Blackmailing Mr. Bossman (Billionaire Heists #2) - Anna Hackett Page 0,1

shopping list on the fridge.”

The twins swiveled to face me. Briar and Juniper were identical—five foot eight, athletic figures, blonde hair. It was obvious we were sisters, since I was blonde as well, but I was a couple of inches shorter and a little curvier. They’d both played volleyball at high school, and Briar still played at college.

The twins were nineteen going on thirty-five, and both attending college. Juniper was studying business at Columbia, and Briar was pre-med at NYU.

Juniper, who went by Juno, looked me up and down, then put her fingers in her mouth and wolf whistled.

I rolled my eyes. I was wearing a fitted, long, black skirt, a white shirt with a ruffle at the neckline, and a camel-colored, three-quarter-length coat. It wasn’t my usual work attire, but for this case, I was undercover.

“You look hot, especially in those come-fuck-me shoes.” Briar waggled her eyebrows, then hitched herself up on the small kitchen island. “I’d bang you.”

“Thank you…I think.” I poured a coffee, inhaling the smell of my strong, earthy Robusta. Then I popped a piece of bread into the toaster. “I need to get going, or I’ll be late for my undercover job.” I also needed to meet my client, who happened to be my high school best friend, before I got to the office.

At the thought of Erica, my chest constricted.

“I like this particular job of yours, since you get to dress up.” Juno waggled her eyebrows in the exact same way her twin had. “It’s a huge improvement on your collection of jeans, jeans, and jeans.”

Briar stole my coffee and took a sip. “And T-shirts, T-shirts, T-shirts.”

“And Nikes, Nikes, Nikes.”

I needed to stop them before they got on a roll. “I don’t need to dress like a fashion plate for my usual jobs.”

“So, where are you working?” Briar asked.

“That’s classified.” I stole my coffee back. “Don’t you two have classes?”

“Later,” Juno said.

“You work too hard,” Briar said quietly.

My head whipped up and I met her gaze. “What?”

“You work too hard. Take too many cases.”

Juno nodded. “I know some of them can’t always pay.”

I cleared my throat. “I like helping people—”

“Our father was a dickweasel,” Briar said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to make up for his crimes.”

I straightened. “That’s not what I’m doing. I like my work. I have a mortgage to pay, and two annoying sisters to support.”

They both rolled their eyes, but thankfully dropped the subject. My toast popped up, and I quickly slathered it with peanut butter and jelly. I glanced at my watch and winced.

Dammit. I had ten minutes to meet Erica at a coffee shop around the corner. “I have to run.”

I gulped more coffee and took a bite of my toast. I raced around shoving my things in my bag. After I’d wolfed down the rest of my toast, I brushed my teeth, and swiped some gloss on my lips.

“Bye,” I yelled, opening the front door.

“Bye!”

“Be safe.”

I smiled as I took the central stairs. Life with my sisters was always noisy and colorful. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

A door opened. “Aspen?”

I spun and saw Mrs. Kerber in her doorway, with her fluffy, white cat tucked under her arm. Mrs. Kerber was a widow and lived one floor below me.

“Hey, Mrs. Kerber.” I glanced at the cat. “Hi, Milo.”

The cat glared at me with evil, blue eyes. I couldn’t ever shake the feeling that Milo was plotting my murder, or possibly world domination.

“You look pretty today, dear,” Mrs. Kerber said. “How are those lovely sisters of yours?”

Luckily, Mrs. Kerber didn’t always wear her hearing aid, or she’d hear that lovely and the twins didn’t always match up.

“They’re great. Doing well at school.”

“Wonderful.” Mrs. Kerber stroked Milo’s head. “Aspen, Skittles got out again. Could you help? I’m worried about him.”

I sighed. I didn’t have time for this.

The old woman watched me, pleading in her eyes. I knew she had trouble navigating the stairs because of her vertigo. I smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll find him.”

“Oh, thank you, dear. You’re such a good girl.”

That was me, Aspen Chandler, good girl. I often took small cases from neighbors, and they paid me with baked goods, or by doing odd jobs around my apartment. Mr. Billings around the corner had replumbed my bathroom, in return for me surveilling one of his employees, who was claiming he’d hurt his back on the job. I’d gotten some great snaps of the guy at the gym, and him helping his friend move house, and snagged