Page 93 of The Cruiser
One lewd photo at a time, she absorbs the full, hellish ride. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “Are these everywhere?”
“Unfortunately,” Olivier replies.
The phone drops out of her hand like it’s on fire, and all the color drains from her face. She no longer sees me or the kitchen. Hers is the faraway look of complete devastation. “This is going to destroy my business. Your deal with Khaled.”
Apropos of nothing, Olivier chimes in. “Your father’s campaign should be okay. If anything, this might distract the press from you and your husband.”
In slow motion, Vandana’s head swivels to meet mine. “You told him?”
“It slipped out … by accident.” Accident. Like how my fist will land on Olivier’s face. Why the fuck is he is bringing this up?
“Accident.” She walks backward, as if she doesn’t want to be close to the word. Asterix starts his morning yowling, the others joining in. We all jump at the sudden morning orchestra, and her eyes flick to them, to me. I can see the rapid-fire calculations as she tries to piece this together. She turns to Olivier. “What did you mean by, I told you to keep your hands off her?”
“Didn’t you tell her?” Olivier asks me innocently.
“Tell me what?” Vandana’s voice jumps an octave lower.
“I did tell you, remember?” My voice jumps an octave higher, trying to hold this oiled catastrophe together. “That it was Olivier’s idea to hire you.”
“It was my idea, but I also told you she was married and to keep your hands off,” Olivier states, matter-of-factly. And, crossing his arms like a prig he adds, “I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
I turn to him and hiss, “Would you shut up already?”
But it’s too late. Vandana moves farther away, her reality warping. “Trust? Why would you…” Cold realization dawns over her face. “Is this all a setup?”
“No, of course not,” I say and shoot Olivier a suspect look. Did he set me up?
Vandana shakes her head as memories spool back. “Jesus. I knew it. You were propositioning me that night.” She laughs, a crazy, I can’t believe it laugh. “I thought I was losing my mind. And you let me believe it. This has nothing to do with PR, does it?”
Olivier sighs. “More or less, right, friend?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell, shoving him hard.
“It’s more like what the hell is wrong with both of you?” Vandana says with a look of disgust. “What are you two? Hustlers?”
“It’s nothing like that, I swear.” I reach for her arm, but she yanks it away.
“Don’t touch me. I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but I saw him in Genoa.” She glares at Olivier. “We had a conversation on the dock. And I saw you with Renan at the casino the other night. Someone broke your fingers because you owe a million euros. And…” Her voice thins to almost nothing. “Oh my god. You were talking about me. Rigging my hotel room. That we’d never suspect anything.” Shock and hurt crumple her beautiful face. She can’t even look at me. “This is a setup.”
It’s too much, all at once. The casino? Olivier and Renan? Rigging her hotel? What is going on? Vandana’s insistence on knowing who Olivier is feels overblown, but no way would she make up these details. A dark pit of wretchedness in my soul yawns open.
I pick up Olivier’s phone, hand shaking. “Don’t tell me you did this.”
“I don’t know what she’s talking about.” His beady eyes flick back and forth. “And I haven’t seen Renan in weeks.”
“You two are liars,” Vandana says. “Sick, twisted liars.” Tears start to wet her eyes and she bolts for the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
I need to calm her down, explain, but I don’t know what the explanation is. Not all of it. But I do know some of it. It’s why Olivier edges left, putting the kitchen island between us. He’s friends with all the drone guys, hires them to film our yacht promos. I knew I heard something strange yesterday. And that damn boat floating too close to mine.
“No one else knew we were going out on Liberté,” I say, my voice wavering on the edge of fury.
“Everyone knows the red hull,” he counters, but in his flat, blank stare I see the truth I’ve been unwilling to believe.
“Why?” I ask. “For the money? Renan’s offering you more?”
“Don’t say money like it’s a four-letter word.”
“In the end, it means nothing.”
