—LISA
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My hand shakes when I set down the phone. I've been in constant pain for the past two weeks, so I could blame it on that, but it would be a lie. Jennie Jane Kim is the source of my current weakness.
"Damn," I mutter under my breath.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," North says from the doorway of my office.
"I think I just conjured one." I turn to face the window and the sea beyond, but I don't see the view. I see Jennie. Catlike eyes the color of gingersnaps, surrounded by thick dark lashes, a round face with a blunt nose, and plush pink lips. That mouth was always moving, always spewing out verbal acid aimed in my direction.
No one on earth has ever annoyed me as much as Jennie Kim.
No one put me on the defensive faster than Jennie Kim.
Christ, she sounded exactly the same. No, that isn't right; she gave me the same amount of shit as always, but her voice has changed. It is a little different now, holding an undertone of a soft, sweet rasp as if she just finished a bout of hot, sweaty . . .
Where the hell did that thought come from?
I run a hand over my face and snort.
North moves farther into the room. "I take it this ghost isn't Jisoo Sooya Kim?"
The way his voice catches on Jisoo's name has my hackles rising. At some point, she clearly sank her claws into North, and he's feeling the effects. It pisses me off. Everywhere Jisoo goes, destruction follows. I learned that lesson long ago, but like a fool, I ignored it when she came begging for a job.
Everybody grows up, I reasoned. Jisoo included. Only she hadn't. Not one day into the job, she tried to get into my bed. Awkward as all hell considering I can barely stand being in the same room with her. I knew I had to fire her. But there wasn't time. When I finally got the opportunity, she was gone.
I think of my mother's watch, and pure, scorching rage sears through my belly. The watch is gaudy and not to my taste, but when I see it, hold it, I am instantly with her.
My mother was a fairly distant figure in my life; she had her own problems. But there were good memories as well—her holding me as a child, stroking my hair, reading to me. Every memory I have of her features that watch on her slim wrist. Now it's gone, and I feel the loss of my mother all over again, and a deep, wide pain spreads through my chest.
Fucking Jisoo. She has burned me in many ways, but the worst of it is that I let her. She is the last of a long line of people I've allowed into my trust only to be betrayed.
"No," I grit out, remembering North is waiting for an answer. "I can't find her."
He flinches, his jaw bunching tight. "It's my fault."
"Yours? How do you figure?"
Crossing his arms over his chest, he faces me with grim determination. "I'm your bodyguard. Something happens to you on my watch, it's my fault."
Tired and far too jittery for my liking, I rest my hands on my lower abs. Just about every inch of me hurts in some fashion, but it's as comfortable as I can get for now. "Not if I don't let you do your job properly. Besides, I'm the one who was foolish enough to trust Jisoo to be alone here."
A moment of pure nostalgia weakened my judgment. I saw Jisoo and remembered . . . everything.
North tenses as if he's going to protest, but he doesn't say a word. Instead, he glares out the window much like I'd done. "So if you didn't find Kim Jisoo, who is this ghost?"
My lips curl, but it isn't a smile. I'm too . . . unsettled for that. "Jennie."
Just saying her name out loud has power, as if by uttering it, I risk conjuring her in the flesh. I give myself a mental slap; the pain meds I'm on are clearly messing with my moods. Even so, I can't shake the feeling that part of her is right next to me, looking over my shoulder with her disapproving frown.
For one choking second, I see her clear as day, just as she was on the night of our prom, standing in front of me in a green satin dress clinging to curves I had no business noticing, golden-brown eyes snapping with hate fire, her skin dusky with anger.
Even at seventeen, I appreciated that she was stunning in her rage. I was struck dumb, not able to say a word as she tore me to shreds with hers.
The last thing she said to me was that I was worthless, and she hated me. She clearly meant it with every fiber of her being.
I lick my dry lips. "She's Jisoo's sister."
North's brows kick up. "Jisoo has a sister?" He sounds vaguely horrified.
"Don't worry. They are nothing alike." I roll my tight shoulders, and the pain feels almost good. "Jennie is . . ." Hell, even now my teenage self collides with my current self, both of us struggling to find a way to explain her. "Forthright."
North looks at me as if I'm nuts. I feel nuts.
Shrugging, I try again. "What you see is what you get with Jennie. She gives it to you straight." No matter how deep it cuts. "She doesn't care if you're impressed with her or not."
"Sounds like you know her well."
Do I know Jennie? Yeah, I do, though she'd hate that. And she knows me. A weird twist goes through my chest—part excitement, part revulsion—as if I'm being unwillingly stripped bare and am not sure whether I like it or not.
"We grew up together. Jennie, Jisoo, and me."
The three fucked-up musketeers. Because even though Jisoo and I were shits and tried to exclude Jennie, she was always part of the equation. Always.
"Does Jennie know where Jisoo is?"
"She says she doesn't." Shit, my neck is tight. I lift my arm to squeeze it, and my ribs scream in protest.
North's eyes narrow. He knows I'm in pain but thankfully doesn't point it out. "You just said Jennie was a straight shooter. So you believe her?"
"Yes. Unfortunately." I stare out at the sea once more. Everything is on its head now. "And if Jennie can't find her, no one can." Which means my mother's watch is truly gone. I wouldn't be surprised if Jisoo has already pawned it.
The rage grows so thick it chokes me. Jisoo has taken one too many things from me—my memories, my freaking safety—and I'm past forgiveness. I need to call the police. I need to hunt down the watch, not think about a certain sassy woman with a honey-and-arsenic voice.
Jennie.
Her name swirls in my mind without warning, pushing its way in and settling there. She's coming here—with or without Jisoo. My money is on her showing up alone. Whether she wants to admit it or not, Jennie knows as well as I do that when Jisoo makes an escape, nothing is going to bring her back until she is good and ready.
Either way, I'll be dealing with Jennie. My old enemy. The one person I have never been able to ignore. Somehow, she's always been able to slip past any defense I've tried.
And now she's going to be on my home turf. Which sounds juvenile as hell, but I find myself fixating on it—on her: Will she look the same? Hate me as much as before?
Without meaning to, I pull my wallet from my pocket and take out the battered card I have tucked into it.
Dear Jennie Catering Co. is printed in bold, bright orange across a deep-pink background. The colors are too flashy for the brooding girl I knew, but the old-fashioned business card is pure Jennie, who tended to slip into talking all formal and stodgy when she got flustered.
I feel a smile tugging at my lips, and it pisses me off. I have no business getting nostalgic again. I've been robbed and taken advantage of by one sister. And now the other sister, the one who told me I was a worthless, hateful soul, is coming to see me. Doubtless she'll be pleading Jisoo's case, willing to take the fall for her little scam-artist sister yet again.
That pisses me off too. But the clench of anticipation in my gut cannot be denied. I text Jennie my address and tell her to be here by five on the day of the deadline. I can't help adding "or else," knowing it will piss her off. When she replies with an eye-roll emoji and tells me to piss off so she can bake, my smile is wide.
Like it or not, I still enjoy pushing her buttons, and I can't wait for her to show.
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