The dog was enormous.

  “Well, maybe next time then,” the reporter concluded, still laughing. Then she leaned in conspiratorially. “A little doggy told me we might be seeing a lot more of Lady Godiva and Titan in the future. Can you tell us what you have coming up?”

  “Sure,” Emma said, her voice slow and serene like molasses. “So, our dogs are our lives. We’d literally do anything for them. And we were watching a documentary on tiny houses, and noticed they would be perfect houses for our dogs. And that got us thinking, we should make a tiny dog palace for Lady Godiva and Titan, and document it for everyone to see!”

  “So, is it going to be, like, a reality show with you two…and your dogs?” the reporter asked.

  I wondered if she thought the idea was as stupid as I did.

  “Lady Godiva already has a huge following on social,” Emma continued. “And people are always asking what Sam and I are up to now, so we figured, two birds, right? Not that we condone throwing rocks at birds. It’s just a saying.”

  Sam slung his arm over his sister’s shoulder. Whether it was to shut her up or just a show of how close they were, you couldn’t tell. Either way, Emma seemed to take the cue and leaned in to him silently.

  “It’s gonna be real cool,” he said, sounding psyched. “Emma and I will come up with the plans for what the house will look like, and then oversee the whole operation. We might even get our hands a little dirty, too.”

  He winked at the reporter as he said it, who just about melted while the camera was still rolling.

  “So, it’ll be this cool blend of our everyday lives, and our dogs, and this house we’re building them,” he finished with a shrug. “There’s nothing like this out there right now, so it’ll be pretty groundbreaking.”

  Groundbreaking? Are you kidding me? The guy had just described, like, every show ever on HGTV.

  I looked over at Ollie to roll my eyes, but saw that he was practically drooling over what we were watching.

  And I realized with horror that Ollie was their target demographic.

  “So cool,” he breathed as he watched the end of the interview.

  I had to stop all of this before Ollie was turned into a pod person.

  “And that’s our way in,” I said, ignoring his excitement over the reality show announcement.

  Ollie turned to me, confused. “You still think they’re the brokers? But they’re all about the animals. Why would they traffic animals if they love animals?”

  “I guess we’re going to find out,” I said.

  Entry Sixteen

  I’d been to mansions and manors. Even to a palace or two.

  But the Brasko estate was beyond.

  Like, it was literally bonkers.

  Before I’d seen it in person, I’d wondered how the twins could possibly hide a small zoo on their property. Now I knew. The place was enormous. The property extended almost five acres—that’s roughly four football fields of space—with the living quarters only taking up a fourth of it.

  So yeah, it would’ve been super easy for Sam and Emma to hide a zoo on a property this big.

  Now we just had to find it.

  “Bonjour, good afternoon,” I said, my voice taking on an elegant French accent. “My name is Brigeet Chopin. I am from French Fur magazine, and we are here to do an in-depth piece on Monsieur et Mademoiselle Brasko? This is my assistant André. Would you please announce our arrival?”

  The beefy security guard at the main gate raised an eyebrow but walked over to his desk, pushed a button and then put the phone up to his ear.

  As he talked, he looked over at me again.

  Shoving a hand into the pocket of my black skinny jeans, I made sure to give off the vibe that I didn’t actually care what he thought of me. I picked at a piece of black lint on the fabric of my loosely tucked-in white T-shirt, and then pushed up the arm of my black leather jacket to check the time on my watch. My oversized sunglasses allowed me to see others, but they couldn’t see me.

  It was the disguise of a French magazine editor.

  It was my disguise.

  Days before, Ollie and I had discussed several options for getting inside the Brasko’s world. We’d considered posing as an animal organization, but quickly realized there was no way we’d get the twins to admit to harming animals that way. Then Ollie had suggested we dress up as delivery people, bringing overelaborate doggy goody bags, in order to literally get our feet inside the door. But I doubted Sam and Emma were hobnobbing around with their UPS guy.

  After hours of brainstorming, we’d finally agreed that the best way to really infiltrate their life was as people who were there to follow their every move.

  Like, as magazine staffers doing an in-depth feature on them and their upcoming reality show. We’d walk in like the whole thing had already been set up—we’d seen on their social media that they were always complaining about their publicist, so we figured it wouldn’t be a stretch that something like a feature was lost in the shuffle—and convince them we needed an all-access pass to their lives.

  You know, to most accurately paint the siblings and their comeback.

  Considering the film crew would be on the premises, too, we figured it would be easy to fade into the background when we needed to, and search the grounds at our leisure.

  The guard took his time speaking quietly into his phone while Ollie stood beside me nervously.

  “Excusez-moi,” I said to the man in front of us, trying to sound impatient. “Is there somebody I can speak with? A publicist maybe? We have a lot to cover and go to press in a month’s time.”

  Then I turned to Ollie and spoke in perfect French.

  The guard’s face scrunched up as he realized I was no longer speaking English. Ollie was clueless too, but the guard didn’t know that. If either of them had spoken French, they would have known that I’d said: This man doesn’t have any idea what I’m saying. I could say random words and he’ll think this is a serious conversation. Octopus. Banana split. Bumfuzzle. Pie hole. Man, I should’ve eaten breakfast.…

  My faux tirade in French seemed to help give the guard the push he needed.

