I sat down and hit the remote for the garage. The tassels lit up as soon as I turned the cart on.
“Did you have this decorated for tonight?” Jude asked, settling into the passenger’s seat.
“Nope. This is my standard mode of transportation.”
“The aerospace CEO has a golf cart with hanging neon lights. Because of course she does.”
I pressed the horn and it played a verse from Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up.”
Jude just shook his head.
I drove us out of the garage and paused while Jude looked back to watch the garage door go down—I could tell he wanted to make sure it closed fully—then took the closest paved trail over the bridge and toward Bluewater’s charming downtown village.
I’d done a lot of things that I was proud of in my life so far, but few were quite as special as Bluewater. The four of us—Daisy, Luna, Emily, and myself—had developed it on our own, transforming twenty-five hundred acres of swamp into a thriving micro-community. It also happened to look a lot like a female reproductive system when viewed from the air, a joke that had yet to get old. Daisy, Luna, Emily, and I had built our respective homes on one ovary.
Considering the four of us founders were weirder than we often appeared to the outside world—Daisy excluded, who was nothing if not wildly authentic, even in public—it shouldn’t have been a surprise that the Bluewater enclave had grown into a haven of the quirky and eclectic in Miami.
Which was probably why our nightclub had been renamed the Bluewater Disco at a town hall meeting earlier in the year. And sported an eight-foot carved parrot next to an equally massive rooster statue outside.
Why? Because Bluewater.
I parked my golf cart among the dozen or so already here. The faint thump of music carried from inside and a neon sign in the window announced the Bluewater Disco in shades of pink and electric blue.
“Are you ready to enjoy the best music ever made?” I asked.
“That’s debatable, but I think you could use a win, so I’ll just agree and say yes.”
“How magnanimous of you.” My eyes flicked up and down his large frame. His outfit should have been hideous, but he made it look so damn good.
He tilted his head slightly. “Cameron, am I your bodyguard tonight? Or your date?”
The hint of vulnerability in his voice made my breath catch. I knew if I answered wrong, I’d risk doing permanent damage to whatever was happening between us.
“Can the bodyguard take a night off for a date?”
He stepped closer and slipped his hands around my waist. “I’ll still be watching out for you.”
I nodded, smiling as he leaned down to brush my lips with a kiss.
God, my friends were going to go nuts. But fuck it. Jude made me happy.
I slipped my hand in his, twining our fingers together, and we went inside.
The Bluewater Disco had been transformed into a garish—and fabulous—parody of the nineteen-eighties. Brightly colored balloons decorated the bar and neon lights flashed over the dance floor. A vintage Ms. Pac Man game stood near the hall that led to the restrooms, and giant Rubik’s cubes provided seating and places to set drinks. An eighties tribute band played on the stage at the far end of the room.
I squeezed Jude’s hand. It was dark and the place was packed. It didn’t make me nervous—these were my friends and neighbors—but I noticed Jude visually marking the exits. I wondered what else was going on in that strategic brain of his.
“Do you need to do a lap to make sure it’s safe?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard above the music.
He squeezed my hand back. “Just stay with me.”
“I planned on it, big guy. Let’s go have some fun.”
Emily spotted us and waved. She’d gone all out with a shiny pink jacket—complete with shoulder pads—matching mini skirt, huge teal earrings, and blue eyeshadow that didn’t do anything to diminish her beauty. Her blond hair was teased high and she held a bright pink cocktail.
“You look amazing,” she said. “Wow, Jude. Nice outfit.”
Derek sauntered over, dressed in a more subdued version of eighties menswear—a pastel polo with the collar popped and a pair of well-tailored slacks. He took one look at Jude and burst out laughing.
“Jealous?” Jude asked.
“Dear god, no,” Derek said.
I slipped my hands around his waist, indulging in a little trace of his abs with my fingers. “I think he looks radical.”
Emily’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth popped open. I gave her a smug smile while Jude put his arm around me.
“Well,” Derek said, draping a casual arm around Emily’s shoulders. “Isn’t this interesting.”
Jude glanced down at me. “Drink?”
“Definitely.”
We had to pause for introductions every few feet on our way to the bar. It seemed like most of Bluewater was here. Jude met the secretive Mr. Joneses, who claimed to be retired business executives, but we had other suspicions. I half expected Jude to recognize one or both of them, but if they’d ever encountered each other in their murky pasts, none of them hinted at it.
Then it was three of the WWs, decked out in swaths of neon and cheap plastic jewelry. They fawned over Jude, complimenting his arms and his abs. Next came Mr. Zabrinski, one of our tech geniuses. I had to pry Jude away before we got roped into a lengthy and intricately detailed discussion on the benefits and dangers of artificial intelligence.
The band started another song—”Jessie’s Girl”—and the crowd cheered. We stopped again as Luna spun around in front of us, clasping her hands to her chest. She looked adorable in a slouchy pink shirt and leggings, a wide headband in her mass of dark hair.
“Look at you,” Luna said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.
Daisy was standing with her, decked out in a black bustier, black and pink tulle skirt, and lace gloves. Her hair was a surprisingly normal shade of dirty blond, but it was crimped into beautiful frizzy chaos.
