“No one was there to let someone in. Nicholas and Inda left before I went to Luna’s. Bert wasn’t there yesterday, and I can’t even fathom him doing something like this. You’re welcome to interrogate my friends, but if you do, I have to be there, because I want to see them chew you up and spit you out.”
“I have no doubt they will, but I’m still going to ask them some questions. What about your cleaning service?”
“They’re very reputable.”
“All it takes is a little money. Someone could have slipped some cash to one of the cleaning people.”
“It’s possible, I suppose.” She took a sip of coffee. “I wish I knew why they were doing this. None of it makes sense.”
She was right about that. The only pattern was that there wasn’t one.
“I still think the most likely suspects are Noelle and Aldrich.”
“The note referred to me as the boss,” she said. “Doesn’t that imply something about Spencer? Aldrich doesn’t have any connections to my company.”
“Derek sent me an email last night right before you called. It turns out Aldrich bought a large share of Reese Howard Aviation not long ago. And guess who was just elected to their board of directors?”
“What?” she asked, her eyes widening. “Aldrich got himself elected to the board of directors of our biggest competitor?”
I nodded.
Cameron got off the stool and put her hands in her hair. “That asshole. Why would he do that? He never cared about my business, only whined that I worked too much.”
“Maybe that has something to do with it. If he blames your career for your breakup, he could be trying to hit you where it hurts. Take away the thing that took you from him.”
“Why didn’t I see it?” She started pacing around the loft. “I should have known he was evil. He waxes his chest, Jude. He’s neither a model nor a swimmer. Why would he wax his chest?”
“I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, but it is weird.”
“I just mean it should have tipped me off that something wasn’t right.”
“The question is, does Aldrich have your door code?”
“No. I changed it after we broke up.”
“Regardless, I’ll know more when I review your security footage.”
“Why haven’t you reviewed the footage?”
“I was a little busy fucking you last night.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Well, you should have reviewed the footage instead. No, I take that back, I’m just upset and talking crazy. Fucking me was the right choice.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“How could I not? It was amazing. But we need to focus. You still think it could be Noelle? Her hatred of me is fierce, but putting a fish in my bed seems odd for her.”
“Can you see Aldrich leaving a fish in your bed?”
“Not really. But I’m starting to doubt my ability to judge people’s character. Oh my god, I’m going to turn into one of those eccentric paranoid billionaires. How long before I start trying to build an impossible-to-engineer airplane in a massive hanger out in the middle of nowhere?”
“I’m sure you have a few good years left. And yes, I still think Noelle is a possibility. The fish could be for shock value, or to throw you off her trail. Regardless, I think you should get Derek involved. His firm can help manage the media if things start going sideways.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” She grabbed her phone and groaned.
“Another email?”
“No, a text from Bobby Spencer. He’s throwing an intimate soiree”—she made air quotes—“on his stripper plane tonight.”
“What’s a stripper plane?”
She rolled her eyes while she typed a reply. “A few years ago, he bought a private jet from some Saudi prince. I think it’s literally from the early nineties, and it’s hideous. I’m talking red velvet and leopard print with gold-plated everything. I’ve only had the misfortune of seeing pictures, but it’s outfitted with a rotating bed, a full bar, and a stripper pole. It’s another one of his brilliant business ideas that’s done nothing but waste a bunch of his trust fund.”
“Classy.”
“Oh dear, I was about to RSVP with a plus one, but he texted again to say I don’t need to bring my bodyguard.”
“The fuck you don’t,” I said.
Her lip curled in a smile. “Mm, territorial. I like that. I honestly don’t know why he keeps inviting me to things. I’ve never gone to one of his parties.”
“So he’s clueless, delusional, and wealthy. That’s a charming combination.”
“At least I won’t have to tolerate him much longer.” She sat back down on the stool. “I can exercise my option to buy more shares next month. Then I’ll own a majority interest in Spencer, and I can tell him to fuck off.”
My brow furrowed. “Does Bobby know you’re buying out his family?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure what Milton’s told him. I’ve always kept my distance from their private family matters.”
“Bobby might not be happy about the fact that someone else is on their way to owning his family’s company.”
“I don’t know why he’d care. He lives off a bottomless trust fund. He’s an only child of an elderly multi-billionaire with no other heirs. Spencer could go bankrupt and he’d still never run out of money.”
“What about Bobby’s mother? What’s her story?”
“Ruby Spencer-Kensington-Alviar. She and Milton split up years ago. Last I heard, she was living in Spain after leaving her third husband and taking half his fortune. Some women marry well, Ruby divorces well.”
“That helps explain Bobby.”
She sipped her coffee. “Yeah. Milton is actually a decent guy, but he was almost fifty when Bobby was born, and I don’t think he was a very involved father. Ruby was much younger, but I doubt she ever wanted children. Bobby was raised by a string of nannies who never stayed on very long because he was such a spoiled shit. I’d feel sorry for him, but he’s thirty-six years old. At some point, everyone has to stop blaming their problems on their crappy childhood and either be a good person or not.”
“True. And you said Milton was friends with your grandparents?”
