The Monte Carlo Shark: An International Legacies Romance

by Stevens, Camilla

  “You are the only one I have on my plate tonight, Sloane.”

  “I certainly hope that’s metaphorical.”

  “Interpret it how you wish,” I say, smiling toward the wall opposite me.

  “Very well, I’ll be there exactly at eight. Please inform Neville I won’t be needing an escort.”

  “I have no doubt you can find your way to me, Sloane.” Interpret that one how you wish, as well. “I should add, it will be more formal tonight than the first night. We’ll be going to the casino at some point after dinner. I would be more than happy to send up another dress and shoes…and recover them again when the evening is over.”

  “I think perhaps I should buy my own clothing and accessories from now on. I certainly wouldn’t want to confuse you as to my role as hired counsel.”

  I have to stop myself from laughing. “There’s no confusion on my end at all. I know full well who you are.”

  “You seem awfully certain of that.”

  “I couldn’t be more certain of anything if I tried.”

  There must be something in my voice with that last comment since Sloane for once is at a loss for a witty comeback.

  “As I said, I’ll buy the dress, and I’ll be there at eight. Will there be anything else, Magnus?”

  “That will be all—for now.”

  She says goodbye and hangs up.

  In thirty-eight days, this will all be over. By then, both Jan and Gabriel will have been taken care of. The only man left on my list will be left for his son to handle, an idea I’m beginning to find more and more appealing.

  And then what?

  Sloane’s partnership at her law firm will be guaranteed; I’ll make sure of that. It’s what she wants, a prize that seems almost trite compared to my own goals in life.

  Then again, what will I have when all of this is said and done? Mission accomplished, one year ahead of schedule. The rest of my life to do with as I please.

  Without Sloane.

  The thought stirs the beginnings of something new inside of me. Something thrilling and almost as mouthwatering as that promise I made to myself as a boy of thirteen.

  Fuck that.

  When the full forty days are up, Sloane will finally be mine.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sloane

  After calling Magnus, I check in with Jamie Reaves. His distracted voice answers.

  “Sloane, you do realize that it’s still only five o’clock in the morning, don’t you? We’ll have to schedule a more regular time for you to call.”

  “Sorry about that,” I say with all the regret I don’t feel. “It’s just that…I really should be working around Magnus’s schedule, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, yes, of course!” He says, practically stumbling over his words.

  I smile with pleasure. “And today is going to be especially busy.” After all, who knows how long it will take me to find a dress?

  “Right—don’t forget to bill those hours!”

  “Naturally.”

  “What exactly is it that he has you working on?”

  “I don’t think he would appreciate me telling you. He made it clear that he didn’t want very many people in on it until the deal was more formalized.” Close enough to the truth.

  “Need I remind you that I’m a partner?”

  “I could certainly pass that along to him,” I say, trying hard not to sound like a smart ass.

  He sighs heavily on the other end. “I suppose it’s not a problem—yet.”

  “Of course,” I say, in such a servile way, it does end up making me sound like a smart ass.

  “Well,” he says with a cough, “Just…keep me updated.”

  He hangs up without saying goodbye. I just smile and set the phone down.

  The day is mine.

  After years of being chained to my desk, working from almost sunup to sundown, it feels strange but liberating. Once upon a time, even leaving the building to get lunch felt like playing hooky.

  Now, my only job is to buy a dress.

  I wander out to one of the decks on the yacht that overlooks Monte Carlo. It’s another gorgeous day, and I’m beginning to wonder if there are ever bad-weather days here.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  I jump in surprise at the sound of one of the staff who has approached behind me.

  “No, I’m fine,” I say, then think better of it. “Actually, I’m going to wander around the city.”

  “Perfect, I can have your things sent back to your suite while you’re gone, unless you’d prefer to stay on board?”

  A luxury yacht or luxury suite. The life.

  “Is Monsieur Reinhardt coming back onboard?”

  “No, Monsieur Reinhardt has nothing planned on the Mako.”

  “I see, well then I’d love for my things to be sent back to the suite.”

  “Oui, very well, Mademoiselle Alexander.” With one quick bow, he disappears.

  He even got my preferred address correct. Just how much control does Magnus have over each detail?

  I put that thought aside as I disembark and wander up the same winding streets that first led me down to the Mako—and Magnus himself.

  Mostly, I window shop, not finding anything formal enough, yet still to my tastes that I can wear tonight.

  Somehow, I end up on the same street as that first dress shop I entered, the one with the blue dress. I idly wander down the sidewalk and see the same blue dress in the window.

  It’s a shame the saleslady had to be such a bitch. It is a nice dress. And the color suits me so well. It’s not formal enough for tonight, so it really doesn’t matter. Not that I’d ever step foot in—

  The door suddenly opens, making me jump.

  It’s the same woman as before, except the look on her face lacks the mild hint of distaste as she stares at me. In fact, she looks…scared.

  “Mademoiselle Alexander?”

  I blink in surprise. How the hell does she know my name?

  “Je suis désolée! I am so sorry. I did not realize that you were the personal guest of Monsieur Reinhardt!”

