In the interest of spying, Gabby listened longer than was strictly necessary. When Lana didn’t give a fascinating answer, Gabby gave a little “yoo-hoo.”
“Gia, I didn’t think you were coming. I thought George was going to keep you for the whole hour.” Jasmine’s voice dripped with suggestion. “I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this.” A little sassy, she said, “George can wait.”
Jasmine’s “office” was a luxury beach cabana—a wooden frame with walls made of gauze. Persian rugs, antique furniture, andChina tea service within feet of the surf. It was about ten times more luxurious and sensual than Gabby’s redesigned bedroom. Deep pink touchable fabrics and couches you wanted to sink into, open to a salty ocean breeze and frothy ocean waves. Justin would die.
“This is sort of my she-shed. You remember that trend?”
Gabby almost laughed at Jasmine’s description of this as a Pinterest-worthy converted garden shed. Gabby had started clearing out a shed in the yard with dreams of painting it mint green and installing flower boxes. By the time she’d moved three rakes, Kyle and Lucas figured out where she was. The she-shed was only an achievable fantasy if the kids weren’t already looking for you.
“It’s my secret hiding place.” Jasmine winked, although who was Jasmine hiding from? The woman had a mansion overlooking the ocean and no kids.
The butler carried in a tray of matcha drinks and cut fruit.
“There’s so much good food here,” Gabby said, thinking of the swimsuit in her luggage. “I don’t know how you all stay so slim.”
“When you eat clean, it shows.” Jasmine smiled in a way that made Gabby feel judged.
“Are you calling me out on the frozen pizza and wine?” Gabby joked.
Jasmine’s expression was one of pure horror. “Definitely.”
At least Granny had added some real food to her diet recently, but pierogies weren’t low calorie. Gabby was on the babushka diet.
Jasmine gestured to the other women at teatime. “Gabby, this is Naomi Schwartz and Lana Hunt.”
Gabby had definitely found the inner circle.
Gabby reached out to shake Naomi’s hand. From the dossier EOD had provided, Gabby knew Naomi was fifty, but she couldpass for thirty-five. She was built like an athlete, and her brown skin glistened with what Gabby guessed was Jasmine’s inner glow serum. Naomi was apparently Jasmine’s right-hand woman. She’d been a member of Inner-G for several years and oversaw various aspects of the group.
If Gabby ignored her athleticism, Naomi seemed more relatable than some of the other people at Inner-G.
Lana Hunt was a famous designer. Huntress was the current It Brand. Half of Kyle’s friends had Huntress T-shirts. They couldn’t afford the clothes, but they could get a T-shirt with the logo. It was a pagan Ralph Lauren, the silhouette of a naked woman on horseback holding a drawn bow. All of Lana’s looks were ethereal, lots of gauzy fabric and one-shouldered designs, but with a goth edge. Wood nymphs and fairies, but deadly. Kyle had bought a knockoff Huntress dress to wear to the eighth-grade dance last month. It hadn’t been a particularly good look for an eighth grader, but Gabby had just smiled and taken a picture. Looking dumb in eighth grade was a rite of passage.
Lana gave Gabby a quick once-over and must have found her wanting because she picked up her conversation with Naomi like Gabby wasn’t even there, which reminded her of Lana’s nickname, the Cuntress. Kind of cunty, kind of fancy.
“George and Gia are our newest members,” Jasmine said, handing Gabby a bowl of clear liquid.
“Is this broth?” Gabby asked.
“Bone broth.”
Gabby stared at the bowl of broth in confusion. It’s not like she had the flu. That’s the only time she’d ever had just broth.
“Bone broth is deeply healing.”
When you have the flu.
“It’s very comforting.”
Macaroni and cheese was more Gabby’s speed when it came to comfort food, but whatever. Bottoms up. Maybe she’d lose some weight before she had to put on a swimsuit.
“On the topic of jobs, what do you do, Gia?” Lana asked. “Are you famous, and I’ve just missed it?”
With a laugh, she said, “No, I’m pretty boring. My husband is more interesting. He’s an inventor.”
“An inventor?” Naomi narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean? Does he just come up with ideas and patent them?”