“Holy shit,” Daisy said, looking Jude up and down. She had a neon pink cocktail in her hand. “This is fucking epic.”
Jude attempted to brush my hair back over my shoulder, but it was cemented in place. “Do you want me to get you a drink?”
“Sure.”
He nodded and went to the bar.
“Please tell me you’re fucking that glorious hunk of man meat,” Daisy said.
Luna shook her head at our blunt friend.
“You guys, I don’t know what I’m doing with him,” I said. “It’s so inappropriate.”
“And unprofessional?” Daisy asked.
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “You need some inappropriate in your life.”
I smiled. “I guess so. And we were very, very inappropriate.”
“You look happy,” Luna said. “And refreshed. I’m glad for you.”
“Thanks.”
Jude came back with a neon orange cocktail. He and I wandered around a little, chatting with people. Enjoying the music. It felt good. Relaxed. Fun. Jude even smiled.
The band started one of my favorite cheesy love songs—"Lost in Your Eyes.” I glanced at Jude and gave the dance floor a pointed look. He smiled at me, acquiescing with a subtle shrug, and took me out to the dance floor.
He held one hand and wrapped the other around my waist while we swayed to the music. Mrs. Chang, one of the WWs, danced with Reggie Drinkwater, a hotelier and recent addition to Bluewater. Emily and Derek embraced nearby. Daisy and Luna did a giggling impression of awkward middle schoolers attempting to slow dance, and other couples crowded around, their brightly colored clothes sparkling in the neon lights.
I rested my head against Jude’s chest. And in that moment, wearing garish makeup and gold leg warmers, dancing to a cover band’s rendition of Debbie Gibson, I fell a little bit in love with Jude Ellis.
23
Jude
I slept better with Cameron mere inches away. I�
�d put my things in a guest room—not wanting to assume that I’d been invited to share her bedroom—but she came out of her home office every night and asked if I’d come to bed with her.
Of course the answer was yes. I couldn’t get enough of her.
After only a few days, we’d already settled into a comfortable routine. We were both early risers, so we’d get up and hit her gym first thing. Inda knew her shit. She worked Cameron hard, and she had some good suggestions for me to keep my shoulder joints healthy—a common place for a big guy like me to have problems.
Then coffee and a light breakfast with a view of the bay, marred only once by the appearance of horny dolphins engaging in some very explicit behavior.
We’d get ready for work and drive to her office. Evenings were spent chatting about our day over dinner, catching up on more work, and watching TV in bed together. Turned out she liked cooking shows as much as I did.
Some of it felt so normal, a tempting version of the ordinary life I kept telling myself I needed. And it scared me a bit to realize how quickly we’d molded our lives and routines around each other. It had been effortless, like we’d been living and working together for years, not days.
But much of it was anything but ordinary. Cameron’s life was filled with decisions that affected the lives of thousands of people. With steering the vision of an aerospace empire. She’d always be subjected to a high degree of scrutiny. Always exist at least partially in the spotlight.
Always need someone like me.
Dangerous thoughts to be having just days after realizing my infatuation with her wasn’t one-sided.
But I still had a job to do. I’d spent the last few evenings making modifications to her home security—adding cameras and more motion detectors, as well as adjusting the angles to eliminate blind spots. As expected, the police didn’t have any leads on the break-in. No fingerprints. There were too many places to buy red snapper in Miami to trace the origin of the fish.
I was frustrated as hell.
Still dressed in a sweaty tank top and shorts after a morning workout—Cameron was showering upstairs—I rooted through her kitchen cupboards. One of these days, I was going to slip into that enormous walk-in shower with her. But today she had an eight-thirty meeting, so I ignored the pressure of my unwanted hard-on and found some protein powder.
Nicholas came in the back door, dressed in a pink hibiscus shirt, his hair damp, his beard neatly trimmed.
“Morning,” he said with a friendly smile.
“Morning.”
I liked Nicholas. Usually I didn’t trust people who smiled a lot, but he just seemed like a contented dude. Maybe it had something to do with being happily married. He and Inda were an odd-looking couple—she was athletic and fit, and he had a bit of a dad bod—but they were obviously crazy about each other.
I pulled the blender from under the cabinet and opened the protein powder.
“I’d be careful with that,” Nicholas said.
“With the blender?”
“Cameron modified it. I’m pretty sure that thing could puree a chunk of marble. Stick to the lowest setting.”
I dumped in a cup of ice and a scoop of protein. “What do you mean she modified it?”
He shrugged and started getting pans out of a cupboard. “She has a workshop off the garage. She takes stuff apart and when she puts it back together, you need goggles and a hard hat to handle it safely.”
A workshop? I’d noticed a room with tools and a large worktable, but she’d never mentioned anything about it.
“Thanks for the warning.”
I added a few more things, secured the lid, and pressed blend.
It sounded like a jet engine gearing up for takeoff. I held the blender down, worried it was going to vibrate off the counter. A few seconds later, I turned it off.
“Told you,” Nicholas said.
I glanced around the kitchen. “What else has she modified?”
