Read Mischief in Miami for Free Online

that early in the morning. When I found the mineral pool, not a single trust-fund soul was in sight. I couldn’t have planned it more perfectly.
    After tucking my purse, shoes, and dress into one of the pool decks’ storage compartments, I gave the pool room one more scan. Empty, but not for long. I’d worn my swimsuit under my dress, so once I was certain I was alone, I gave the strings tied at my back and neck a tug.
    I knew swimming topless to catch a guy’s attention was classified as trashy by most non-European women. But since I didn’t know anyone was coming soon—at least in Mr. Silva’s estimation—my trashy ploy would be perceived as wild, spontaneous, and adventurous abandon.
    Plus, Mr. Silva would see me half-naked, which would make him want to see me completely naked.
    I didn’t use this technique to lead into most of my jobs, but Mr. Silva was a bit more evasive than I’d anticipated, which meant it was time for the girls to come out to play.
    The mineral pool area was beautiful, very Grecian inspired, and I wouldn’t mind spending my retirement years in the pool itself. It wasn’t quite hot-tub warm, but it was close, and millions of tiny bubbles gurgled through the water. I tilted my head back to wet my hair before swimming to the other end.
    If it wasn’t seven o’clock yet, it would be in the next minute. Mr. Silva was probably passing the front desk. Men like him hadn’t built an enormously successful career for themselves by showing up late. Being prompt, even to their extracurricular activities, was ingrained in them.
    I was just making the return trip when the door swung open. The pillars stationed around the pool deck obscured my view as I continued down the pool, but I heard a voice. Or voices . Only one of them was male. The other two were a couple of giggling girls.
    If I had had something nearby to punch, I would have. Mr. Silva was turning out to be a major pain in my seducing ass. Mrs. Silva could have saved herself some money by having him followed for a day and snapping a picture of any one of the good handful of times he screwed another woman in any given week.
    I’m sure if I had hidden and stayed quiet, I could have snapped a picture of him doing the deed— twice —in a few minutes, but that wasn’t my job. The Eves didn’t get paid for another woman screwing the Target. We didn’t get the credit for another woman’s hands-and-knees handiwork. So much for Mr. Silva’s discretion.
    I’d never met a Target less discreet.
    I swam to the end of the pool, and by the time I’d almost reached the stairs, Mr. Silva and his giggling girls were in view. He had one on each arm. I almost rolled my eyes.
    The two girls were different from the two in the woman’s lounge, but they had the same look: blonde and busty with and had the fuck-me look on their faces. So what was my plan for getting and keeping his attention when I was blonde and busty like the other two?
    I was going to give him the fuck- you expression.
    The trio didn’t notice me until I walked up the pool steps. When they did notice me, two sets of eyes narrowed. The third set widened.
    The other girls might have been a bit bustier, but mine were real.
    A girl with real boobs in Miami was harder to come by than a virgin wife.
    “Sorry,” I said to Mr. Silva, who was having a tough time making eye contact, “I thought I was alone.”
    When his eyes scanned my face, his smile tilted higher on one side. Oh, yeah. He remembered me. “And here I thought I was in the man’s lounge.”
    I stared pointedly at the no-longer-giggling women. “Looks like you’re outnumbered.”
    His gaze faltered again. “Lucky me.”
    I’d given him enough of the show for free. “I’ll let you get back to it.” I turned my back on the trio and wandered over to my stuff.
    I smiled when I heard a couple of female grumbles. He was following me.
    I acted surprised when he shouldered up beside me, of course. “What are you doing