“At any rate, I would never presume that they only signed with the firm because of your father’s connections.”
Now, he’s indignant. “Connections are everything in this business, Sloane. That’s something you’d know if you—”
“Right, I do know that, beyond just you beating me over the head with it for the past four years, of course. I know that because the only reason Gaultier Financial chose us for distribution of the assets after its dissolution was because the attorney on the other end…what was her name?” I pretend to have forgotten, looking to him for help.
“I don’t see how that is—”
“Jessica! Jessica Rouche, that’s right! I know that because she and I were on the phone daily. And I know that we were chosen because she told me it was because she felt comfortable leaving everything in my hands after so many hours talking to me.”
“Playing phone tag with a gal pal hardly amounts to—”
“I quit.”
Once again, I’ve said it so quietly it has more of an impact than if I’d screamed it. But Jamie Reaves definitely heard this one.
He looks shocked.
Which is nothing compared to how I feel.
Did I really just say that?
The confirmation in my head should terrify me. Quitting just when I’ve reached the pinnacle of everything I’ve wanted?
Instead, I feel emboldened.
“I’m sorry, did you just say—?”
“I quit.” I look him square in the eye and feel my mouth hitch into a smile I can’t even try to hide.
“Sloane, I think you need to think long and hard about this before you—”
“No, Jamie, I don’t,” I say simply, even adding in a shrug. “I quit. You’ll have your letter of resignation on your desk by the end of the day. Right now, I’m going outside for lunch. It’s a beautiful early fall day, and I want to soak it up.”
He stares at me wide-eyed as I rise out of my seat and walk out of his office. Just as I reach the door, I turn back to him.
“And, as far as retaining the services of Magnus Reinhardt, I wouldn’t depend on that. In fact, I have a feeling he’ll be calling in the remainder of his retainer fairly soon.”
With that, I walk out.
* * *
“Girl, you shoulda seen his face,” Whitney Howard says, cackling into the phone. “I thought he was going to pop an artery right there on the spot.”
The old Sloane would be moaning with regret. The new Sloane smiles into the phone.
“Jamie hasn’t been taking it out on anyone, has he?”
“He tried with Maya—why she doesn’t just quit to be a hockey girlfriend is beyond me—but I nipped that shit right in the bud.”
I relax and settle back against the headboard. I knew there was a reason I was growing to like this coworker of mine. I bite into a greasy egg roll. I ordered a shit ton of Chinese food to go with the Netflix binge-watching I’ve settled on today.
“So…what really went down out there in Monte Carlo?” Whitney asks in a conspiratorial tone.
“Nothing,” I say, feeling my face heat up.
She just laughs as though she can see right through the obvious lie. “Come on, girl. I ain’t going to tell anyone. I’m all for playing United Nations when it comes to getting some. If these American boys aren’t going to show us some love, why not fish in foreign waters? My friend, Jasmine, is headed to Armenia soon—talk about hot men! Hell, I wouldn’t be married today if I wasn’t fluent in the international language of shameless flirting.”
“I didn’t shamelessly flirt,” I say…just before erupting in involuntary laughter.
There may have been at least a full six-pack of beer to go with today’s Chinese food.
Whitney laughs with me. “Magnus Reinhardt? I ain’t even mad. And a ten-million-dollar retainer? Then snatching it right back while giving that ass, Jamie Reaves a big fat middle finger? Hell, I’m high-fiving your ass.”
I laugh and shake my head, allowing myself to embrace this bit of ridiculousness. The old Sloane would have been appalled.
The new Sloane doesn’t give a damn.
* * *
That night I read the news about Gabriel Fouché’s death.
I stare at the laptop, reading the story from my bed as I dangle re-heated lo mien into my mouth.
A car accident as he was driving to his home in Nantucket while free on bail, no doubt to escape the press camped outside his home like vultures savoring the kill.
I’m probably one of only two people in the world who know his death was no accident—well, maybe three depending on who Magnus hired to take care of it.
I should be disgusted with what I know.
I should have my reservations about being with Magnus confirmed.
I should be saying good riddance to bad rubbish left in Monte Carlo.
I should probably go to the damn police.
Instead, I just feel a certain sense of satisfaction. The man would have had Theo and me killed. He did have Linus Caldwell killed. He also had Magnus’s mother killed. The same word I uttered to Magnus that night on the Mako spills from my lips.
“Good.”
Chapter Sixty Magnus
It’s been a week since Sloane left.
I discovered she left Douglas & Foster, which thrilled me. I thought for sure it meant that she was coming back to Monte Carlo. But I have yet to hear from her.
I know it’s my stubbornness that kept me from stopping her from leaving my office that day—then from leaving my city. That hasn’t stopped my brain from chasing after her as futilely as a dog chasing his own tail.
Even the satisfaction I got from Gabriel Fouché’s “accidental death,” after his very public fall from grace—all so similar to that of my parents—doesn’t sate the part of my soul that is still empty now that Sloane is gone.
I’m done, at least I am if the Pirate does his job with his father.
Sloane’s question haunts me. What am I going to do now? I’ve sold off most of the assets I no longer have