“Yeah.” She slid off the stool and picked up her plate. “I’ll clean up.”
I eyed her for a second. Was that an intentional evasion of my question? Or was she just ready to move on from breakfast conversation and get home?
“I can take care of it.”
She took my empty plate and set it on top of hers. “You cooked, I can do the dishes. It’s not like I forgot how. Plus, don’t you have some packing to do?”
“That’s right, I talked you into shacking up with me.”
“To be fair, you’re shacking up with me.”
“What’s Bluewater going to think of that?”
She smiled. “You’ll get to find out tonight. It’s Eighties Night at the Bluewater Disco. Everyone will be there.”
“Eighties night? Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”
“It’s in Bluewater, so I didn’t think I’d need to make you work on a Saturday just to watch me dance with a bunch of our weirdo residents wearing bad interpretations of eighties outfits.”
“People are going in costume?”
“We dress to the theme. It’s my favorite event of the year.”
A community event tonight was perfect. It would give me a chance to casually find out if there was anyone else who might be responsible for the break-in. “Then I guess we should get moving. I have a lot of work to do before tonight.”
Her smile faded. “Oh crap, I can’t forget it’s my day to feed Steve.”
“Steve? Do I even want to know?”
“He’s our three-legged alligator.”
I blinked at her. “You have a three-legged alligator? Where?”
“He lives in the canal. He lost a leg and even with the prosthetic leg one of our tech-genius res
idents made him, he can’t survive in the wild, so we let him stay. But don’t worry, he’s harmless as long as we keep him fed.”
“What do you feed him?”
“Rotisserie chickens,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact, as if feeding cooked chickens to a three-legged alligator was the most normal thing in the world.
“Let me get this straight. Bluewater has a free-range Saint Bernard, and a three-legged alligator?”
She smiled again. “Mm hmm. And Frank.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Frank’s a parrot with a talent for mimicking human speech. And his previous owner was kind of a dick, so he mostly spews profanity.”
I had a feeling I was about to get a crash course in the quirkiness that was the Bluewater enclave.
22
Cameron
I sat in a chair in my spacious master bathroom, turned away from the mirror, while Valentina attacked my face. She was dressed in a fabulous floral romper, her dark hair in a braided updo, her fingernails painted a deep red that matched her lipstick. One of Miami’s best stylists, hairdressers, and makeup artists, Valentina—she went by her first name only—had just inked a deal to star in her own makeover show.
“Not many girls can pull off peach, green, and gold the way you can,” she said in her light Puerto Rican accent. “Look down.”
I lowered my eyes while she smoothed on eyeliner. “Are we sure that’s eighties enough? I was thinking hot pink and bright blue.”
“Too cliché,” she said. “And with your skin, you’d look like a cheap whore.”
I smiled. Valentina’s blunt honesty was one of the reasons I loved her. That, and the fact that she could style me for a black-tie gala or a silly themed party with equal perfection.
Last I’d seen, Jude was downstairs, going over the security footage for the fifth or sixth time. One thing we knew now with absolute certainty, whoever had broken into my house had used the door code. The video showed a person walking right up to the door, like he or she belonged here, and typing in the code with a gloved hand. The problem was, we couldn’t tell who it was.
They’d worn nondescript dark clothing. No logos or labels. We couldn’t even tell for sure if it had been a man or a woman. The person’s face had been buried deep in a hood and they’d kept their head down.
I didn’t have cameras inside—although Jude was gradually talking me into letting him install one in the entry. Indoor surveillance had always felt like an unnecessary infringement on my privacy. But after this, I had to admit, the idea had merit.
It still sent a tingle down my spine—and not the good kind—that someone had waltzed right into my home. How had they gotten access? The police were investigating the cleaning service. Jude had talked to Nicholas and Inda earlier, as well as Bert, and he agreed that it was highly unlikely any of them were involved. He’d also ruled out Brandy, which didn’t surprise me, but was also a relief. I was worried I’d sorely misjudged someone close to me. But I trusted Jude, and he’d said he was as sure as he could be that my closest employees weren’t the culprits.
If it was Aldrich, I was going to have his ass. It made me want to sue him for breach of contract over the sex tape—we’d both signed that non-disclosure—even though that was a guarantee it would be made public. But it might be worth it to bury him in the legal system for a while.
A twinge of guilt fluttered in my stomach. I still hadn’t told Jude about the sex tape. With Aldrich a potential suspect, I knew I needed to just come out and tell him. But I couldn’t seem to get the words out.
I didn’t want him to think less of me. I thought less of myself, and that was bad enough. I couldn’t deal with the thought of disappointment in Jude’s eyes.
My phone buzzed against the gray marble counter. When I’d built my house, I’d let my architectural and design team go nuts with their luxury beach hut concept. What they’d given me was a gorgeous home that was stylish and unique. My master bathroom was a soothing mix of grays, ocean blue glass tile, and a sprawling teak-style vanity that was actually constructed from more sustainable bamboo.
While Valentina consulted her sizable collection of eye shadows, I checked my phone, stifling a groan.
Bobby the Douchebag: Are you sure about tonight? You can still come over.
Me: Positive.
