The Mogul and the Muscle - Claire Kingsley Page 0,27

my life.

“See you later, Bert,” I said, gesturing for Jude to follow me.

“Have fun, Cameron. Make good choices.” He chuckled as he walked off in the other direction.

Jude followed me to the garage, and we got in my Tesla. Maybe it wasn’t cruising the streets of Miami with the roar of a motorcycle engine between my legs, but it was a damn fine car. I was a sucker for innovation and new technology.

I drove us through the enclave, down a palm-tree-lined road. The guard on duty at the entrance nodded when I paused to wait for the gate to open. The sun blazed outside, but I was comfortable in an aqua sleeveless blouse and beige skirt. I was a Florida girl through and through—used to the heat and humidity. Every time I had to go somewhere with more moderate weather, I was freezing.

Jude pointed to one of several tubes of sunblock I had stashed in my car. “Always prepared?”

“I’m a redhead living in Miami,” I said. “Sunscreen is life.”

“Smart.”

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His skin was a healthy bronze, his short hair sun-kissed dark blond. Dressed in casual clothes, he looked rugged but still polished.

Traffic was light—which was a nice change. We raced down the highway to Bal Harbor, one of several luxury shopping destinations in south Florida—a tropical paradise with lush gardens, fountains, and koi ponds. It made for an enjoyable shopping experience, which was exactly what I wanted today. I needed to get out of my routine for a few hours. Wander, browse, and think about something other than work.

I pulled up to valet parking and Jude and I got out. He paused by my car while I shouldered my handbag and walked toward the shopping center entrance. I could sense him following behind me.

After strolling past a few stores, I stopped and turned around. “Do you have to do that?”

He took a few steps closer. “Do what?”

“Follow me.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“I mean follow me at a distance. Are you staying back there so you have a better view or something? Because I really don’t think anyone is going to jump out and attack me.”

His eyes darted around, like he was verifying my assessment. “Probably not. I’m just trying to stay out of your way.”

“Can you just walk with me? It feels weird to have you back there.”

“Sure.”

I kept walking and he fell in step beside me. “See? Better. Now I can pretend we’re friends out shopping.”

He didn’t reply.

I took my time, although I knew where I was going. My first stop was Jimmy Choo.

I still wasn’t entirely comfortable with my level of wealth. I’d grown up an orphan, raised by grandparents who hadn’t planned on returning to the parenting starting line. I’d worked my way through college. At one point in my early twenties I’d been so poor I’d lived on ramen noodles and cheap coffee.

Now I wore custom tailored suits and drove a six-figure Tesla.

I felt a strong sense of responsibility to use my resources well. I was working on creating a charitable foundation to organize my donations and charitable giving. My secret goal was to give away enough money that I dropped out of the billionaire category. Although with the way Spencer was thriving, that would be harder than it might appear, since much of my net worth came from ownership in the company.

But I also didn’t feel guilty indulging sometimes. I’d worked my ass off to earn everything I had. Money didn’t buy happiness, but it did buy security—something I appreciated deeply—and the most fabulous heels in existence. Shoes were my favorite indulgence.

Jude stood near the front of the store while I looked over the selection and chatted with the clerk. Wasn’t he bored? He had to be bored. I glanced at him a few times, but his face betrayed nothing. He didn’t look bothered or irritated that he had to stand in a shoe store while his client shopped. The man was a master at masking his thoughts. He didn’t seem to be feeling anything at all.

Brick wall. Or maybe a statue.

The clerk came out with several pairs of shoes for me to try. I sat on a tufted stool and put on the first pair. They pinched in a way I didn’t like. I could tell without even walking in them that they weren’t going to work. I slipped my feet into the second pair—red suede pumps lined with crystals. They were bright and glittery and