Undercover Madam: A Lesbian Romance, page 1
UNDERCOVER MADAM
A Lesbian Romance
JJ ARIAS
Copyright © 2021 by JJ Arias
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my wife
CONTENTS
By JJ Arias
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
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CHAPTER 1
CHARLOTTE RESISTED the urge to pick at the polish starting to peel from the corner of her fingernail. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t used to wearing it, but that she’d never had so much riding on a job interview before. It was impossible not to fidget.
“Ms. Castro,” the receptionist called as she stepped around the fancy front desk of the even fancier spa resort.
“Ms. Leon is ready for you now.”
When she smiled, Charlotte tried to smile back. She wasn’t as practiced, and it probably showed. The woman flashed her perfect teeth a thousand times a day, more than Charlotte had in a year.
Gripping the handle of her worn, brown, leather satchel, Charlotte followed the woman from the serene lobby where pan flute music emanated from hidden speakers, past the spa’s waiting area where clients dressed in white robes sat in massive chairs arranged among lush, verdant plants and facing a fountain.
What kind of asshole can a ord to stare at a stone sphere rolling around on a water current in the middle of a Wednesday?
A life like that was as inconceivable as it was contemptible.
“Right through here.” The receptionist stopped at a frosted glass door at the end of a hallway lined with waterfall walls on one side. She glanced at the water cascading over blue glass tiles before landing with a tiny splash in a bed of charcoal-colored river stones. It was soothing although ostentatious.
The door opened on something from a magazine.
Panoramic windows took the place of a back wall, giving the modern, sprawling o ce a comforting glow. It complimented the soft rolling greens of the golf course beyond an iconic, 1920s mission-style hotel looming in the distance. The Biltmore Hotel on the other side of the golf course was the crowned jewel of Coral Gables, the a uent Miami suburb that made an imposter of Charlotte.
When Alexandra Leon stood from the glass-top desk, Charlotte
steeled
herself.
The
forty-five-year-old
brunette was as imposing in person as she appeared in all her online photos. She was tall, confident, and conventionally beautiful. Her warm olive skin and dark almond eyes revealed her Mediterranean heritage. The well-tailored black dress, matching jacket, and pulled-back hair betrayed her wealth but in a restrained, subtle way. The way of old money and inherited status. The only thing that surprised Charlotte was that despite the ever-present Miami heat, Alexandra always donned a formal, long-sleeved suit.
Even in her o ce, apparently.
“Have a seat,” Alexandra said in a husky voice as she gestured to the small, round conference table nestled against the far corner of the room. Her words wore only the slight
curve of a mild Spanish accent. The product of a childhood spent in Barcelona.
The receptionist excused herself as Charlotte strode across the room, projecting every ounce of quiet confidence she’d ever possessed. She waited for Alexandra to take the sleek, white leather seat across the table before sitting down herself. Alexandra moved like music, one note connected to the next seamlessly as she glided.
Charlotte matched her movements. Her emerald-green wrap dress and cropped brown blazer didn’t have the same fluidity, but that didn’t stop her. She only regretted not having worn her long, blonde hair loose around her shoulders. It was one of Charlotte’s best assets, but she’d erred on the conservative side for the job interview.
“I didn’t expect to meet with you directly for an accounting position,” Charlotte confessed as Alexandra sat back, one long leg crossed over the other and not a single piece of paper in front of her. Jayson wanted her to play this as submissive but eager. Not her normal setting. “The head of an operation like this has to have more important things to do.”
“I handpick every person who works for me, Ms. Castro,”
she explained, her tone steady and unreadable.
In an instant, Charlotte recognized she had to shift gears.
This woman, powerful and strong, wasn’t going to respond to a wimp or an ass-kisser.
Cocking her head to the side, Charlotte ran some quick calculations. “Based on the services your business o ers, that’s easily twenty employees between the skin care, body treatments, massages, and sundry spa and fitness o erings.
Not to mention the dozen private guest rooms. Do you personally hire custodial sta as well?” Charlotte leaned forward. “What’s your management theory?”
Alexandra’s dark eyes glinted with what Charlotte hoped was intrigue, but she’d settle for amusement. Anything to make her memorable.
“I’m pretty sure I’m the one that’s supposed to be asking the questions.” Her throat bobbed as if she’d swallowed a chuckle, but her face remained stoic.
Charlotte’s coiled core muscles loosened as she gained conviction in her new approach.
“Do you really care about my strategy or are you trying to stand out from the pack?” Alexandra’s body was relaxed, but her eyes were shrewd and searching.
