The Mogul and the Muscle - Claire Kingsley Page 0,62
the bed.”
I laughed. “Thanks, Val.”
I’d mused many times that money couldn’t buy happiness. But today it had gotten me a brand-new king-size memory foam mattress and my favorite luxury high-thread-count sheets delivered same day. Between the new bed and the fresh air coming in through the open glass doors, any hint of fish smell was gone.
I changed into the outfit Valentina had selected for me. Black bra with a slouchy peach shirt that draped off one shoulder. Black leggings with a bit of shine to them and a pair of sparkly gold legwarmers that brought me more joy than was strictly healthy. Because she was amazing, she’d paired the whole thing with huge hoop earrings and garish gold heels.
Perfect.
She gave me a final once-over, declared me fit to be seen, and carted her things downstairs.
I put my phone and the touch-up kit Valentina had left in a lime green clutch, rubbed my lips together one last time, and went down to find Jude.
He wasn’t in the breakfast nook—a space off the kitchen with a view of the water—where he’d set up his laptop and two additional travel monitors. I opened the door to the terrace and poked my head into the warm evening air.
“Jude?”
His voice came from inside, behind me. “Ready to go?”
I spun around and my mouth dropped wide open. Jude stood in my kitchen dressed in a sleeveless mesh half-shirt—putting his huge arms and chiseled abs on full display—and a pair of gold and black parachute pants.
“Oh my god.” I shut the door and moved closer. “Where did you get that?”
His hands were in his pockets, his posture casual, like there was nothing abnormal about the way he was dressed. “You said eighties night and people would dress to the theme. I’ll blend in this way.”
“But where did you get that outfit? Did you leave while Valentina was doing my hair?”
He glanced down at his clothes. “No. I brought it from home.”
“You just had that in your closet.”
“Yes.”
“Are you serious? Did you dress up for Halloween recently?”
“No.”
It was hard to keep from laughing. “Then why do you have those? Some weird undercover mission?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he deadpanned.
“Fair enough. How do I look?”
He finally cracked a small smile. “You look really terrible.”
“Thank you,” I said, patting my stiff hair.
The door opened behind me and Nicholas and Inda came inside. Inda was dressed in a lavender tank top and cropped leggings, her hair in her usual ponytail. Nicholas wore a plain t-shirt and tapered sweats.
Nicholas snickered until his eyes moved to Jude. He stopped and cleared his throat.
“Wow,” Inda said. “You both went all in.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I asked. “You’re more than welcome, and we can wait for you to get ready.”
Nicholas gave his wife an alarmed glance, but she shook her head.
“No, thanks. We’ll stay here and make sure no one else breaks in.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Go have fun, crazy kids,” she said, waving us away.
Jude followed me out to the garage where I kept my tricked-out golf cart. The best way to travel around Bluewater was by golf cart, and I’d added aerodynamic spoilers, ventilated seats, and a fringe of neon-lighted tassels that hung from the roof. I’d wanted to beef up the electric engine, but I hadn’t found the time to do more extensive modifications.
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,