The Mogul and the Muscle - Claire Kingsley Page 0,14

I was alone. Some guy tried to take my purse.”

“Did he?”

“What do you mean?”

“I watched the security footage. The guy didn’t try to grab your purse. He tried to grab you.”

I crossed my arms. The entire incident had happened so fast. Had he been trying to grab me? I’d been holding my Chanel handbag tucked beneath my arm, so I’d assumed that was what he’d been after.

“What are you saying?”

“That it’s possible you were targeted, and the objective wasn’t your purse.”

A sense of unease spread through my stomach, like a dribble of paint in clear water. “Well, if he was trying to kidnap me, he was terrible at it. All I had to do was stomp on his foot.”

“That was a good move.”

My lips turned up in a half-smile. “Thanks.”

“Look, I can’t give you a definitive answer as to what that guy was after. Maybe it was a random incident. But my instincts are telling me it wasn’t. And it’s rare that my instincts are wrong.”

I believed him—about his instincts, at least. My brain was railing against the idea that I’d been targeted in a kidnapping attempt.

And I wondered what his instincts were telling him about me.

“Fine. You can come home with me. But don’t expect me to put out unless you buy me dinner first.”

His jaw hitched, an almost imperceptible tic. Nothing about his expression changed, and I wondered if I’d imagined it.

But the thought that I’d just ruffled this solid wall of man was oddly amusing. I kind of wanted to see if I could do it again.

I still didn’t need a bodyguard, though. And once I had his security assessment, I’d smugly report back to Emily that she’d wasted her time. I’d hire a few more people here at headquarters if necessary. Maybe beef up security in the enclave. And let Jude get on with his retirement.

6

Jude

I’d left the bike at home today, so I followed Cameron in my SUV. Interesting that she drove a Tesla. She could probably afford just about any vehicle she wanted. Of course, it had to have set her back at least a hundred grand, so it wasn’t like the CEO of Spencer Aeronautics was tooling around in a practical sedan. I wondered if it was the engineer in her. She liked the tech.

We turned into the Bluewater enclave and stopped at the gate. I could see her speaking to the guard, then he waved me through after her. We drove down a street lined with palm trees, surrounded by lush landscaping.

I knew from my brief research on Cameron that she and three friends had developed Bluewater. They’d created a waterfront community with sprawling mansions, luxury condominiums, a private airfield, marina, and a village with high-end boutiques and restaurants. It was very exclusive—Cameron and her friends managed it personally—and it had a reputation for being home to the particularly quirky among Miami’s elite.

A bridge took us over a canal toward several sprawling waterfront estates. Cameron turned down the drive of the second one. She left her car in front of one of the four garage bays. I parked and met her at the steps of her enormous front porch.

Cameron’s office had been sleek and functional with only a few feminine details. More elegant than pretty. But her house was like a tropical resort. The circular driveway was lined with palm trees and an explosion of flowering plants. Solar lights lit a wooden path that led to the covered front porch. The design was reminiscent of a beach hut, only sturdier—and much, much larger.

I noted the locations of the security cameras, including potential blind spots.

She punched in a code and opened one of the wide double doors. I stepped inside, although the palm trees growing right through the floor made it look like a tropical oasis. The glass ceiling let in light and a fountain trickled in the center of the room. Lush plants were everywhere. It was decadent without being garish. Tropical without being cliché.

“Well, this is it,” she said.

“No butler to come take your coat?”

She glanced over her shoulder, giving me a wry grin. “It’s Miami. I don’t wear a coat often enough to need someone to help me take it off.”

I took a few steps, my shoes clicking on the hardwood floor.

“Do you need blueprints, or will an old-fashioned tour do the trick?” she asked.

“A tour is fine. I’ll get the blueprints later.”

She raised an eyebrow.

From the moment I’d realized her friends had conspired to hire me behind her back,