Page 118 of Luxe

And I wish I could tell him that I didn’t offer Kiara a job because of our deal and that I already had what I wanted most in the world.

**

The next few days flash by in a blur. I try to catch up with work, alternating between going into the office and working from home if I don't have in-person meetings.

Odette shows up one day at the apartment with a bunch of flowers and a sushi platter as a peace offering, and by the time I finally kick her out three hours later so that the both of us can get some work done, she and Kiara and best friends.

"She's sassy,” Kiara says, after Odette shouts a good bye through the closing elevator doors.

My head hurts from the effort of making sure my assistant didn’t say anything to confuse Kiara again. That and the sheer amount of words she’d spoken while here. "No kidding. I hope you don't mean that as a compliment, it's not easy to work when you have a deadline."

"She does give you a run for yout money when it comes to talking, doesn't she?" Kiara laughs, slapping the cushion next to her.

My look is deadpan. I don’t like being out talked and have no qualms about making that known.

Gratitude fills me though as I remember how Odette had sat, hands in her lap, explaining to Kiara in clear terms that what Kiara saw in London between Odette and I was all for show and nothing actually happened. And that it was actually her idea, when I had come to her confused and didn’t know what to do. Kiara had listened, and then reached over to give Odette a hug.

"Why didn't anything ever happen between you two? She seems like she'd be just your type? Beautiful, smart as a whip, funny,” she’d said later in bed.

I'd nuzzled her neck from behind as we'd lain in bed. "I don't have a type. I have a you."

She’d giggled and burrowed back against me and I feel like the Odette issue, for now, has been resolved.

It was surprising to me how I had not needed to meditate once for sleep, but I was feeling more rested than ever with her in my bed.

As for Kiara, she spent the next few days looking for apartments, all of which I informed her were absolutely not acceptable, and catching up on her work. I listened from another room as she negotiated with a poker club the rates to retain her players. He ended up giving her everything she wanted.

Her partner, Ananya, seemed to be holding down the fort just fine. The three of us drove around for an afternoon, visiting all three of the apartments where the girls live. Ananya had proven to be Kylian’s Odette to Kiara. After talking to her for ten minutes, I left feeling both secure in the knowledge that as long as Kiara and she worked together, they'd both have a trustworthy friend and sounding board. I also got a healthy dose of ego bashing.

"He's too blond," she'd said to Kiara in Cantonese the second she'd laid on eyes on me, probably unaware that I understood the language.

"She's too opinionated," I shot back in Cantonese, which made her double over with laughter and grab my wrist and yank me into the apartment.

They talked to me about their plans, needing larger and more secure premises, and better security. Over the last week while Kiara had been staying at my apartment, they'd spend hours over Zoom discussing locations and formerly rescued women, now back on their feet, who could help them expand. It was impressive. As far as I knew, Kiara had not spent a second in a business class, and had absolutely nothing to do with her family’s business other than to attend a ribbon cutting or two when they still lived in Hong Kong, but she was blessed with natural acumen. The plan, though not a formal business plan, was thorough and well thought out, ticking all the boxes for an unofficial SWOT test with data-based future projections.

It also thrilled me to see that Baxter’s Jade Bay played a part in their plan.

And I silently vowed to do everything thing I could to help.

My suggestions for grant applications or a business sponsorship were shot down with offended glares and it wasn’t until we were in the car driving home did I understand it was because I was trying too hard to legitimize their operation. Kiara's agency was registered and she taught all the girls how to declare their incomes and pay tax, but that was as far as she wanted anyone to know about her operations.

And seeing how even Kiara’s family had reacted, I didn’t blame her for wanting to retain their privacy as much as possible.

On Friday morning, Julie buzzes Frank into my office.

"Hey. Thanks for coming, I think it's easier to talk about this in person."

He doesn’t say anything, just opens up the bag in his hand and empties it onto my desk. The contents scatter all over, some rolling right off the edge of my desk. Bending over to pick it up, I already know what it is before I’ve touched it.

"It's a camera.” Disgust gurgles in the pit of my stomach like a thick tar sludge. This camera was in Kiara’s apartment, watching her.

In true Frank form he doesn’t say anything, barely nods. In Franklish, this is a resounding yes.

"And what are those?" I point to one of the small metal disks in the pile.

"Audio bug."

"There's five of them. And” —I do a quick count —"eight cameras?"

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