Zora Monet Laguerre.
She's like a walking Barbie doll. Her hair and nails are
always done. Her outfits are always in season with the perfect designer shoes and bag to match.
She's perfect. Everything about her from head to toe is just, well- per...
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Laguerre Estate San Bernardino, California
"Good afternoon Ms. Diaz," the chief steward of the estate greeted Ritchie at the front door the next afternoon.
"Good afternoon," she stepped into the house.
She's been to the Laguerre Estate a few times since the first very awkward dinner with Zora's parents, but she's never used to just her massive the house is every time she walks in. She's in awe each and every single time.
"Mr. Laguerre is expecting you," the man informed Ritchie as if she didn't already know this. Especially seeing as his invitation is the only reason she's even there.
"Where is he?"
"He's in the bar. I'll take you down there," he led her to the elevators, letting her step in first after pressing the button and the doors opened up.
"Mr. Laguerre," the steward announced when they made it down to the bar, where Jacque was standing over a pool table with a Cuban cigar between his lips and a cue stick in his hands.
"Thank you, Marc," Jacque nodded his head and the man left the two of them, excusing himself to what he was doing upstairs before Ritchie got there.
"It's good to see you again, Mr. Laguerre," Ritchie greeted him, holding her hand out for him to shake it.
"I think we're past such formalities, Ritchie. Jacque is fine," he instead pulled her into a small hug, and he smelled good— and very expensive.
"Jacque... that sounds weird to say, but okay."
"It sounds equally as weird to hear," he let out a little laugh because not many people call him by his first name. "Do you want a drink?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"What are you drinking?"
"Whatever you are," she pointed to the glass of brown whisky that was sitting on the edge of the pool table.
"Well then," he picked up his glass and walked over to the bar with Ritchie following close behind him. "How have you been?" He put his cigar in an ashtray as he made her drink.
"I've been good. How about yourself?" She sat down on one of the stools.
"I've been busy working," he put a sphere-shaped piece of ice into a glass. "But what else is new?"
"Yeah. Of course," Ritchie scoffed.
Working and going on 'business trips'— some legit, while others are purely pleasure— seems like the only thing Jacque does. And anyone who knows Adeline Laguerre doesn't dare question why.
"Why do you say it like that?" He asked as he handed her a glass identical to his own, both filled with a throat-burning brown liquor.
