I glance at Tristan, and he’s grinding his jaw. “Jem,” he says. “You’re a real gem, but you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Explain then, Dr. Martinelli, because from where we stand,” Nathan says, “it’s not so ludicrous at all. The last couple who managed the resort had connections with the drug mafia in the Seychelles, who’d set up a trafficking route from the coast inland. They took the job at Ne’emba with the sole purpose of establishing a network connecting the lodges along the east coast and using Ne’emba as a midway cache. This might come as a surprise to you, but I’d rather believe the worst and be proven wrong than wait until things get out of hand and we’re forced to shut down completely.”
“Drug trafficking?” I repeat, dazed. “As in a whole ring?”
“Yes, awhole ring,” Jem repeats. “And now that you’ve said this engagement is fake, there’s all the more reason for us to wonder why you’re here.” Jem’s cold stare eats at me like a fungus. “Now, would you care to show us what work you’re doing on your laptop, Dr. Martinelli?” She makes quotation marks around the wordwork. “What you’re doing in such secrecy that you set up shop in yourcloset? With all your gadgets and what not.” She looks at Nathan. “For all I know, they have their own ways to get internet. Plus, when he arrived, there was white powder everywhere. I swear they had stock that got damaged. What with the endless trunks and boxes of gear he brought in, nobody would suspect?—”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions when it comes to white powder, Jem. As for the internet, I’m not sure they’re that advanced,” Nathan cuts in. “We keep on top of the latest technology.”
“At least someone talks sense,” Tristan grumbles under his breath.
A knock sounds on the closed office door, and Mike walks in. “Nathan, welcome back,” he says in greeting. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have nine guests gearing up to go diving. They’re all asking for Tristan. Roger is orchestrating. He even told thecoastguard and the police to bugger off. Apparently, they can raid the place while they’re diving, so…”
“That’s my man,” Tristan says with a small smile.
I shake my head. Now Tristan needs to lead the dives, despite being a drug trafficker in the making.
“Well then, Dr. Martinelli,” Nathan says as he stands. “As you know, the show goes on. Best you get on with the job. Mike will go with you, though. Jem, we’ll need to delay all other activities until Mike is back. We’re not done here.”
Tristan stands too, and for a moment our eyes meet. “I’ll see you later, babes. Just?—”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Please go. I’ll be fine.”
I watch as Tristan files out with Mike on his heels. Nathan takes a deep breath and sighs. “What does one do to get a cup of coffee here? And some breakfast? I only flew in from the Seychelles, but we left too early?—”
Jem is a jack-in-the-box. “I’m sorry, Nathan. It’s been so busy. I’ll get someone?—”
“Please, Jem, I’d love to have some of those banana fritters you used to make. And make sure the toast is just so.”
Her gaze softens. “You always loved those bananas. Let me see what I can get Chef to do. And I’ll let the guests know about the delay in activities until Mike is back.”
Jem rushes out, and I collapse in my seat. If that’s the last I see of her, it will be too soon. Nathan leans over with his hands on the table for a second and studies me. I don’t have the courage to look him in the eye. I just wait for his scorn.
“It’s Lexi, right?”
I nod. “Mr. Beaumont?—”
“Just Nathan,” he says with a soft smile. “Good job on the spa. I got your email last night and saw the numbers. I’m impressed.”
My jaw drops. “You never responded to anything.”
“As you see, I only do when things go wrong,” he says as he sits. “Now that we are finally alone, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
I have one chance.One. No more lies. From now on, I’m not bending the truth one bit. “How much do you know about what happened at St Chalamet?”
“Well…St Chalamet is a competitor we’re in bed with,” Nathan says, smiling.
God. I can read between the lines.He’sin bed with someone who works at St Chalamet, someone fairly high up by the sound of it.
“And when something like the Mia Reed situation happens,” he continues, “our first response is always ‘Thank God that wasn’t a Beaumont hotel.’” He smirks. “The whole thing backfired a bit, though, don’t you think? I’m not sureyougoing viral was Mia Reed’s intention. I bet she was rather hopingshewould go viral.”
I drop my face to my hands. “It’s been horrible. I’m slowly dying of embarrassment. And to think The Head is walking away without a blemish to anything, least of all his reputation!”
“And who is The Head?”
“Brent Fisherman,” I choke out. “To think I fell for—Iactually fell for…” I stall, fire invading my cheeks. Did I just blurt out his name and almost give away that I slept with my superior? To Nathan Beaumont, of all people? The man I want to impress most in the world?
Dying right now would be divine intervention. I need divine intervention.
