Vice(63)

Harrison looks dumbfounded. “I’m just trying to prove a point. They’re keeping secrets. This man is not who he’s pretending to be.”

“He is not a representative of this businessman?”

“Yes, but—”

“And he did he not give us fifty thousand dollars as a show of good faith?”

“He did.”

“Then I’d say he’s representing himself fairly accurately.”

“Fernando—”

Fernando spins, teeth bared, his hand gripping his croquet mallet tightly in his hand. For a moment I think he’s going to use it the way I had envisioned myself only a few minutes ago, bringing it down on Harrison’s head. He doesn’t, though. He throws it down on the ground, snarling like one of his wolves. “No! No more! I am sick and tired of this conversation. How many times have I told you I do not wish to discuss this with you?”

Harrison doesn’t answer. He glares at the ground in front of him, his chest quickly rising and falling as he pants; he’s desperate to argue, to talk back, to plead his case further, but Fernando looks like a pot about to boil over. Riling him up was surely Harrison’s intention when he came hurrying out here with that cell phone in his hand, but he definitely didn’t intend for his boss’s anger to be directed at him.

“I want no more of this,” Fernando spits. “I make a promise to you, Harrison. If you continue down this path, trying to cast aspersions against my Kechu, I will be forced to set you aside. Do you understand?”

What the f*ck does “set him aside” mean? Kill him? Fire him? Have him escorted out of Ecuador? And my Kechu? Since when has he liked me well enough to claim ownership of me, like I’m his goddamn pet?

Harrison pales. “Yes, Fernando. Please…forgive me. I only want what’s best. I see now that you have everything under control, though...” He speaks slowly, as though apologizing this way is costing him dearly. “I’ll drop the matter. You have my word.”

“Good. Now leave. You’re giving me a migraine.”

Harrison bows his head, gets up, and stalks back to the house. I can tell how furious he is by the set of his shoulders. I don’t think the scolding he just received has done anything to distract him from his mission to destroy me, though. If anything, I think it’s only made him more determined.

Fernando huffs like a child. “I cannot concentrate on this now,” he says, gesturing to our croquet balls, and his mallet, flung halfway across the lawn. “It’s ruined.” He spies a gardener working close to the tree line, where the gardens end and the forest begins, and he sighs. “I swear. These men just want to die. I’m afraid I must leave you now, Kechu. You’ll excuse me. Perhaps go and find my daughter. You can start on those lessons we discussed.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN





INTELLECTUAL STIMULATION





“He told you to teach me about America?”

Natalia seems baffled. She stands three feet from me as we walk down the hallway together toward the library that is apparently located on the ground floor. She looks different today. She hasn’t been outside, scrambling through the forest, so she’s not covered in dirt and a thin sheen of perspiration. Her clothes are not what I would have expected, either: small black skirt that shows off the delicious curve of her ass, coupled with a dark blue strappy shirt made out of some floaty, see-through material that hints at the fact she might not be wearing a bra. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders in thick, caramel waves, and she smells like flowers.

I prod her in the side, just above her hipbone, winking. “Did you dress up for me, Natalia Villalobos?”

She flushes bright red. Her blush travels down her neck, to the base of her throat, where it burns crimson. “No, of course not. I just wanted…” She’s flustered. Embarrassed. She sweeps her hair back behind her ears, looking down at the ground. “So what if I have?” she declares, changing tack. “Why is it so bad for me to want to look nice for you? For you to want me?” She speaks quietly, so she’s not heard, but there’s a certain amount of defiance in her tone now.

I hold up one hand, grinning as I shake my head. “I’m not complaining.”

“Then what are you talking about?” Her lilting accent slays me when she’s riled up like this. She’s f*cking adorable.

“I’m just letting you know that I’ve noticed,” I tell her.

“Then you should tell me I look beautiful or something, not try to make me feel ashamed.”

God. If I could take her in my arms and kiss her right now, I would. Since I can literally hear the electronic buzzing of the camera lenses following us as we walk past them, though, I don’t. I rub at the back of my neck, trying not to laugh instead. “You are beautiful, Natalia. You’re possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But then, I think that every time I see you. Even when your hair is all over the place and you’re covered in sweat. Even when you’re drenched to the bone, and you have mud all over your face.”

She slows, blinking at me, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “Are all men in America like you? Do you all know how to say the right thing at the right time?”

I can’t hold back the laughter now. I just can’t. “I don’t think many American women would agree with that statement, no.”