The Lion's Den(41)

Wow. These friends of mine…“Thanks.” I laugh. “But I’m not in the man-trapping business. I just wanted to check on him.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She winks.

Good God.

My phone dings.

In Ramatuelle, just south of Saint-Tropez for the month



I reply:

So close! Not sure I’ll be able to get away, but

would love to catch up with you if possible. Any news?



“You know Summer’s never gonna let you see him,” Wendy says.

“Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

My phone dings:

Sorry you’re stuck. If we can’t connect this trip,

I’ll hit you up next time I’m on the west coast.

Love to catch up. X.



No acknowledgment of my question. Which I can assume means no new developments surrounding what happened to Eric—or none he’s willing to share, anyway. But then, that’s not exactly a surprise. I wonder if I saw him face-to-face, would he be more forthcoming?

We bounce along a dusty road, finally parking in front of a restaurant built into the side of a low cliff. As I get out of the car, I can almost taste the salt in the light breeze that blows off the sea, lapping at the rocks below. I instantly forgive myself for saying yes to this trip, no matter how insane the situation might be. I am, after all, allowed to enjoy myself. Or rather, required to.

The restaurant is essentially a patio, naturally shaded by the lip of the cliff above. Driftwood tables look out over rocks rounded by the constant pounding of the surf, lit gold in the afternoon sun. The calm sea reflects the luminous sky, and boats bob in the distance.

Summer, Rhonda, Brittani, and the two goons are already seated at a long table on the far side of the patio, and two Chinese businessmen hover close by, sweating in their dress shirts. I slide into the chair next to Summer.

“This place is magical,” I say with a smile.

“John’s sitting there.” Summer doesn’t return my smile.

“Of course.” I move a seat over.

“Actually, can you sit down there?” She indicates the other end of the table, where Amythest is seated with Bernard and Vinny. “He’ll want to sit next to the men who are here to do business with him. They’ve come all the way from China.”

“No problem.” So much for that. I move down to the other end of the table and open my menu, ravenous.

“Don’t bother looking at the menu,” Summer instructs us. “John knows just what to order—he’ll take care of it all when he arrives.”

Easy for her to say; she probably had a five-course meal on the ride over.

I notice Summer doesn’t object when Wendy takes the seat directly across from her and beckons to the Chinese businessmen, one tall and one short. “Come have a seat.” She flashes a charming smile. “I want to hear all about China. I’ve always wanted to go.”

The men awkwardly sit next to John’s empty seat, and within minutes Wendy has them laughing. I feel a pang of jealousy. This whole trip would be going a lot more smoothly if I had her social skills.

I’m seated too far away from Wendy’s one-woman show to participate, and Brittani and Amythest are taking photos of each other in front of the view, so I attempt to strike up a conversation with Bernard and Vinny.

“So, how long you guys been working with John?” I ask.

Neither of them so much as looks at me, and when after a few moments it becomes apparent to each that the other is not going to answer and I’m not going to stop waiting expectantly until they do, Bernard mutters, “Long time.”

“How about you, Vinny?” I ask.

“Thirty years,” he grumbles.

I let out a low whistle. “So you must know where all the bodies are buried, huh?”

Now I have their attention. Only they’re not laughing.

I read a warning in Vinny’s bloodshot eyes as he leans in to my ear. “Guests are meant to be seen and not heard,” he hisses.

A chill runs down my spine.

Vinny abruptly takes out his phone and begins typing away at the screen as I focus on my breathing, attempting to slow my racing heart. Everyone else carries on with their conversations, oblivious to our tense exchange.

Bernard excuses himself to take a phone call, and as he stands, a pill bottle falls from his pocket, rolling beneath my chair. I bend to pick it up before he realizes what’s happened, sneaking a peek at the label as I hand it back to him. Diazepam. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. He snatches it from my hand without meeting my eye and shoves it in his pocket as he stalks away.

I take out my phone and google “diazepam.” Oh right, it’s Valium. Bernie’s on Valium? I guess that makes sense; it’s probably pretty stressful working for John.

I return my focus to my phone and open my email, landing on a new message from Lauren_Carter812:

Hi Sis!

How’s the sailing? Hope the weather there is as beautiful as it is here. Did you get my last email?

Love,

Sis



I quickly type:

I got your last email and downloaded the Shakespeare quote—didn’t have time to reply—was interrupted by Bernard looking over my shoulder. I got in trouble because apparently we aren’t supposed to download anything while using their computers. In other news, they lock us in at night, so that’s creepy. This whole trip is kinda bonkers. We’re being paraded around like Summer’s chorus line, and John is super controlling. Yes, it’s beautiful here, and the food’s delicious (at a restaurant overlooking the sea currently, entertaining some Chinese businessmen John is working with)—but I wouldn’t call it fun. I’m writing more freely b/c I’m on my phone, maybe delete this message when you get it so that it’s not in the system next time I log in to the boat computers. Xo