“The garbage disposal could probably chew your arm off, the electric mixer sounds terrifying but it whips heavy cream in about half the time, and I’d avoid the toaster altogether. We talked her out of taking apart the microwave, and I covertly got rid of the popcorn maker. Everything else is more or less normal.”
“Good to know.”
Cameron came downstairs with wet hair, dressed in a silky robe, her long legs on display. God, she was gorgeous. I wanted to toss her over my shoulder and haul her upstairs so I could devour every inch of her.
“Morning, Nicholas. Meal prep day?”
“Indeed it is,” he said, unloading an armful of produce onto the counter.
She sidled up to me and lifted onto her tiptoes to brush a soft kiss across my lips. “Shower’s all yours.”
I kissed her back. “Thanks.”
She glanced around, then leaned closer to Nicholas. “Will I find anything naughty hidden in the back of the fridge when you’re done?”
“You know Inda wants me to stick to the meal plan she made for you.”
“I know, but if you accidentally make a key lime tart or two, I promise I won’t tell.”
Nicholas grinned. “Don’t get me in trouble.”
“It’s our little secret.”
She winked at me. I smiled back, then took my protein shake upstairs to get ready for work.
* * *
Cameron’s schedule was packed, as usual, which kept me busy. I shadowed her as she went about her day and checked the security feeds from her house regularly. We were keeping things strictly professional in her office. Nothing but occasional lingering eye contact and a stolen kiss or two. The people in Cameron’s personal life knew about us, and she’d told Brandy. But as far as everyone else at Spencer knew, I was still just Cameron’s personal security.
She’d been in her office for about an hour when the back of my neck tingled. I shifted my shoulders to rub my collar against it. That was odd. It was rare that something riled up my instincts here in Cameron’s office. I still got the subtle sense that she was in danger, but that was a feeling I’d relegated to the background. It wasn’t exactly useful at this point—we already knew.
But her office was reasonably safe. I stayed with her during the day because she often had meetings and appointments off-site, and to send the message that she was well-protected.
My top four exit strategies ran through my mind like a reflex.
Noelle Olson walked into the office, dressed in a cream blouse with a wide collar and navy slacks. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek bun, making her high-cheekboned face look particularly severe. I’d been in meetings with most of Spencer’s executive team, and where the rest of them were cordial, Noelle pretended like I didn’t exist.
She paused near my desk and glanced toward Cameron’s half-open door. She was walking slowly around her office on a phone call. Brandy shifted to the edge of her seat, poised to intercept Noelle if she tried to walk in on her boss unannounced.
“Is there anything I can help you with, Noelle?” Brandy asked.
Noelle gave Brandy an annoyed glance. “I’ll come back.”
I watched her walk down the hall toward her office. Her dislike of Cameron was well-known. Everyone from accounting to the engineers to the receptionists knew the COO had wanted Cameron’s job. The apparently random nature of the threats against Cameron could be Noelle’s way of keeping suspicion at bay. Who would assume a high-level executive would leave a fish in her rival’s bed?
It was tempting to follow Noelle to her office and ask a few well-placed questions. But my instincts told me it was better if I stayed Cameron’s invisible bodyguard—just the muscle—for now.
“Bobby, you can’t just go back there.”
The front receptionist followed Bobby through the small hallway behind the reception desk. He wore dark sunglasses—the Dolce & Gabanna logo on full display—a polo that said Versace across the front, and a belt with a large gold Gucci logo for a buckle. The only thing that didn’t declare its designer—an
d therefore its expense—were his shoes, a pair of black leather sneakers.
I glanced again. I was wrong. They were embossed with a Fendi logo on the toe. It was surprisingly subtle, considering the rest of his clothes looked like a commercial for lifestyles of the gaudy and pretentious.
“Sorry,” the receptionist said.
“It’s okay,” Brandy said, and scowled at Bobby when he casually leaned against her desk.
“What’s the boss lady up to?” he asked. Like the douche he was, he didn’t take off his sunglasses.
“She’s busy,” Brandy said.
I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but I could tell when he glanced at me. He swallowed and rubbed his palms against his thighs. I made him nervous. Good.
“No big deal. Just be a doll and put dinner with me on her schedule for tonight.”
“Her schedule’s full,” I said.
I could see Bobby at war with himself. He was used to feeling like the alpha here. Not that it was true, but most people in his father’s company tried to stay out of his way rather than stand up to him. I challenged his perceived dominance.
But unlike a true alpha male, he was weak—protected by wealth and his last name, with nothing to back up his unearned swagger.
Would he argue with me in an attempt to reestablish his dominance, or back down?
My money was on back down, but you never knew with a guy like him.
Cameron came out of her office and crossed her arms. Her legs looked fantastic in her sleek skirt and her snakeskin heels made her look like the badass she was.
“Cami,” he said, swiping off his sunglasses. “You’re looking especially hot today.”
“Bobby, I have a company to run. If you’re here to invite me to party with you, the answer is no. And if you just came up here to brag about last night’s ten-thousand-dollar bottle service, save it for your Instagram followers.”
The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 17
