“If you say so,” Eva quipped while glancing over at the construction guys again.
I tried changing the subject to focus on Eva for a bit. “So, how do you like being the manager of the spa now?”
“It’s all right. I can see why you were frazzled at times, though. It can be a bit overwhelming trying to manage everything at once, but Guadalupe says that I’m doing a great job.”
“You know,” Margo said while pointing her chopsticks at me, “there’s a good chance that you’re the reason Jorge called it off with Ria.”
I wanted to tell her to lay off the Jorge talk for a while but was interested in why she felt that way. “Why would you say that?”
“Well, he used to tell Chase how much he hated her personality. But, well, she was good in bed and she had experience in the diamond brokerage business. Anyway, once you two started talking regularly, Chase noticed that he rarely mentioned Ria anymore. Chase said, the only time Jorge mentioned her name was when he was complaining about her.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Just knowing that I may have had something to do with the dissolution of Jorge's relationship with Ria put a little more pep in my step for the rest of the day.
I spent the afternoon hunched over my desk, doing my best to breathe in the fresh lavender that was pumped continuously throughout the spa. Yuslan said it was a great way to naturally relax people as soon as they came inside, and it also worked well at keeping the staff calm. Their secret was using actual lavender, not some fake, synthetic oil. When clients walked inside, they were hit with the scent, and many said they looked forward to their appointments for that reason alone.
By the time five o’clock came around, I was mentally exhausted. But I had promised Jorge that I’d look over his books, so I grabbed a salad to go from a nearby restaurant and headed home where I promptly got to work.
Jorge wasn’t kidding when he said there was a lot to go over. Everything he had sent me went back to the beginning of his business, and it didn’t take me long to find some discrepancies. Within a month of Ria’s joining his company, I noticed several thousand dollars per month was lost, and unaccounted for. She had done an excellent job of keeping track of their expenses, but it was obvious Ria never expected Jorge to run the numbers. She had altered the bank ledger to indicate reconciliation discrepancies. Those entries made the books seem to balance, masking the loss to only the trained eye.
Which was where I stepped in.
I tried to focus on the math, but my mind kept drifting off to the two of them in bed. I was overcome with jealousy as I pictured Jorge on top of her, pumping away as he had done with me the night before. And he had made it perfectly clear to her that it was strictly a friends-with-benefits situation.
Just like I had told the girls, it would be with us.
I poured myself a glass of wine and got back to work. By the time nine o’clock rolled around, I had calculated nearly a million dollars’ worth of funds that weren’t accounted for.
Well, my job is done.
I typed up a basic email to Jorge, included an attachment of all of the discrepancies, and hit the “send” button. Whatever he decided to do with it was up to him. It was his business, after all, not mine. If Ria were my employee, then she would have been fired the second I noticed an inconsistency.
If Ria were my employee, she’d be sleeping with every man on my staff that was inclined to give in to her.
I shut off my laptop, slid into a satin nightgown, and then hunkered down on the couch to watch television. But as much as I tried to tell myself not to worry about Jorge’s business, the more worried I became. Sure, he had a history as a womanizer and mixed business with pleasure. But there was a good side to him too. He seemed to treat his employees incredibly well, and even though he was practically swimming in money, he often told me about all of the bonuses and perks he gave his employees.
Knowing that he was being taken advantage of made me feel a bit protective over him, and for a second, I thought about calling him.
No, Ginger. You have enough on your plate. Besides, he’s a big boy and can take care of himself.
I just hoped that by taking care of himself, he’d get rid of Ria, because even though we were just friends-with-benefits, I couldn’t stand the fact that she still worked for him.
The longer I tried to ignore the feeling in my stomach, the more I realized that I needed to speak with Jorge. I reached for my cell phone and called him. “Hey, it’s Ginger. We need to talk.”
6
Jorge
Itold myself that one day I’d have a mansion as big as Chase and Margo’s, but only when the time was right. Hopefully, it’d also be on Key Biscayne, not too far from theirs, so he and I could hang out all the time. Occasionally I thought about having one built for me right away, especially since there was some land available not too far from his property. But that type of investment didn’t make much sense for a single guy like myself.
Besides, I loved my luxury penthouse with its private elevator. It’d cost me a pretty penny, but it was worth it. Sometimes I longed to have an actual house instead of a big apartment, though. It would be nice to have a yard or a home with its own private beach like Chase’s. There was something so humbling about buying a place in the suburbs versus living in a penthouse. But until I was engaged or married—both of which seemed far into the future—it’d have to wait.
Although the more I looked at their home, the more I thought about having one built anyway. I could always rent it out until I was ready to move in. It’d only mean more money for me.
As I pulled into their long driveway, which had a massive water fountain in the middle, I admired its exquisite architecture. Chase had really pulled out all of the stops when he’d had it built. And to think that he had almost sold it because he’d been all alone, only to have Margo swoop in at the perfect time.
Their doorbell chimed so loudly that I was sure it could be heard from the street, which was several hundred feet away. Margo opened the door within seconds, with their one-year-old daughter, Joanna, clutching her arm.
“Jorge, come on in! I’m making fried chicken for dinner, so I hope you’re hungry.” She promptly handed me Joanna, who cooed as I held her and walked into the living room.
