The Wrong Gentleman(31)

“I don’t need anyone.”

She shrugged. “True. You make plenty of money yourself. So why don’t you find someone to love, rather than someone who can buy you a load of stuff?”

I’d much rather have things over love, but I didn’t need either from a man.

“Is it because things were difficult when you were in the home?” August asked. “I’m guessing you didn’t have many of your own things.”

Discomfort prickled at my skin. I liked to look forward toward my future rather than back to my past.

“It’s nothing like that. I just think love and passion are overrated and it’s far better to be practical when it comes to who you’re going to spend your life with. My list of criteria is no different to someone in a culture with an arranged marriage.”

“You can’t think that an arranged marriage is a good idea?”

“I think being practical about a life partner is a good thing.” My mother had let her love and passion for my father rule her life—override her sense of survival—and she’d paid the ultimate price. I would never repeat her mistake.

Not for Walt.

Not for Landon.

Not for any man.





Nineteen





Landon


Forgiveness rather than permission—it was a mantra that had almost always worked for me. I hoped it continued to work tonight.

After going over Peter’s head, there was no way he was going to let me go ashore tonight, which meant I’d have to go without asking. If I got caught, I risked being fired and putting Reynolds’ operation in danger. If I didn’t go, I wouldn’t be able to identify the additional guests at Walt’s dinner and give Reynolds and his client the information they’d been looking for. I’d have to feign ignorance about the rule of not being allowed off the boat without permission. Peter would know I was full of shit, but hopefully I’d talk my way out of it. I’d managed to talk my way out of worse situations.

I watched from the aft deck while Walt and Skylar disappeared into a cab. When she’d emerged to meet him on the sundeck, it had taken every last bit of willpower I had not to run down, put her over my shoulder, and fucking disappear out of Monaco. Fuck the yacht, fuck Reynolds, fuck everything. She’d looked amazing—breath-stealing incredible. Like the kind of woman I’d dream up . . . and that pissed me off. I was on an operation. I didn’t get distracted by a woman. I was laser focused and on mission. Always. What was happening to me?

I shook it off and surveyed my exits. I knew the crew well enough to know that with guests on shore, everyone would be focused on their free time rather than me. I hoped.

Laughter drifted down from the sundeck, so I headed in the opposite direction. I walked purposefully off the yacht as if I had every right to do so, and I didn’t look back. Confidence in these situations was everything. The first rule of trying to be inconspicuous was not to look guilty. A simple rule but one so many forgot.

Within seconds I was out of sight, and I slowed my pace. At the end of the dock, I crossed the road onto the main street and glanced around, looking for a taxi. There were plenty of fast cars but no cabs. I guessed the rich didn’t need taxis as they all had their own drivers. Unlike most of the rest of the ports in the South of France, there was a lack of people on the streets. There were no street entertainers or laughter. The only sound was the noise of the traffic, and the buildings looked like corporate offices and hotels. The place didn’t have any soul.

As soon as I could, I dipped into one of the side streets and made my way northeast toward the hotel where Walt and Skylar and the eight other guests would be dining. I was determined to get photographs of everyone joining Walt.

I pulled out the burner phone I’d brought with me and dialed Reynolds.

“Another new number?” he asked.

“Old habits,” I explained.

“Are you on your way?”

“Almost there,” I said. “I’m going to get you these photographs, but you should know that there’s at least one innocent party at the dinner who has absolutely no knowledge of anything that Walt is up to.”

“We expected that to be the case, if this is an important meeting. He’ll want to make it look like a social occasion.”

“Exactly. Walt asked one of the stewardesses from the yacht to join him. I can assure you, she knows nothing of his business.”

“Interesting. Do you know her well?”

“No.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. I didn’t know Skylar well. Not compared to how August knew her.

“But you work with her, correct?” Reynolds asked. I could see where this was going, and I didn’t like it. I’d called him to keep Skylar safe, but of course Skylar’s safety wasn’t Reynolds’ priority.

“She’s head of the interior. I’m bottom of the chain on the exterior. We have very little to do with each other.”

“But the yacht’s a small place. You could get to know her.”

“I’m not going to get her reporting to me on what happened at dinner.”

“Not reporting, exactly. But you could get her talking.”

“Look, if you trust me, you trust me. I do things my way. What I’m not going to do is read her in and put her in even more danger.”