From the moment we leave the garage—which is like a hotel parking lot stocked with so many cars I lose count—and Trent the Tool guns a spiffy blue BMW over a bridge to leave someplace called Star Island, the day is unreal. Sunshine, blue skies, palm trees, tropical breezes, and aquamarine water remind me that Billionaire Jim lives in Miami, and today, so do I. We go to another exclusive neighborhood with gabillion-dollar houses, called Cocoplum. There, Jade Sterling, who is no skank, ambles to the car slowly enough for me to drink in every detail. She is a little bit of everything—Asian, Hispanic, black, white, with some island flair thrown in for added spice. Her skin is like toffee, her hair ebony and perfectly straight, her clothes right off the New York runway. She joins me in the backseat because Trent refuses to let either of us in the front, and greets me with a curled lip. “What are you wearing?” The question is a mix of repulsion and uncertainty. I root around my memory for the label.
