The Price of Scandal (Bluewater Billionaires) - Lucy Score Page 0,17

and I are gonna do a couple of shots, and then I’m spending the night here in case the naked burglar comes back to try out your steam shower.”

“Good plan,” I wheezed and slid my empty glass back at her. “You’ll stun gun him next time, right?”

“Promise.”

8

Derek

I pulled my car into Emily’s crushed seashell driveway and hopped out whistling. It was a beautiful day. The humidity had broken a bit, leaving coastal Florida to enjoy the blue skies and ocean breezes. Best of all, I had a shiny new puzzle to solve.

And she was going to be very unhappy to see me.

Hands in pockets, I strolled up the winding walkway to her front door.

I could let myself in again, but I’d scandalized Emily enough yesterday. I stabbed the bell with a finger and turned my back on the door to admire the neighborhood. Bluewater was an exclusive gated enclave that, according to my research, my pretty new puzzle had developed with three of her friends. Six years ago, these 2,500 hundred acres had been little more than a swampy mess of overgrowth and trash.

Now, it was home to some of the wealthiest, most eclectic residents Miami had to offer.

They’d built something incredible here. Waterfront mansions tucked away behind lush landscaping. Meandering golf cart and bike paths. Luxurious condo buildings. A secluded marina and private airfield. Even a colorful village of exclusive boutiques and restaurants.

It was impressive. She was impressive.

The door opened, and the security woman from last night eyed me with suspicion. Jane Gonzalez. Only daughter of Cuban parents. She’d been active duty Marines for several years before branching out into security consulting and personal assisting.

“You’re back,” she stated, gaze lowering to my crotch.

“I’m afraid I came fully clothed this time,” I said, offering my most charming grin.

“She’ll be disappointed,” Jane predicted.

“That I’m back or that I’m wearing pants?” I quipped. Humor was one of my best weapons. I was quite charming and funny when circumstances required.

Serious Jane’s lips quirked as if they were considering a smile.

“We’re getting ready to leave for the office,” she said.

I stepped around her, rubbing my palms together. “Perfect timing. I’m here to drive you.”

“Oh, she’s really not going to like that,” Jane sang under her breath.

She followed me into the two-story foyer. Staircases on either side wound their way up to the second floor and a mezzanine that overlooked both the foyer and the living room or whatever the exorbitantly wealthy called it.

My bank accounts were by no means anemic. But this was another level… Yet I didn’t find it cold or over-the-top luxurious. There was a pair of running shoes next to the door, papers and a candy wrapper on the entry table. They were next to an exquisite orchid arrangement. But the details suggested there was a human somewhere underneath Emily Stanton’s layers of polish.

“Boss? Ride’s here,” she called.

“All I can say is if this day is as bad as yesterday was, I’m selling everything and buying a tiny house on an island.” Emily jogged into view, stilettos clutched in one hand. She was dressed like she was headed to the club for a girlfriends’ lunch. A pale pink linen skirt and jacket. A lady who lunched.

Her bare feet skidded to a stop on the cool marble. “No!” She pointed at me like one would a bad dog.

I grinned. “You need to change,” I insisted, giving her a once-over.

“Absolutely not,” she snapped. “I refuse to pretend to be someone else just to distract from one stupid misstep that should have no bearing on—”

“Your outfit, love. Change your outfit,” I clarified.

Emily sputtered and glanced down. “My outfit?”

“You do look a little ‘Easter church dinner,’” Jane observed.

I was really starting to like this woman who hadn’t stun gunned me.

“I’m respectable.”

“What else is in your closet?” I asked, taking Emily’s hand and pulling her down the hallway toward the master suite I’d snooped through last night.

She tried to dig in, but her heels couldn’t find traction on the smooth marble.

“Let go of me!”

Releasing her, I pushed through the double doors of her closet.

“You need to be human,” I instructed, pawing through the meticulously organized racks. “Showing up as Boardroom Barbie isn’t helping your case. Here,” I tossed a pair of cropped jeans at her.

She caught them on reflex. “Jeans? Are you insane?”

Her horror was laughable. I turned to face her. “You’ve never worn jeans to the office?”

“On Sundays, when no one else is there. I have an image—”

“That’s precisely the problem. Your image is frosty