Page 5 of Hit Man
Zoey sighs, exasperated. “You’ve asked me this twice already. Mendoza is a playboy who loves the limelight. The first week of every month he hosts a party. Renaldo says he’ll be pleased to have the two gorgeous women attending.”
“But a week-long stay?” Renaldo escorted us to Casa Bella and saw to it that Juan Carlos’s staff assigned us to one of several guest bungalows scattered across the immense grounds before leaving to meet up elsewhere with the billionaire. Despite my determination to see this through, it still feels awkward that Mendoza wasn’t here himself to greet us and that, so far, we’re the only guests here.
“It’s never clear what day the party will happen. Sometimes there’s several hosted in one week. Mendoza likes to keep his business acquaintances entertained. Relax, Aubrey, and try to enjoy yourself. You’ll get what you came here for soon enough.”
And the longer your stay, the greater the possibility of earning a private audience with the billionaire.
I relax my shoulders. My friend is right. As awkward as this is, why waste time worrying about what Juan Carlos might think? I’m here for a purpose. And while we wait, why not explore the wonders of Casa Bella?
The first being the great room, with its expensive wooden floorboards that extend out from the space, taking on more of a balcony effect and turning a modern, simplistic space into an architectural marvel. A fourth of the room is suspended over open air, the ceiling and flooring jutting out over the rocky cliffs below.
Like an infinity pool of hardwood flooring overflowing into the city lights below. Unrestricted by walls or railings.
Unbelievably unsafe.
Especially for a room that seems to be used for parties, if the disc-jockey setup is any indication. A few too many tequila shots and one hip thrust the wrong way and the last thing you’ll be seeing is the breathtaking view below.
“Be careful,” I warn her again, as I shift away from the death drop and move across the freshly polished hardwood to the opposite side of the room. This space is also suspended in air, looking down at the large living room below. Except common sense has led the designer to add a barrier in the form of one enormous sheet of floor-to-ceiling glass. Not plexiglass but real glass. Freshly polished to the point where my wonder-filled reflection is staring clearly back at me.
I pause, taking in my chestnut hair, which is now streaked with sun-kissed highlights. I’ve allowed the freckles across the bridge of my nose and cheeks to have free reign, not caring to use concealer because of the light tan I’m sporting thanks to a day by the pool. My green eyes seem lighter, contrasted nicely by the thick coat of black mascara I’ve applied. I smack my lips together. The apricot lip gloss even tastes fruity. I feel pretty. In control. And dare I say a tad less pessimistic?
There’s so much about Casa Bella to digest. Like Juan Carlos boasted in the article, at every turn, another surprise awaits you.
The mountaintop estate sprawls across acres of finely groomed land, with such attention to detail it’s admirable. Lawns as green as new dollar bills paid to keep them that way. Fountains and stone benches, rich tropical vegetation, cobblestone pathways meandering throughout the grounds. There are four pools, five if you include the one sequestered off from nonfamily members and staff. And a dozen private guest quarters like our bungalow are tucked away throughout the expansive grounds. Casa Bella is classic textbook for all the dreamers with infinite building budgets.
Yet as much as I’ve been groomed to find fault, there are a few architectural accomplishments that undeniably set this place far above all others.
The infinity balcony is one.
The winding river pool I’m looking down at is another. Fed by a natural hidden spring, the river meanders throughout the open-space living room, curling around fireplaces—one that, despite the warm weather, a servant must have stoked—then winding around one cluster of sofas and leather chairs then another, finally exiting through a midsize arch in the wall. I pause and study that arch. I’d love to get a look at the waterfall from the outside. Like ice cream on a hot day, it’s far too tempting to miss.
The lights flicker, then fade.
I sigh.
Despite the grandeur of Casa Bella, there seems to be ongoing problems with its power grid. All day long, electricity’s been sketchy. A shame costs were likely cut on the estate’s infrastructure. Everything on the surface seems so extraordinary but if it’s constantly cast in darkness, what’s the good in that?
A waterfall. A river pool. Five pools in total and far too many fountains to count.
In a city facing a water crisis.
Not for the first time, I doubt Juan Carlos’s intentions. But he did boast he’s looking for the right cause. And . . . money talks. With his, I can accomplish what I came to Mexico City to do. Balance the scale in some small way between those living the lifestyle of the megarich—case in point, Casa Bella—and the eight million people who call Mexico City’s hillsides home. Within these hills is a densely populated place called Neza Chalco. A place where residents live in cinderblock houses, without running water or plumbing or adequate ventilation. A place where I intend to make a difference by implementing the sustainable housing designs I spent two years working on as a final project toward receiving my diploma.
Howie couldn’t understand why I felt so passionate about this assignment. Why I’d pay a fool’s ransom to execute my ideas and come all the way to Mexico City to work for the nonprofit organization when I could land a lucrative job stateside.
By now, Howie’s probably gainfully employed with some fancy design firm, practicing French when he isn’t puckering up to his bosses.
But puckering up is what I intend to do if it helps Juan Carlos reach deep into his pockets. If opportunity knocks, I’ll be the first to answer.
“Come sit, Aubrey. And watch the sunset. You can dangle your feet off the edge of the floor.”
I cringe. Of course she’s perched on the edge. Zoey thrives in dangerous situations. She’s the kind of girl who acts first then thinks later. The complete opposite of me. But she’d posted an ad for a roommate at the university downtown, and I’d been in the right place at the right time. Truth is, we’re still at that stranger-stage because I don’t see her much, Renaldo taking up most of her time. But in our brief time together, she’s been a good listener. And she was the one who offered me a solution to my financial problem. So I’m eternally grateful to her for helping me.
I pause to take one more glance at the river pool below.
And that’s when I see him.
A tall, dark-haired man in a suit, who has moved into the empty room and is standing over by the burning fireplace. Surprise, surprise. He’s dressed for a party. Seems we’re not the only early arrivals.
