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Paola glanced back at her with her brow furrowed before laughing. “What a weird question. What, are you with the IRS?”
Charlotte forced a more believable chuckle while her blood turned to icy sludge in her veins. After another few minutes of chitchat while they walked to the adjacent parking garage, Paola seemed to forget her inquiry, but the misstep left Charlotte rattled until well after she arrived home.
CHAPTER 4
BY THE END OF AUGUST, Charlotte had been at the spa for three months and made zero progress. She’d continued her friendship with Paola, and they’d even continued going to happy hour together once a month, but Charlotte hadn’t risked asking her anything specific. Her plan was to keep the relationship open and pick up useful kernels of information where she could.
She’d only seen Alexandra sparingly and rarely spoke to her. The woman was a mythical creature she caught glimpses of . . . like flashes of light in her peripheral vision.
Some people had better luck getting a full view of extraterrestrials.
The accounting job was interesting, but the operation to infiltrate the inner sanctum was a frustrating failure. How was she supposed to earn the woman’s trust if she hardly ever interacted with her?
At lunch, Charlotte decided to eat her sandwich in her car, but she didn’t make it further than the lobby when she saw Alexandra sauntering toward the kitchen. Every other time she’d seen the woman, her assistant was glued to her side.
This time, she was alone, and Charlotte seized the opportunity.
Charlotte slid up next to the woman in a lemon-yellow dress and white cardigan leaning against the juice bar.
Without her trademark structured jacket to cover it, Alexandra’s curvy hourglass figure was on full display. It was several heart stopping minutes before Alexandra looked up from her phone and noticed her standing there.
“Ms. Castro,” she said, turning to face Charlotte as she rested her elbow on the bar. “How are you getting along?
I’ve been meaning to commend you on picking it all up so quickly. You haven’t missed a beat.”
The compliment warmed Charlotte’s cheeks. She hoped Alexandra assumed it was a product of the hot breeze filtering in from the bar’s passthrough window servicing the outdoor pool area.
“You have a well-oiled machine. Very organized and e cient. It’s easy to learn,” Charlotte admitted, tucking a strand of sticky blonde hair behind her ear.
Alexandra watched her moving fingers. Charlotte risked running them down the side of her neck, hoping the dark gaze would follow. It did.
“Here you go, Alex.” A man in a white linen shirt placed a green smoothie on a napkin. “Can I get you something?” he asked Charlotte with a smile.
She glanced at the gnarly looking concoction in front of her boss. “I’ll try that.”
Alexandra raised a sculpted brow. “You don’t even know what it is.”
Despite the challenge, Charlotte hit the volley right back.
“If you like it, how bad could it be?” She resisted the urge to wink. That would be too much.
“An interesting marker to base your decision on. What makes you think we have the same taste?” Alexandra’s husky voice and unwavering eye contact made the question seem totally unrelated to health drinks.
Charlotte licked her lips. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
Alexandra turned to the man behind the bar, who was patting his brow with a napkin as he waited for the verdict.
“You can leave out the fish oil and magnesium, Herman.
Pretty sure she doesn’t need that at her age.”
“Leave them in, Herman. I’ll be thirty next March. It’s never too soon to be health conscious.”
The man turned and started throwing vegetables into a blender. Charlotte looked away from what his hands were doing. The less she knew the better.
Judging by Alexandra’s expression, she thought Charlotte was younger. People often thought she was closer to twenty than thirty. Charlotte didn’t have to guess Alexandra’s age; her deep dive revealed a mid-November birthday. She’d be forty-six in a few months.
“Cheers.” Alexandra raised her glass and took a sip when Herman set Charlotte’s drink down on a napkin.
