The Monte Carlo Shark: An International Legacies Romance Read online

“I insist, Mademoiselle Alexander.”

  I pause, wondering if it’s a courtesy or an order. “Do you think I’ll get lost?”

  “Of course not, Mademoiselle Alexander. I will be right up to escort you.”

  I pause again, realizing that we’re just going around in circles. “Fine then.”

  I hang up and wait. It’s obvious now that there was no way that man was letting me go on my own. Maybe he does think I’ll get lost, or maybe he has strict orders to keep a firm eye on me. I make a mental reminder to refrain from using the phone for help from now on.

  I hear the knock on my door surprisingly soon after hanging up.

  “Neville,” I announce, once I open it.

  “Mademoiselle Alexander,” he replies with a slight bow and gracious smile. “If you will accompany me, s’il vous plaît?”

  “I suppose I have no choice,” I hint.

  His smile remains neutrally intact, giving away nothing.

  I sigh and exit with him. Being a New Yorker, I’m a fast walker even in these heels, but Neville, for some reason, seems to be going at a leisurely pace. I check my watch just to make sure.

  “He did say eight o’clock,” I point out. “We should probably hurry since I have only a few minutes.”

  “I’m sure Monsieur Reinhardt will understand being fashionably late.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as the type.”

  Neville just smiles instead of answering, still not bothering to hurry.

  So I do it for him.

  I strut down the hallway in long strides, reaching the elevator ahead of him and pressing the down button. I hear him scurry behind me to catch up. When I turn to look at him, there is the barest hint of apprehension in his face.

  Interesting. So, Magnus doesn’t want me to arrive even one minute early.

  My thoughts immediately turn to the obvious: another woman. Despite all my misgivings about the man, a flash of jealousy heats my system, leaving me slightly chilled in its wake. At best, I should consider this man nothing more than a professional prospect. At worst, an enemy.

  The Shark.

  That description of the mako is still fresh in my mind as the elevator arrives, and I walk in first. I do the honors of pressing the button for the first floor since I’m sure Neville will find a way to drag it out.

  All of a sudden, I’m very impatient to get to this dinner.

  On the ground floor, I’m once again momentarily stunned by how glamorous it is, especially at night. I fit right in with the crowd of equally well-dressed guests and visitors. Not too shabby for a girl from the Bronx.

  Then, I remember that every part of this, from the room I’m staying in to the clothes on my body are due to Magnus’ influence…or manipulation. That sets me back on track.

  “I suppose I’m following you at this point,” I say to Neville.

  “Oui, Mademoiselle,” he says, to his credit without a hint of smugness.

  I follow his glacial pace across the grand foyer and around several corners until we are at a point where I can see the elegant entrance to a restaurant. The peek I see through the open doors might as well be a view of what it was like to dine on the Titanic.

  In every sense of the word.

  Neville’s pace slows down even more, and at this point, I have to laugh. As if that would stop me.

  “Thank you, Neville, I believe I can make my way from here,” I say as I pass him to enter the restaurant.

  One quick scan of the room and I see Magnus in an elevated corner, talking intently with another man.

  “Ah, I see that Monsieur Reinhardt is still occupied,” Neville says, catching up to me. “Perhaps a drink at the bar—”

  “No, no,” I say, straightening my shoulders to brace myself. “Monsieur Reinhardt’s invitation said eight o’clock and eight o’clock it will be.”

  “Mademoiselle, Alexander,” he pleads, “I think perhaps—”

  “Thank you, Neville,” I say, walking purposefully toward the table.

  Magnus seems to sense my approach and takes his eyes off the man across from him to meet mine. I stare directly back, not even pausing. If he’s irritated or caught off guard, he certainly doesn’t show it. In fact, he raises one eyebrow as though to encourage the intrusion.

  That’s when the other man turns to look at me. The grin that comes to his face indicates he’d more than welcome the interruption as well, if only for his own amusement. He looks younger than me by only a few years, but handsome in that cocky, bad boy sort of way young women his age would probably fall prey to.

  I’m a bit more seasoned. My eyes slide back to Magnus, now close enough for me to see how hard those green eyes bore into me. My heart beats a bit faster, letting me know I’m perhaps not as immune to this one as I think I am.

  “You must be Miss Sloane Alexander,” the younger man says, allowing his eyes to wander appreciatively. He turns back to Magnus. “Speak of the devil, and she doth appear.”

  I blink in surprise. Have these two been discussing me? I turn an accusatory gaze toward Magnus. He just stares hard at the man, seemingly unhappy at this utterance.

  “Starting today, you have exactly one year to kill your father.” This is enough to draw the man’s attention sharply back to Magnus. “Otherwise, I will do the deed for you.”

  The two of them stare at each other, completely ignoring me. Which I, for one, find odd since the voice inside my head is screaming.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Magnus

  Although Sloane is still only in my periphery, I see the way her chest immediately begins to expand and contract on the heels of my statement.

  At the very least, it’s captured the Pirate’s attention, enough to shut his damn mouth up. The last thing I want is Sloane knowing how much I know about her.

  “Agreed,” he says in a voice as level as his gaze. “One year.”

