Quentin Sault, the head of Monaco’s militarized palace security, lingered in the galley between the bedroom suite and the main cabin.
Max motioned for Quentin to step closer. He lowered his voice to his deepest bass tones and told Sault, “As far as you’re concerned, Ms. Clark was an efficient staff member for my charity whom I pressed into service as an administrative assistant,and that is all.The entire extent of our relationship is a business arrangement and nothing more. There is nothing personal to our interactions.”
Sault’s demeanor remained bland. His graying hair, clipped short, did not even twitch. “Yes, sir.”
“You will not discuss any aspect of our relationship with anyone, no matter who is asking. She is merely another administrative assistant added to my staff.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any relationship which may have preceded our business relationship is over, so there is no need to discuss it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you understand that I will tolerate no discussion of her person or our relationship?”
“Yes, sir.”
Max gestured toward the several commandoes already asleep near the middle of the plane. “And your associates will say the same?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Max turned on his heel and walked away from Quentin, praying that even this little bit of trust he’d put in the career military officer was not misplaced.
Time to make it real.
Maxence strolled the length of the plane, passing wide seats upholstered in golden-beige leather grouped around a teak table where four special-forces commandoes played cards.
Dree Clark, the pretty little blonde he’d picked up in Paris on a whim and with whom he’d been subsequently thrown together during a charity mission in Nepal, sat at the table near the front part of the plane, reading a magazine. He lowered himself into the seat across from her. She was a curvaceous, vivacious little woman who’d been an entertaining vacation companion in Paris, a rock-solid nurse who’d worked herself to exhaustion every day for the impoverished people of the rural mountain district, and after sharing a small tent for a month, she now knew more about him than almost anyone on Earth.
And she was about to learn a great deal more, sadly.
Max looked up as the stewardess sashayed by, and he waggled a finger in her direction. “Scotch.”
Dree laughed, an effervescent thrill that tickled the skin of his arms and shoulders. “It’s barely noon.”
Maxence dealt with Monaco and the palace better if he had a slight buzz. “So it is.”
Dree was watching him warily, her blue eyes scanning the slim-cut Italian suit he wore and his face. “You look different.”
He didn’t allow his expression to change. “No, I don’t.”
“You practically swaggered down that aisle.”
“I don’t swagger. Ms. Clark, we need to discuss your position.”
Dree twisted in the leather chair that dwarfed her, glancing behind herself toward the plane’s cockpit. “‘Ms. Clark?’ Is my mother on this plane?”
He continued, “When we arrive in Nice, we’ll transfer to a helicopter to take us to Monaco.”
“After that bumpy ride from the Jumla District to Kathmandu this morning, I donotlike helicopters anymore.”
The stewardess presented the tumbler of dark brown Scotch and ice to Maxence on a silver tray. Max lifted the glass and jerked his chin up to acknowledge that she could remove the tray. “When we arrive in Monaco, you’ll have the rest of the day to freshen up and rest from our prolonged expedition in Nepal. The staff will assign you a room in the palace.”
Sunlight from the porthole window on the plane’s wall shone on Dree’s bright blond hair and porcelain skin, lightening her blue eyes as she squinted at him with her head tilted to the left. “What’s going on with you?”
He continued, “Tomorrow morning, I’ll expect you in my office at eight o’clock, sharp.”
Leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table between them, she grinned at him. “For what?”