  My mind is in a whirlwind. How the hell does she know that? Is this city (Country? Territory? What the hell is Monte Carlo?) really that small that word spreads this fast? How many other people know about me? Lara was right; this place doesn’t have any secrets.

  The saleswoman mistakes my lack of response and slack facial expression for forgiveness.

  “If we had known who you were, then—”

  “What difference does that make?” I ask, finally finding my voice. “A woman shouldn’t have to be the personal guest of someone important to received polite and professional service.”

  “Of course!” She blinks rapidly, then smiles and guides her hand in toward the shop. “Perhaps would like to—”

  “No, I would not,” I say a little more curtly than I intended. I don’t feel bad about it. “But perhaps you would like to rethink the way you treat customers. You never know who they might be guests of.”

  I turn and continue walking down the street, feeling a wild rush of satisfaction fill my veins. God, that felt good!

  I realize it’s only because of Magnus Reinhardt that it even happened. The same for Jamie Reaves earlier this morning. I would never have spoken with such impertinence without that ten-million-dollar retainer.

  Although that thought dims the pleasure a bit, there’s still enough left to put a spring in my step.

  Whatever Magnus has planned for me tonight, I’m more than ready to handle.

  * * *

  “Eat your heart out, Magnus Reinhardt,” I say, looking at myself in the mirror.

  I took advantage of the shop located in the hotel for this dress. Any concern I had about being snubbed was alleviated the second I stepped foot past the threshold. Considering my earlier interaction, I shouldn’t have been surprised that a shop in his own hotel would know that I’m Magnus’s “personal guest.” I might as well have been the Prince
ss of Monaco for how much fawning there was.

  Hell, I’ll take it.

  As damn expensive as the dress was, the result is priceless—alluring but not provocative. It’s a white, one-shoulder, full-length gown with a side slit and a gold chain belt cinching it in at the waist. I feel like some Greek goddess. Athena meets Aphrodite.

  The perfect combination for the man who’s practically a god.

  I’ve checked in with Theo one more time and made sure everything was fine back in New York for now. At least Jan isn’t making a point of harassing or threatening him. Perhaps he has other helpless victims to terrorize in the meantime.

  I still have no idea exactly what Magnus has planned for him, and I have a feeling pressing him would give me no answers. I’ll leave it…for now.

  When I arrive at the restaurant, this time unescorted, Magnus is already sitting there. Tonight he’s in a tuxedo, looking as suave and sexy as James Bond. All that’s missing is the martini, shaken not stirred. For Magnus Reinhardt, a simple brandy will do.

  His eyes catch mine from across the room, and I can practically see the green in them sparkle like emeralds as I approach. I take it as a good sign that he approves of my purchase.

  I bypass the maître d’ who follows despite who I am and where I’m headed, or maybe because of it. Magnus rises to pull out my seat for me before the maître d’ can—suspiciously like a gentleman. He waves the man off and retakes his seat across from me.

  “Will this dress do for tonight’s adventures?” It’s only after I’ve asked that I realize how it sounds. This morning’s phone call, laced with every innuendo on earth, must still be inhabiting my senses.

  “More than you can imagine. I can’t wait to put it to good use.”

  We both smile in decidedly sharklike fashion. I’m surprised at how enjoyable this is. I’ve never been the flirtatious sort. Life is too short, and there are too many ambitions to fulfill to play games.

  I used to think online dating was a godsend for women like me; cut through all the bullshit right off the bat so we could at least start off somewhere above the ground floor. Then, by the time we meet, we have confirmed we’re match and don’t have to bother playing cat and mouse. As it turns out, men actually enjoy the hunt even over efficiency.

  I can’t say I don’t enjoy it myself.

  “A drink?”

  “I could go for some wine. Something new this time.”

  “I suppose I do owe you a bottle. I’ll choose.”

  As soon as he has perused the wine menu and set it down the sommelier appears. Magnus orders, and I wait for the man to leave before I speak.

  “So, last night’s dinner was...interesting.”

  “Is that your way of asking something?”

  “A prima donna, a complete boor, a gambler, and, conveniently enough, a journalist to document it all. He seemed particularly interested in something Sebastian mentioned about moving to Brussels?”

  The wine makes an appearance before we can continue, but the amused look in Magnus’s eye tells me I’ve hit the bullseye—just not on the target I was aiming for. I thought he’d be more guarded about what I’ve figured out so far.

  Only when we are alone again does he address my query. “What would you assume is the connection?”

  “I don’t think there is one unless it’s to keep people guessing. I’ve been assured you’ve been seeking out a football club to buy. Are you planning on going for Barcelona once Sebastian leaves and the price goes down? Or perhaps a team in Brussels which will now be worth substantially more. Maybe you have no plans to buy either. I mean, why buy another sports franchise? Your hockey team, the Brooklyn Blades, seems to be doing well.”

  “I like winning all year long, not just in winter.”

  I laugh and sip my wine. “One of my best paralegals is dating one of your players, did you know? Maya Jackson.”

  “I hope he deserves her.”

