Jennie

It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be to break into Lisa's condo in the middle of the night. The front desk attendant, an unfairly chipper woman at four a.m., greeted me by name as I slunk into the lobby.

"Ms. Kim, so nice to see you!" Adhering to the propriety code of people who served the scandalous, she politely did not mention my public disgrace.

I appreciated it.

Her name tag said Kimmy, and she shimmied back and forth on her stool like a kid who couldn't sit still.

"Hi, Kimmy," I said, leaning on the desk. "I forgot my key to Ms. Manoban's place, and she's asleep. I don't want to wake her by pounding on the door or calling. Can you help a girl out?"

Subtext: Are you amenable to help a soon-to-be unemployed billionaire break into her ex-girlfriend's apartment?

"Of course!" Kimmy said, probably happy to have something to do besides finish her Sudoku.

I made sure my smile was grateful, not desperate. "Thank you."

"Let me make you a temporary keycard. You just have Ms. Manoban let me know if you need a new permanent one."

"You're the best, Kimmy."

"Love the hair, by the way. Totally badass."

Minutes later, I faced Lisa's front door, fresh keycard hot in my hand. This was the choice. I could turn around, leave, and find a way to rebuild my crumbling life. Or…

I swiped the card and stepped inside.

It was dark, but the moon cast enough light for me to see the mess. Her briefcase was upended on the floor near the door. Her tie next to it. There was a trail of discarded clothing and personal effects leading from the front door into the living room. The coffee table was littered with beer bottles and an empty bottle of scotch.

Her laptop was open. Her phone was on the floor, the screen cracked.

And there, snoring on the couch, was drunk, unconscious Lisa Manoban. She slept with one arm tucked behind her head, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants and reading glasses, sweetly askew. Her hair stood up at all angles as if she'd shoved her hands through it too many times.

For the first time in hours, the desire to smile was overwhelming.

I'd made the right choice.

She gave another soft snore, and I could smell the alcohol fumes as they wafted toward me.

If this was happening, I needed this person awake. And sober.

I pulled a cashmere throw off an armchair and draped it over her. That's when I noticed the shirt tucked under her arm. It was mine. One I'd left here. Any ice left in the cracks of my heart liquefied.

"Damn you, Manoban," I whispered.

In the kitchen, I fired up her espresso maker. While I waited for the magic of caffeine, I shamelessly snooped through the open files on the counter.

The complete and official Jennie Kim dossier sat, thick and tempting. But it was a red folder open under another empty beer bottle that caught my eye. I moved the bottle and spun the file around.

Irene.

Of course she'd known. Judging from the research, she'd been suspicious from the beginning.

I'd missed it. I'd been blind to her envy, her insidious undermining. She'd never been a friend. And Lisa had seen it immediately.

She'd tried to tell me, I remembered. "Why do you trust Irene?" And I'd shut her down.

I paged through the file. She'd had her boxing friend JK follow her. Noted suspicious contact with La Sophia. Dammit. There were notes from her lunches with her.

She attempted seduction under the guise of innocent flirtation. Leaning in. Whispering. Stroking my arm. Even went for the damsel in distress routine. Bottom Line: She wants everything that is J's. That includes me. Hope J gets the opportunity to kick her in the face. Must find way to tell J before I attacks.

I'd seen enough about Irene's betrayal and opened the next folder.

I wasn't prepared for what I found, however.

It seemed that Lisa's digging had been more thorough than my own. I sucked in a shaky breath. I wasn't sure what was worse: the betrayal or the fact that I wasn't surprised.

There were more notes here.

I want to personally take care of this one. Or watch Alison use her stun gun. Lisa had pushed so hard with the pen the words were carved into the paper.

The smell of fresh espresso permeated my fog of self-pity. I had work to do, and I needed the unconscious person cuddling with my gym shirt to make it happen.

On cue, she groaned.

It was the raspy, gravelly noise of the defeated and dehydrated. I knew it well.

I picked up the cup of espresso and my bag and carried them both into the living room.

"Jennie?" she murmured into my t-shirt. I set the cup down with a clink on the coffee table. One of her eyes cracked open. I reached over her and turned on the lamp.

"Wake up, Manoban."

"You're here." She sat upright, swinging her legs off the couch. Her feet swept three bottles to their death.

"Bloody fucking hell," she groaned, cradling her head in her hands.

"You're a mess," I sighed, carting an armload of empties from living room to kitchen.

"Don't go," she said.

She was on her feet, swaying.

"Sit down and drink your coffee," I insisted.

"I think this is a dream," she muttered to herself.

"Manoban, sit down. Drink your damn coffee. And sober up because we have work to do."

She squinted at me from across the room. "You're bossy like the real Jennie."

This person was beyond frustrating. And, okay, adorable. Also so gorgeous it hurt to look at her.

Her pants were untied, hanging off her hips and showing off that cut torso to its best advantage.

I ditched the glass in her recycling bin and returned to the living room. I stopped at the end of the couch, not trusting myself to get closer. We had business to attend to, and she was a little too vulnerable and appealing like this.

"Sit," I said again.

She pinched herself on the flat of her stomach. "Ow."

"What are you doing?" I pushed her back on the couch. She landed gracelessly and dropped her head back against the cushion. I sat on the opposite end of the couch, keeping a safe distance between the two of us.

"I'm seeing if you're real."

"Oh, I'm very real. Now drink your coffee."

Obediently, she picked up the cup and sipped, still eyeing me.

We sat like that in silence for long minutes.

"Are you here for my apology or yours?" she said, finally breaking the peace.

"Mine?" I scoffed.

"Alright, let's hear it, then."

"Are you still drunk?"

"I may be vaguely drunk and very, very hungover, but I still know that we both owe the other an apology."

And this was why I loved this person.

"Why did you decide to get shit-faced last night?" I asked, changing the subject abruptly.

"Why?" Her voice boomed through the space. "My girlfriend was under attack, and she didn't trust me enough to let me in!"

"I mean, did you get drunk because you lost me or the game?"

Her brow furrowed.

"You're asking quite complex questions when I've got more alcohol than blood in my veins."

"It's not that complex."

"It is when you assume they're independent of one another. I let you down," she said. "I underestimated the threat. I didn't protect you from it. And I allowed myself to be put into a position that made it look as though my loyalty was divided."

"Irene." I said the name without any of the emotions I felt.

"Is a manipulative psychopath who is so envious of you she won't stop until she destroys you. And you believed her over me."

Maybe this person was due a small apology.

"Do you still?" she asked darkly.

"Still what?"

"Do you believe that I came on to her? That I was the mastermind behind it all? That I never cared for you?"

I wasn't ready to address all that. There was work to do. Revenge to be had.

"Let's keep this professional for now," I told her. I slid the contract to her on the table.

"Professional?" It was her turn to scoff. "You want to talk business?"

"It would seem that you didn't hold up your end of the bargain, Ms. Manoban," I said, uncapping a pen. I laid it on top of the contract. "I have some papers for you to sign."