  With my eyes still on him, I greet my date for the evening, “Sloane, thank you for being so prompt.”

  The barest hint of a smirk touches the Pirate’s lips, and he eases himself out of the seat, holding it out for her to sit in.

  “Toutes mes excuses, Mademoiselle Alexander,” he says, shooting her a grin that would probably make most young girls’ hearts flutter. I’m irritated to see Sloane’s eyes blink rapidly, indicating she isn’t impervious to his charms either.

  She hesitates only a moment before taking the seat he’s offered. As he exits, she watches his retreat, then swallows hard and brings her gaze back to me, eyes wide with trepidation.

  “What the hell was that about?” She asks, finding her voice.

  “We were just discussing business.”

  “It sounded more like you were discussing a crime.”

  “You say that as though the two are mutually exclusive.”

  She opens her mouth to say something—probably some argument to the contrary. Then, she no doubt recalls her own line of work and closes it again. Or maybe she’s simply still in shock.

  Noting her arrival, a waiter comes by with two menus for us.

  Sloane busies herself with studiously looking it over, probably to avoid eye contact with me.

  I busy myself with studiously looking her over.

  The dress isn’t one of my selections, but then I would have expected no less from Sloane. Still, she’s obviously appreciated my preference, both for color and just enough, but not too much, skin showing.

  “You look nice in that dress.”

  Her eyes flash up to me. There’s a brief moment of fright before she inhales and straightens up in her seat, the menu suddenly forgotten.

  “Why would you admit to murder in front of me? Is it because you assume I won’t report you? Are you that above the law in this city that you think you can get away with killing someone?”

  “No one is above the law.”

  “Well, then?”

  “It isn’t that I think I’m above the law—at least not enough to get away with murder. It’s that I know you won�
�t report me.”

  She coughs out a soft laugh. One hand instinctively reaches out for the glass in front of her, before she realizes it belonged to my former guest. Her eyes flash to the bottle of wine, and upon recognizing the label, blink in surprise.

  “Yes, I think perhaps a drink is in order. Another glass of wine for you?”

  “I’ll take something stronger.”

  My lips curl in amusement. One subtle cue to our waiter, and he’s at our table.

  “My date would like a drink,” I say.

  “A brandy, any label.”

  “The Remy Martin XO,” I clarify.

  Her brow wrinkles with irritation at my ordering for her, then softens when she considers the selection I’ve made.

  I pass on the drink, still enjoying what’s left in my wine glass.

  We both wisely wait until the drink is placed before her and our waiter well out of earshot before we continue where we left off.

  “So,” she says, lifting the snifter of brandy with one hand and swirling it around. “The question still remains, why would you risk letting me know about your proposed criminal activities? I assume there is some ulterior motive, but I can’t fathom what that might be.”

  “Taking risks is what I do for a living.”

  Her only response is a visible struggle not to roll her eyes before taking a sip of her brandy.

  I tilt my head to consider her. “Back at the bar this morning, when I described the mako shark. How did it make you feel?”

  She swallows hard and goes still, staring straight at me. I can see her trying to read into that question, but I make sure to give nothing away. I want her untainted answer.

  When she sees that I’m serious, her eyes drop to the table to contemplate her answer. They rise back to me, filled with a hint of resentment. “Unsettled, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?”

  “Well, what do you expect?” she retorts. “You…you basically described hunting and killing in a very descriptive manner. I guess it was foolish of me to think it was simply a metaphor.”

  “What else did you feel?”

  “What?” She asks, eyes filled with bewilderment.

  “Beyond being unsettled or scared or worried or any other variation of those terms, what did you feel deep inside?”

  She twists her lips. “What? Was I supposed to be impressed? Elated? Turned on?”

  “I think it tapped something deep inside of you that you don’t want to admit. The part that willingly accompanied me on the boat despite being…unsettled. The part that has you sitting here at my table despite what you just heard. The part that has you yet to go running to the police. You probably won’t be surprised to find that I’ve done my homework on you. Douglas & Foster. Princeton. Harvard. All very impressive.”

  She raises her glass in an ironic salute.

  “But you have yet to make partner at your law firm by now. Why is that?”

  Her nostrils flare with resentment.

  “Magna cum laude at Princeton.” I allow a sly smile to whisper across my lips. “I’ll bet while everyone else was walking across that stage to accept their degree, happy to enter the real world with an Ivy League stamp of approval on their record, all you could think about as you took that piece of parchment into your hands was how you failed at making summa cum laude.”

  Now, her jaw is hardened, eyes narrowed with contempt.

  “Was it your parents? Did they pressure you to get good grades? To continue to excel, be a success in life?”

  “My parents were nothing but supportive,” she snaps angrily.

  I laugh. “I thought as much. Which means it’s all you, isn’t it? Playing by the rules. Going above and beyond. Doing everything you’re supposed to, with the firm assurance that you’ll get what’s due. Because life is fair?”

  I wouldn’t be surprised if she leaped across the table to scratch my eyes out. Part of me would welcome it if only to disprove everything I’ve just said. I’d love to see what this woman is like when she doesn’t play by the rules.