  “Go on in,” he said, motioning for us to enter the gate that had already begun to swing open. “Mr. Brasko will meet you at the residence.”

  “Merci,” I said to him, and climbed onto the back of the golf cart they used to tote visitors around the property. Between the Miles and Brasko estates, I was beginning to think it was the only way the rich traveled on their grounds.

  As we drove to the house, I used the time to gather together my fake credentials: mock-ups of French Fur covers using photos of the duo I’d found online, an example of the type of spread we wanted to do, business cards for the magazine. It had all come together pretty quickly. So had crafting my persona. I had based Brigeet after a woman my dad and I had met during one of our travels. She was refined, trendy, and didn’t much care what others thought of her. She also had zero patience for people who wasted her time.

  It was so utterly French, and I loved it.

  Ollie wasn’t exactly the typical Frenchman, but that didn’t matter. As my assistant, André, was there to assist. That meant less opportunity for him to speak in a bad French accent, which was probably better off for everyone.

  “Whoa,” Ollie breathed as the Brasko mansion came into view.

  While you couldn’t see it from the ground, the house was shaped like an oversized M—according to certain entertainment outlets, the M stood for money—and showcased columns, gargoyles, and statues all along the outside.

  Inside there were reported to be 123 rooms, twenty-six bedrooms, thirty-four baths, a spa, a full-size gym that rivaled Bally, a game room, theater room, meditation sanctuary, and a night club in the basement. Along the grounds, there was a tennis court, basketball court, two Olympic-size pools, an in-ground trampoline, and a man-made lake with actual sharks.

  And then, of course, the zoo…if there actually was one.

  Before the cart had even stopped, the front door opened up and Sam Brasko walked out, barefoot in a pair of jeans, and wearing what I assumed to be a white cashmere sweater. He was holding an oversized mug of something steaming, and took a leisurely sip as he eyeballed us from the steps.

  “Hello!” he called out jovially, putting his hand in the air in greeting.

  I hopped off the back of the cart, making sure to take my pile of documents as I went. Ollie attempted to do the same but got caught on something on the way off.

  “Ooof,” he muttered, and started to wiggle around. After a few seconds of pulling and grunting, he managed to work himself free and rushed over to catch up with me.

  I stopped about three feet way from Sam and gave him a subtle head nod.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur Brasko,” I said, and leaned forward to kiss both of his cheeks.

  Sam’s face lit up in surprise for just a second and then leaned in to return the greeting.

  “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” Sam replied back, his own French accent coming out.

  I blinked, slightly taken aback.

  “Oh! Tu parles français?”

  Oh! You speak French?

  “Je fais. Nous avons passé nos étés à Marseille quand nous étions enfants,” he responded just as fluently as me.

  I do. We spent our summers in Marseille as children.

  He took another sip of his drink as he looked off into the distance.

  “Emma and I always wished the summer home had been in Paris instead, but I guess it was fine,” he said, switching back over to English. “A bit dull, but what can you do?” Then he laughed at what he’d just said. “Hashtag rich people problems, am I right?”

  Ollie looked utterly bewildered now, as he snapped his head back and forth between us like he was watching a tennis match. I’m sure he felt like he’d missed a major part of the conversation. I’d have to tell him later that he hadn’t missed much.

  “Right,” I said in my French-accented English, trying not to let my sarcasm seep through.

  Sam smiled at us for another brief second and then seemed to remember that we were all standing outside in the cold, and took a step back as he gestured for us to come inside.

  “Welcome to Chateau Brasko,” Sam said, closing the door behind us. “I hope you’re ready for some fun.”

  Entry Seventeen

  “If these walls could talk,” Sam said as he walked through the grand foyer, gesturing sweepingly.

  Then he turned back and winked at us.

  “Well, if these walls could talk, let’s be honest, we’d all be in a lot of trouble, wouldn’t we?”

  He laughed at his own joke, and Ollie and I both laughed as well, mostly because it would’ve been awkward if we hadn’t.

  “What magazine are you from again?” Sam asked as he led us down a long corridor lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. Little lights glowed beneath us as we walked, sparkling like stars under our feet. “Forgive me, our publicist, Bianca, must have forgotten to program this interview into our calendar. See, the girl’s great at lining things up, but not so good at letting us know about it. Which, admittedly, might not be the best quality in a publicist, am I right? Maybe we should fire her….”

  I wanted to defend the girl that we’d thrown under the bus by creating this ruse, but I couldn’t without risking our whole plan. Besides, if the publicist was fired now, it might be a blessing in disguise. Imagine the drama she’ll have to deal with when the public finds out what the twins have been up to.

  “We are from French Fur magazine,” I supplied with a slight air of arrogance. “The premier animal magazine for the world’s elite. We only cover the most prominent of society. And their pets, of course.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Sam said as he led us to a part of the house the size of a small auditorium. “I take it we qualify?”

  I nearly dropped my facade completely as we were ushered into the room, and I saw how it was decorated.

