Of course it was. Moon like the spewing of the personal details of my life she was about to do. She'd made up her mind already, and I didn't have the time to be shadowed.

We shook hands. My hair slipped over my eye, and I brushed it back. Badass hair. I had a badass haircut because I was a badass. The words flitted through my brain like a fork of lightning. I was a badass.

"Byul," I said, choosing her first name. "I'm Jennie, and I'm unprepared for your visit."

"I don't require preparation. Just full access to you," she said blandly. "I'd appreciate it if I could have a copy of your schedule for the next three days. I've left my bags with your front desk. Ms. Manoban assured me that someone would take them to the guest suite she made available for me in Bluewater."

She was staying in Bluewater? In the only place I was safe from the prying eyes of journalists and the public? A shot with Alison's stun gun was too good for Lisa. Yes. I was going to torture her before murdering her.

"Of course," I said with a small, strained smile. "Haruto. I need to take care of something. Will you show Byul the offices and make arrangements for her bags?" Keep her occupied. I telegraphed the message.

"I'd be happy to. Right this way, Ms. Moon. How do you take your coffee?" Haruto turned up the charm to nine million.

Byul raised a questioning eyebrow at me over her shoulder before Haruto firmly shut the door. I snatched my purse from the console table. "Let's go pay Ms. Manoban a visit," I growled.

"Maybe we should just call her?" Alison suggested. She hated paying for dry cleaning to get blood stains out of her clothing.

"What I have to say is best said in person."

"Oh, boy," she muttered under her breath.