  But that regal version of Sloane is back, the one that doesn’t succumb to emotion…or criminality. She straightens up in her chair, eyes cool, devoid of anything that might reveal too much. She sips slowly on her brandy, considering me with the barest hint of interest as I continue.

  “I think that coming to Monte Carlo is the most thrilling thing you’ve ever done in your life. The first time you stepped outside of the boring and predictable.” I lean in closer, trapping her eyes with my intense gaze, evoking a brief flash of guilt before it disappears under that mask of disdain. “Because whatever it is you came for, Sloane, we both know it isn’t just a simple vacation.”

  That would be what they call a check in chess—the final step before killing the king.

  Your move, Sloane.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sloane

  He’s winding me up.

  My education and career were perfect bullseyes as far as targeting my insecurities—and Magnus struck them both, dead center.

  He was right; it wasn’t my parents who pushed me. They were proud, no matter what. It was all me, myself, and I. Even the part about hating the fact that I only managed magna instead of summa cum laude—the highest honors—was like ripping the scab right off. I seethed for days after graduation.

  Let him try and psychoanalyze me. It isn’t as though I haven’t done it to myself a thousand times already.

  As for that bullshit about being thrilled at his description of the hunting patterns of the mako fish—I push that to the recesses of my mind. No need to delve that deep into my psyche.

  The far more pressing issue is that conspiracy to murder with his friend. What’s the end game in letting me witness it? Was it a threat? An enticement? A reminder of what he’s capable of if I cross him?

  Still, if sitting at dinner with a murderer means that I don’t get murdered myself, then my ass will be firmly planted in this seat.

  Considering everything that’s happened to me today so far, I’m not surprised he suspects I have an ulterior motive for being in Monte Carlo. The only question is, how much does he really know?

  More importantly, if he knew the truth, would he actually try and kill me too?

  “You haven’t answered my question,” I point out.

  A subtle smirk touches his lips. “Why I felt bold enough to reveal my plans for murder in front of you?”

  “Yes,” I say, trying to make my voice sound as calm as possible.

  “You’re an attorney,” he says. “Don’t you have rules about confidentiality?”

  Now he’s just toying with me.

  “I haven’t agreed to be your attorney,” I say, playing along. “I’m sure I don’t have to educate you of all people on contract law. Offer. Consideration. Acceptance. I have neither an offer nor consideration. And you certainly don’t have my acceptance.”

  “How does it go in the movies? One dollar to secure your legal counsel?” He actually reaches into his pocket and pulls out a one-euro coin. “Ah, I only have euros. Will that do as far as consideration?”

  Magnus places it on the crisp, white tablecloth and slides it across to me.

  “I cordially do not accept,” I say, sliding the coin back to him.

  “Well, at least now I know that one of your motives isn’t to seduce me into becoming a client of Douglas & Foster. A shame, I suspect that would have guaranteed a partnership for you.”

  Before I can stop myself, I feel my jaw twitch with irritation. I just let a perfect cover story in order to get information from him slip through my fingers. Not to mention the added bonus of helping me get partner.

  Dammit, Sloane!

  I’m quick to recover, remembering that this is all just a game for him. “I’m not a criminal attorney. Which I suspect you know.”

  He smiles, but his eyes remain as predatory as ever. “That’s very interesting, coming from an attorney who no doubt took part in the recent restructuring of Gaultie
r Financial. How many international crimes was that corporation, not to mention the owner, guilty of? Including murder.”

  I feel a sardonic smile come to my lips. “I can handle killing off a corporation. Give me a list of assets and I’ll—how did you phrase it?—take my time feeding, tearing away at the flesh of it until there’s nothing left. Of course, there’s nothing slow about how I operate.”

  How’s that for a sales pitch, Shark?

  “Of that, I have no doubt,” Magnus muses.

  “When it comes to people, I leave that to the true sharks of my profession. Of course, if I were a criminal defense attorney, it would be my duty to inform you that if I have evidence of an ongoing or future crime, as an officer of the court, I’d be obligated to report you.”

  “And what exactly would you report, Sloane? You have neither the name of a victim nor a time or place. I doubt you’d even find a body when all is said and done. Probably for the best. I sense his family wouldn’t be making too many sentimental trips to visit his grave. Unlike some other people might for those they cared about.”

  That’s most definitely a threat. I’m not stupid enough to respond, even by showing too much fear. The moment he suspects me of something, Magnus will be all too eager to take his first bite of me—if he hasn’t already.

  We both take a sip of our drinks, eyeing each other over the rim.

  I swallow and set mine down. “I presume dinner is still on the table?”

  He smiles in amusement and lowers his eyelids in agreement. “I recommend the fish of the day. It was freshly caught this morning,” he says in a deceptively subtle voice.

  One side of my mouth hitches in a humorless smirk.

  Very funny, Magnus.

  “I prefer something a little meatier,” I say, my eyes scanning the rest of the menu.

  “Of that, I have no doubt,” he mutters

  My eyes flash up in anger, only to find his focused on the menu before him, but with an obvious smirk on his face.

  I curb my emotions and focus on what I want to eat. After nothing but wine, a few pieces of sushi, a bite or two of antipasto, and nibbles of a macaroon, I’m ravenous.