“I don’t need to feign interest in something to stand out,” she decided, her confidence gathering in earnest. “I just graduated at the top of my class and have the work ethic of someone who has never been handed a thing in her life.”
She left out the fact that she had no family to catch her if she fell on hard times. That she couldn’t a ord to give less than her best.
The way Alexandra’s sculpted eyebrow twitched made Charlotte realize what she’d said. Alexandra might have gotten more than one leg-up in life. Charlotte considered clarifying that she didn’t mean any o ense to those who had help but stood firm instead. After all, she’d spoken her truth.
“And how does that benefit me?” Alexandra asked, dark gaze never leaving her. Always studying. Hunting.
“It means I’ll always be the first one in and the last one out. As you can see from my resume, I’m loyal. The only
reason I’m even looking for a job is because my boss is retiring and closing shop. I’ve been with him for over a decade.” Blood pulsed through her body as she gained momentum. “If you notice, that’s before I even put myself through college.”
In the stillness of the momentary silence, they looked at each other, neither willing to be the first to yield. Alexandra didn’t have her resumé in front of her. Charlotte was confident she’d break first. She just had to wait her out.
“But it did take you six years to get a four-year degree,”
Alexandra replied without hesitation.
Damn . She memorized her resume. “I held down two jobs and took evening classes,” she replied proudly. “It takes a little longer that way.”
This time the corner of Alexandra’s lip moved as if pulled by invisible string. It lasted a fraction of a second, but it sent Charlotte’s heart racing.
“I can tell you’re hungry.” Her gaze lingered on Charlotte’s lips when she said hungry , pronouncing the h hard, making it sound primal. “Full of ambition.” Alexandra tipped back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. The way she oozed power was intoxicating. “Why come here? I’m sure there are several accounting firms that would be eager to acquire a young talent like yours. You realize your room for growth here is limited.”
It was the natural question she’d prepared for, but the way she posed it sounded like a dare. Or a challenge. It was most ce
rtainly a weapon of some kind.
Charlotte resisted the urge to clear her throat or shift her weight. Instead, she maintained eye contact and delivered
the lines as practiced. “I have no interest in fading into a sea of black suits crunching numbers. There is something special about working for a single client directly. Their goals become yours in a very real way. What counts as growth is relative. If Ataraxia grows,” she gestured toward the door, “that’s enough for me.”
“I’ve never heard anyone be so passionate about an accounting job,” Alexandra remarked, flashing a momentary smirk.
Shit . She’d laid it on too thick, but she could still stick the landing. Charlotte relaxed into her chair. “Without passion, what else is there?”
The tip of Alexandra’s tongue peeked out between her full lips as she moistened them. “Fair enough.”
Twenty minutes later, Charlotte was striding out of the building toward her beat-up little Honda. The late spring afternoon was hot and humid as dark clouds gathered overhead, threatening heavy rain for the rush hour commute home. Charlotte made it to her car just as the heavy drops fell in fat streaks down her windshield.
She hit the top contact on her favorite’s list. Jayson answered on the first ring.
“How’d it go?” he asked with palpable desperation.
Charlotte smiled. “I’m pretty sure I got it,” she decided triumphantly.
“What do you mean pretty sure ? I need more detail than that.”
“Buy me dinner and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Can’t you tell me over the phone, Charlie? I’m working the night shift again this week. I can’t—”
Charlotte didn’t let him finish. “You’re the one who wants me to go undercover, Detective Natch. Pretty sure getting the low down on what happened counts as work.
Maybe you can even get the Miami-Dade Police Department to spring for sushi.”
Once he begrudgingly agreed, Charlotte turned up the radio and started for home.
CHAPTER 2
WHEN CHARLOTTE TURNED o the main avenue choked with tra c, she was grateful the deluge had stopped. The rainy season had arrived so early it didn’t bode well for the incoming summer.
“Damn it,” she cursed under her breath as she approached her apartment, one of four in the ugly, cement quadplex. They were all single-bedroom abodes built by the 1970s genius that decided to put them not only in a lowlying city ironically named Sweetwater , but next to a canal that routinely overflowed as well. A raised foundation kept the bottom two units from flooding every time it rained. The small parking lot wasn’t so lucky.
Driving very slowly over the flooded pavement so water didn’t get into her car or create a wake that sent the dirty river splashing into the ground-floor units, Charlotte rolled toward the grassy embankment where a few of her neighbors had already perched their vehicles. It wasn’t her first rodeo; she’d lived in the apartment nearly eight years and was always ready for the inevitable.
Reaching back, she grabbed the plastic grocery bag where she kept her rain boots and traded her heels for them before stepping out and sloshing through the mud.