  It was like a museum.

  For their dogs.

  Inside were human-size statues of dog bones in one corner, dozens of miniature animal-print couches, tiny four-poster dog beds, and what I’m sure were solid gold food and water dishes placed atop a miniature oak doggy table.

  And lining the walls were portraits of Lady Godiva and Titan. The animals had clearly sat for every single painting, a feat I’m not quite sure how they’d accomplished.

  Uncle Scotty’s entire house could’ve fit into their dog room, and here this was, completely devoted to two pampered dogs.

  It was insane.

  “A bit over-the-top, I know,” Sam said sheepishly, seeming to read my mind. “It started with just a few dog beds and toys, but then it turned into a whole room. And that’s when we came up with the Pet Palace Project.”

  “I see,” I said. And I did. I didn’t really understand it—wasting all this decadence on a few dogs—but I could see what he was saying. At this point, they needed to expand. “Very…intriguing.”

  “So, what are we looking at here?” Sam asked, clapping his hands together like he was ready to get to work. “Are we talking a photo shoot? An in-depth feature. The cover?”

  I was just about to answer when I felt the presence of someone behind me. There had been no footsteps. No ruffling of clothes. The person had been as quiet as a ninja. But I’d been doing this long enough to know when somebody had entered the room unannounced. It was a skill that had taken me a long time to hone, but had served me well.

  So, when the person eventually spoke, it didn’t make me jump. But Ollie did.

  “Yes, I’d be very curious to hear what you have planned,” a woman’s voice said from behind me.

  The three of us turned to see Sam’s sister standing at the room’s entrance, holding Lady Godiva in her arms and staring at us curiously. She was wearing a green dress with flowers sprinkled all over it. The sleeves were long and billowy, and on her tiny frame, it appeared like the dress was about to swallow her up.

  “Mademoiselle Emma,” I said, trying to make my smile appear real. “Well, don’t you look lovely?”

  She cocked her head to the side and surveyed me, the slightest of smiles playing on her lips. Then she began to walk across the room as the dress swirled along behind her. The whole thing felt very dream-like, and when I glanced over at Ollie, I could see he was caught up in the show, too.

  “If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve dressed up. Funny that we’re only hearing about this now.”

  “I was just saying we need to fire Bianca,” Sam said as he plopped down into a nearby chair. “With the show starting to film in the next few days, we need someone who’s on top of things around here.”

  “Agreed. It’s not a good look to waste people’s time,” Emma said, joining her brother and taking a seat on the arm of his chair. She put Lady Godiva down on the ground and we all watched as the Pomeranian immediately ran over to a pink satin covered dog bed near a window and lay down. Emma turned her focus back on us and finally gave us what appeared to be a genuine smile. “So, please forgive us for being so clueless about this. Would you mind catching us up on what you’d like to do? I promise from now on, we’ll be model subjects.”

  She was so breezy about it. Just like she’d been during the interview at the dog movie. And she seemed truly apologetic—even if she didn’t really have a reason to be.

  I decided my cover persona, Brigeet, would be annoyed but would ultimately give the twins a second chance. She would know better than anyone how difficult it was to find good help.

  Plus, we needed to stay in their good graces—and on their property—if we were going to hunt down the exotic animals they were rumored to have.

  “We would like to do an in-depth interview with the Brasko twins, culminating in a ten-page spread as well as the cover,” I said in my French-American accent. “French Fur only covers society’s most fabulous animal lovers. In the past we have interviewed Simon Cowell, Kristen Bell, Christian Miles…”

  As I’d hoped, the twins seemed caught off guard at the mention of their alleged former client. I watched from behind my glasses as the two locked eyes, and Emma gripped the chair beneath her tightly. Sam crossed his legs and leaned back into the furniture before rubbing his neck absently.

  Interesting. So, they did know Christian.

  Their body language had made that abundantly clear. Both of them had displayed textbook signs of guilt or nervousness when I’d brought him up. But why? Had Christian been telling the truth when he’d fingered Sam to the FBI for the exotic animal traders? Or was there something else that tied him to the twins that would make them this tense? And lastly, was it just Sam running the exotic scam or was Emma in on it, too?

  I decided to put on the pressure and see where we ended up.

  “Wait—” I said as if the thought had just come to my mind. “You two know Christian, correct? I completely forgot. He’s the one who told me about what it is you do.”

  “We know Simon Cowell, too,” Sam said, trying to sound impressive while distancing himself from Christian. “Pre Idol, we all used to have game nights at his house.”

  “That was so thoughtful of Mr. Miles to mention us,” Emma said, seeming lost in thought as she traced a flower along the fabric of her dress. “We all sort of run in the same circles—call it the Billionaire Boys club, if you will—but if I’m being honest, we didn’t know each other all that well. What did he say about us? All good things, I hope.”

  You mean, did he spill that you two are just as sketchy as he was?

  “Obviously, he holds you in high regard, otherwise we wouldn’t be here,” I said, implying that they had passed some invisible test of ours that deemed them worthy of being noticed.

  If I hadn’t been watching so closely, I may not have noticed the way their bodies relaxed at this.

 

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