Page 96 of The Cruiser
Ha!
I don’t even have the excuse of a cash-strapped boyfriend to hide behind. I’m doing the nasty with a guy so rich he can afford to play games with people’s lives. So rich he can afford three-million-dollar cars and chase me with them. The familiar roar of the Chiron’s engine growls closer and Morgan banks down the corner on squealing tires, coming to a lurching stop when he sees me. The passenger window slides open.
“Vandana,” he says, voice quiet but still ballsy with authority. “Please get in. I’ll drive you to the hotel.”
“No. I called a taxi. It’ll be here shortly.”
With a frustrated sigh, he says, “I know you don’t believe me, but this is mostly Olivier. He’s the only person who knew we were on Liberté. He’s the only one I told.”
“First of all, that changes absolutely nothing. Second, you should keep your damn mouth shut. How dare you tell him about my father and Derek!”
Cars start to line up behind the Chiron, horns tooting and beeping. Morgan motions for them to drive around him, except a bus squats on the other side of the road at its stop and, like everywhere else in Monaco, there’s not enough space.
“Please get in,” he pleads. “You can’t leave like this.”
“Like how? In a bikini? Or with my tail between my legs? Every online pervert in the world is ogling us as we speak. Don’t you understand? I just spent the past week trying to help you land the deal of your life.”
“I don’t care about Khaled!” he shouts. “I care about you.”
This hits me in all the wrong places. Places I don’t want to feel it. Judging from the look on his face, he doesn’t know what to do with that statement’s impact either. But I’m not giving him an easy out. He’s already played me. “You should care about Khaled. You should care more about the public, your peers, your enemies. The collective that determines your fate, whether you like it or not. Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you don’t have to care. You not caring put me in the path of Renan.”
The driver in the Audi directly behind Morgan pokes his head through the sunroof. “Hey, asshole! Move it along.”
“Vandana.” Morgan’s voice is tight with tension, hands clawing the steering wheel. “Think about things for one second. Would I put you in harm’s way with Renan on purpose? After everything I’ve told you. Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t believe anything you’ve told me. How can I? Even last night I asked you about Olivier and you shut me down. Why?”
“Because I planned on firing him,” he says. “That’s why I asked if you’d consider moving here. Among other reasons.”
I bite my lip, absorbing this. “Maybe that’strue, but you’re far from innocent. You just told Olivier to shut up because he was spilling the beans about something shady. There is some seriously screwed-up shit going on, and I don’t even think you know half of it. Do you want to know why I kneed Renan in the balls? He told me we’re all just puppets and whores and not to think I’m above either. I thought he was calling me a whore. But you know what? He must know you pretty damn well. He knew you were using me. A puppet in whatever stupid game you’re playing.”
Plain as day, the look on Morgan’s face is utter heartbreak. “That is the furthest thing from the truth,” he says. “I wasn’t … I’m not using you. Yes, Olivier and I talked about you in advance. Yes, I saw you didn’t have your wedding ring on. Yes, I did proposition you. Can you blame me? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fucking laid eyes on.”
“That’s no excuse!”
“I know,” he yells back. “I know all about my weaknesses. And thank you for indulging them. But I didn’t know Olivier was deliberately setting me up to fail.”
His backhanded comment about last night infuriates me. That I let him indulge. Like I need a reminder sitting on a plane for the next twelve hours isn’t going to be easy.
“You’re blaming Olivier again, but you want to know why you failed? Because of who you are. In here.” I smash my fist against my heart. “I heard what Olivier said to you. All the women you chase. Do you know what people call you? The Cruiser. So you know what that means? It means I’ve just been cruised.”
His body deflates, eyes blank and lost. I know it’s a low blow. Know I’m being a bitch and not owning up to my weaknesses. I made the first move, knowing his reputation. And I didn’t tell him about seeing Renan and Olivier together. My lack of transparency is just as damaging. But I need him to hurt. Need him to know what it feels like.
On the other side of the road, the bus finally chugs up the hill. The backed-up line of cars starts to stream past, choice comments hurled out the windows.
“Nice ass.”
“Idiots!”
With a cacophony of horns and yelling disrupting the neighborhood, a mother with her tot in hand points at me as the cause, a powerful look of disgust on her face. The downfall of Monaco, playing out in front of her.
Ignoring the upheaval, Morgan jumps out of the Chiron, my travel suitcase in one hand. He’s barefoot, only in jeans, and might as well be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, that’s how crushed he looks. I want to hate him. Don’t want to think about how gently he sudsed me clean last night in the shower. Don’t want to think how he’s turned me inside out so completely.
“Vandana,” he says, with infinite weariness. “Take an hour, the day. Let it all settle and we can figure it out. Just don’t leave.”
Another car sidles up to the curb and I’m about to tell whoever it is to beat it, when I realize it’s my taxi. I wave at the driver—one sec. Composing myself, I face Morgan like I’m in my favorite Cavalli suit and best heels, not see-through mesh.
“Forget about our contract. Forget about any of it. I’m going home. And don’t follow me to the hotel.” I grab my bag out of Morgan’s hand, yank the taxi door open and stuff it inside. I slide in after it, slam the door and bark my instructions. “The Monaco Bay Hotel, please.”
The stunned driver, senior citizen of the day, finds my eyes in the rearview mirror. He takes in my bikini and tear-streaked face. Glances at Morgan staring forlornly from the sidewalk, then back at me. Jesus. Is he really wearing a fucking beret? I can’t be in Monaco a minute longer.
I don’t need his judgment.
And I sure as hell don’t need his pity.
“Move it!” I yell.