Bobby the Douchebag: I’ll get your favorite dinner.
Me: What’s my favorite?
Bobby the Douchebag: I’ll know when you tell me…
Me: No thanks.
Bobby the Douchebag: Come on. I told you, not a date. I don’t even want to date you.
Bobby the Douchebag: That was a lie. We’d be the hottest couple in Miami.
Me: Nope.
Bobby the Douchebag: Think about it, Cami. We’re the ultimate power couple.
Me: We’re not a couple.
Bobby the Douchebag: Only because you’re being stubborn.
Me: Still no.
Me: And in case I’m not being clear, no.
Me: Also, no.
I put my phone down. It buzzed again, but I ignored it. He’d get distracted by something shiny—his ridiculous Instagram groupies or his equally douchey club-hopping friends.
“Trouble in paradise?” Valentina asked, wielding a makeup brush. “Close your eyes.”
I did as I was told. “No, just Bobby Spencer.”
“Ugh, that guy. I heard he got blacklisted by both Liv and Wall Lounge.”
“Barred from Miami’s hottest clubs? Such a shame.”
Valentina snorted. “Almost done. You just need mascara and another layer of hairspray.”
She finished caking on my makeup, then covered me in a cloud of high-hold spray. I bit my lip with excitement while she sprayed the back of my hair, waiting to get a glimpse of her magic. Eighties night couldn’t have come at a better time. I desperately needed the distraction, and I had a shameless love of eighties music. If they broke out the karaoke machine, I was going to dominate. I could rock anything by Pat Benatar.
“Okay, gorgeous, take a look.”
I spun around and giggled. I looked like a ginger version of Jem from Jem and the Holograms. My green and gold eyeshadow went all the way to my sculpted eyebrows. She’d painted sparkling gold stars at the corners of my eyes and dramatic peach blush highlighted my cheekbones. The lipstick she’d chosen was a darker peach and so shiny it almost looked like glitter. My hair was southern-beauty-queen huge, a mass of teased-out waves that gave me at least another four inches of height.
It was perfect.
“You’re a goddess,” I said. “I look ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous but still hot,” she said. “I keep trying to make you ugly and it never works. Your outfit is on the bed.”
I laughed. “Thanks, Val.”
I’d mused many times that money couldn’t buy happiness. But today it had gotten me a brand-new king-size memory foam mattress and my favorite luxury high-thread-count sheets delivered same day. Between the new bed and the fresh air coming in through the open glass doors, any hint of fish smell was gone.
I changed into the outfit Valentina had selected for me. Black bra with a slouchy peach shirt that draped off one shoulder. Black leggings with a bit of shine to them and a pair of sparkly gold legwarmers that brought me more joy than was strictly healthy. Because she was amazing, she’d paired the whole thing with huge hoop earrings and garish gold heels.
Perfect.
She gave me a final once-over, declared me fit to be seen, and carted her things downstairs.
I put my phone and the touch-up kit Valentina had left in a lime green clutch, rubbed my lips together one last time, and went down to find Jude.
He wasn’t in the breakfast nook—a space off the kitchen with a view of the water—where he’d set up his laptop and two additional travel monitors. I opened the door to the terrace and poked my head into the warm evening air.
“Jude?”
His voice came from inside, behind me. “Read
y to go?”
I spun around and my mouth dropped wide open. Jude stood in my kitchen dressed in a sleeveless mesh half-shirt—putting his huge arms and chiseled abs on full display—and a pair of gold and black parachute pants.
“Oh my god.” I shut the door and moved closer. “Where did you get that?”
His hands were in his pockets, his posture casual, like there was nothing abnormal about the way he was dressed. “You said eighties night and people would dress to the theme. I’ll blend in this way.”
“But where did you get that outfit? Did you leave while Valentina was doing my hair?”
He glanced down at his clothes. “No. I brought it from home.”
“You just had that in your closet.”
“Yes.”
“Are you serious? Did you dress up for Halloween recently?”
“No.”
It was hard to keep from laughing. “Then why do you have those? Some weird undercover mission?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he deadpanned.
“Fair enough. How do I look?”
He finally cracked a small smile. “You look really terrible.”
“Thank you,” I said, patting my stiff hair.
The door opened behind me and Nicholas and Inda came inside. Inda was dressed in a lavender tank top and cropped leggings, her hair in her usual ponytail. Nicholas wore a plain t-shirt and tapered sweats.
Nicholas snickered until his eyes moved to Jude. He stopped and cleared his throat.
“Wow,” Inda said. “You both went all in.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I asked. “You’re more than welcome, and we can wait for you to get ready.”
Nicholas gave his wife an alarmed glance, but she shook her head.
“No, thanks. We’ll stay here and make sure no one else breaks in.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Go have fun, crazy kids,” she said, waving us away.
Jude followed me out to the garage where I kept my tricked-out golf cart. The best way to travel around Bluewater was by golf cart, and I’d added aerodynamic spoilers, ventilated seats, and a fringe of neon-lighted tassels that hung from the roof. I’d wanted to beef up the electric engine, but I hadn’t found the time to do more extensive modifications.
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