“Another day in paradise,” her neighbor, Frania, said as she leaned over the second-floor railing with a cigarette between her fingers.
Charlotte agreed as she emerged from the brown pool and onto the cement staircase leading up to her apartment.
“Did you get that fancy job?” she asked between pu s.
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll share my bottle of wine with you if I do,” Charlotte replied when she reached the top of the stairs.
“Wine?” Frania picked something o the tip of her tongue before taking another drag. “We’ll get the real good shit. Champagne, girl!”
Charlotte laughed as she pulled o her Wellies and left them to dry by her front door. She couldn’t leave them there long or they’d go missing. “I have a nice twelve-dollar bottle with your name on it.”
As they chatted, a huge pick-up truck turned into their complex. Frania’s dark eyes widened as soon as she noticed it.
Here we go .
“You didn’t say my man was coming today,” she screeched, straightening the jeans and t-shirt that were too tight to move. “I would’ve dressed up.”
Charlotte glanced at Jayson. Tall, dark, and objectively handsome, he was rolling up the hems of his jeans before wading through the water.
“I know you don’t play for my team,” Frania said as she gawked at Jayson, “but even you have to admit that is one hot piece of—”
“Fran! Stop!” she pleaded before she could really get going. “I’ve told you a thousand times we grew up together. He’s like my brother.”
Frania eyed her with equal parts suspicion and pity.
“Foster care doesn’t count, mija. Mother Nature says he’s fair game.”
Charlotte cringed. “That’s not how that works.”
“Buenas tardes, muchachas,” Jayson said in a sharp American accent as he jogged up the stairs with a large paper bag in his hand. He was perfectly fluent thanks to having grown up with Hispanic foster parents, but he’d never managed to improve his accent.
“Hola, papi,” Frania replied before literally batting her eyelashes like a cartoon character.
Jayson’s deep dimples cut into his smooth, brown skin, devastating Frania with a megawatt smile. “You look as enchanting as ever, Frania,” he said, winking at her.
Frania was probably going for coy when she laughed, but a decade of smoking made it impossible. “When are you going to let me practice getting out of those handcu s?” she asked with an eyebrow wiggle.
“Okay, that’s enough harassment for one day,” Charlotte decided as she unlocked her front door and shoved Jayson inside.
“Until we meet again, mi amor, ” Jayson called through the door before Charlotte shut it and dropped her damp boots on the floor.
“Keep messing with her like that and you’re going to regret it,” Charlotte warned as she pulled o her blazer and draped it over the side of the couch by the front door.
“It’s a game we play,” he replied, plopping down on the couch and setting the bag on the second-hand co ee table.
“You might be playing, but she’s not,” she said with a laugh as she slipped into her bedroom to change into sweats and release her pinned back hair.
When she returned in worn gray sweatpants and a t-shirt from the car wash she’d worked at when she was a teenager, Jayson had laid out a sushi feast. Charlotte retrieved a couple of beers from the fridge in the tiny kitchen before sitting next to him.
“I should play undercover for the police more often,” she joked as she eyed the spread.
As they ate, Charlotte gave Jayson the play-by-play. She was glad he’d switched shifts and was able to hang out for a while.
He popped an eel roll into his mouth while shaking his head. “That’s not how you were supposed to play it. You’re supposed to give the ingenue vibe. Someone she’s going to want to take under her wing but also believe is harmless.”
“Remind me again,” Charlotte said as she leaned back against the armrest and tucked her legs beneath her. “How many times have you failed at this?” She took a sip of her beer as she stared at him.
Jayson narrowed his honey brown eyes. “If you’re too aggressive, she’ll wonder why you want the job so bad.”
Charlotte laughed. “She could run my credit report and see why I want this job so bad. Trust me, she wasn’t going
for the meek little mouse, Jay.”
“And you’re sure you got the job?” He wiped his mouth before tossing the crumpled napkin into an empty container.
“I think I have the best chance possible, but there are a lot of variables we can’t control.”
“You’re telling me,” he agreed, leaning back and sinking into the old couch.
Worry was etched in his forehead. At thirty, he was one of the youngest detectives in his department, but the pressure to prove himself was starting to show. Maybe not to most people, but Charlotte saw through his babyface and jovial persona.
Jayson had wanted to be a police o cer since he was ten.
He joined a kid’s program at the department when he was fifteen, and by nineteen he was a police o cer. When he started, he couldn’t even carry a gun.
After years spent acting like a minor to catch mostly online predators, he was desperate to be seen as more than just bait for creeps. Charlotte knew he needed to do something major to push his career to the next level.
