Page 94 of The Cruiser
He laughs tonelessly. “Why do only rich people say that?”
I move so quickly Olivier has no reaction time. I fist his shirt, dragging his eyes to meet mine. “Do you know what Renan did to her? Do you know what this is going to do to her?”
“Do you actually care what’s going to happen to her?” he scoffs, unafraid at my posturing. “You treat women like Kleenex. It’s disgusting. Even if they could hold your attention, it’s all about you and your fucking boats.” He shakes his head. “You almost killed Tatiana, but she would’ve left you anyway. You never deserved her.”
“That’s what this is about? Tatiana? That was fifteen years ago.”
“She liked me,” Olivier says. “I had a chance with her, but no, you couldn’t handle it. You have to one-up me all the time. You’ve fucked a million women in the past fifteen years, and I still pine for her.” His voice finally cracks along with his facade. “I’m glad you fell for Vandana. Glad you can finally feel what it’s like to be on the losing end.”
I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m numb, a dull vessel of nothing, when I should be beating the living shit out of Olivier. All his pumping me up and feigned understanding has been a ruse.
I shove him away, disgusted. “Give me my key and get the fuck out before I break the rest of your fingers.”
He rummages for the key, lays it on the counter. The intensity of his stare slowly hollows out to match the shell of the man he’s become. “You could’ve helped me,” he says. “But you’re a filthy rich bastard who only cares about himself.”
“Get out!” I yell, the force of my voice sending Vlad flying off the couch for the safety of the deck. The tuxedo twins blink blankly at the front door slamming shut behind Olivier, heads swiveling like they’re at a tennis match as my bedroom door bangs open seconds later. Vandana storms out in her flip flops, purse bouncing on her shoulder, nipples poking through her tiny mesh bikini.
I try to block her, and we dance back and forth as she steps right to left. “Vandana, wait. This is all Olivier.”
“Don’t be a coward, Morgan,” she says, eyes spitting sparks. “Take responsibility for your own actions.”
“I’m not—”
She silences me, holding up a finger. “I’m going to ask you one question. It’s a simple yes or no. Did Olivier tell you to keep your hands off me?”
“It’s—”
“Yes or no!”
I knuckle my fingers into my eyes and sigh. “Yes.”
“Great. So, you come to LA with some dareon the table. See if you can bag the married lady? Some bored, sexed-up yacht boy pretending to need PR.”
“I wasn’t pretending. That part’s the truth.”
“That part,” she says, with a tart laugh. “And what about the part that’s out there?” Her arm flings toward the terrace, indicating the endless infinity of the internet. “You and me, looking like goddamn porn stars! And I knew it! I knew you were trouble. I should’ve known better.”
She shoulders past me, leaving me to jog after her. “Where are you going?”
“The hotel. And then home.”
I starfish myself across the front door, a last-ditch desperate attempt. “Home? But the show…”
“Show? Are you kidding me? Move!” Surprisingly strong, she tries hard, palms flat and pressing against my unmovable flesh.
“You can’t go outside in just a bikini,” I plead.
“I can do whatever I want, Morgan. You better move, or I’m going to smash your balls to high heaven. And don’t think for a minute I won’t.”