  “She seems happy enough, at least she does these days. There was a bit of scandal there for a while. It can be difficult dating someone so famous.”

  “Or infamous,” Magnus says, his eyes glued to mine as he takes a sip.

  “Even more treacherous,” I say, keeping my eyes just as glued to his. “It’s a good thing all my current relationships are strictly business—at least from now on.”

  He laughs softly, then sets his glass down. “So, you think I’m buying a football team?”

  “It would explain hoarding so much money. I looked it up today, and they can run into the billions in terms of value.”

  “Well, now you have something to run back and tell Jan, I suppose.”

  “Unless it’s a smokescreen.”

  The tilt of the head he gives me is too ambiguous to decipher.

  “I recall the financial world thinking you were going to purchase some green energy company a few months back. That was also based on one of your little dinners. I think you have them simply to throw everyone off the scent.”

  “Maybe I just enjoy the company.”

  I laugh. “There was one interesting character there.” I think about Lara, now wondering if she was a plant to throw me off the scent of what Magnus is really after. “At least one of the interesting characters whose time wasn’t paid for.”

  The hint of a smirk he gives tells me he knows I’m referring to her.

  “I suppose we’ll be running into Zach tonight at the casino?”

  “You’ll no doubt see him.”

  “That leaves Ruben. Even if you were interested in his business, I can’t imagine it was worth sitting next to him at dinner.”

  “Let’s just say I needed a reason for him to have a date and too much to drink.”

  So Magnus wanted the man to talk. What kind of information he was after, I’m not sure. Lara is a multi-talented woman, after all.

  Magnus leans in closer. “One thing you’ll learn about me over the next month is that there’s a method to my madness, Sloane. I don’t do anything without a clear goal in mind. That’s equally true when it comes to you.”

  My breath catches for a moment. Is he really being this frank and honest about his intent?

  He falls back into his seat. “But for now, let’s enjoy dinner, shall we?”

  “You’re the boss,” I say, lifting my glass. If he thinks I’m letting it go at that, he’s sorely mistaken.

  He’s not the only one who operates with a clear goal in mind.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Magnus

  “Elevator repair. He should be retiring soon, but I think he enjoys it too much. Dad enjoys exploring the city, getting a peek into what each building is like from the inside. It’s decent money.”

  We’re in the middle of dinner, and, after a bit of prodding, Sloane is opening up about her life in New York. I’m fascinated to learn about her family. It gives me a much more rounded picture of who she is.

  “And your mother?” I ask.

  Sloane smiles proudly. “O.R. nurse. Not an easy gig to attain. I think she’s the one who will eventually drag dad kicking and screaming into retirement. She’s already got him hooked on cruises.”

  “You seem to have a good relationship with them.”

  “They were amazing. Supportive, loving. I had a perfectly drama-free upbringing. Yes, they encouraged me to excel in school, but, like you said, I was much harder on myself than they were.

  “With a brother like Theo, it was hard to stand out, even though they never played favorites. Things that just came naturally to him, at least mathematically and analytically, I had to work for. If I’d listened to them more, I would have understood earlier that we each have different strengths.

  “For example, I was far more ambitious in a way he’d never be. I was the one to go for class president, editor of the law review, senior associate on a new case. Theo is happy to sit back and simply do what others tell him to.”

  She looks off to the side in thought. “It seems so…pointless now in the scheme of things. I
mean, when you’re abducted and sent halfway around the world to basically participate in corporate espionage, losing the class president election by five votes doesn’t seem all that devastating.”

  “In less than forty days, it will all be over. You can return to your old life,” I say, reading her to gauge her reaction to that thought.

  She brings her gaze back to me, and there’s the briefest moment of something…

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and we both blink, breaking the moment. I pull it out, knowing what it’s regarding. Sure enough, it’s from Franco:

  He’s begun borrowing money.

  A smile that only the devil himself could muster plays across my lips. Tonight is yet another one of my infamous kills, metaphorically speaking. This one is special, having no relation to what happened to my mother and father.

  “It’s time to go to the casino,” I announce.

  “What is it?” She looks down at the phone in my hand.

  “Zach is playing,” I say, which, based on her expression, provides very little by way of explanation. “Trust me, it will be a treat to watch.”

  For me, at least.

  My grandfather, Aloin LaCour, was once both a celebrated and notorious poker player. No table was too exclusive or too meager for his tastes. He married his long-time love, my grandmother, a native Monégasque, to make Monte Carlo his home; he himself maintained nothing more than residency, keeping his original French citizenship to get around the laws forbidding citizens of Monaco from gambling.

  Players from around the world would travel to Monte Carlo, like a personal pilgrimage, in hopes of sitting across from him at a game.

  The unspoken rule among professional gamblers is, you take your losses and move on with grace. And Aloin was the cause of many a loss for other players—some of whom weren’t so happy to bow out graciously.

  The most noteworthy being Edwan Holt, who, at the time, was set to eventually inherit a British textile company.

  After a fairly devastating loss at the hands of my grandfather, one that had his parents paying off an amount that had reached well into the six-figures, there was some serious question as to whether or not Edwan would inherit his legacy or not.