Chapter 34 #2
“I’ll fetch my laptop,” Tristan says. “I have files to send to my production team, and I want to see how I can set Roger up with his own website.”
“What did Nick say about your updates?” I ask. He showed me a few edited clips he’d sent to his agent two days ago, and they were fantastic. Tristan’s work is coming along. This man has such focus. It’s admirable.
“Nick’s happy. I’m finally back on track to meet our deadline.”
“Great.” At least one of us will meet our goals.
Tristan will finish his series on time and likely go on to fame and glory.
As for me, with my face all over social media, I might have to cut and color my hair black to get a job in the States again.
Thank God I’ve got a foot in the door with Beaumont and their vast portfolio outside of the US.
Hopefully the spa’s performance will throw that door wide open.
Tristan squeezes my shoulder. “See you in a minute.”
I watch as he walks out of the office and disappears only to pop his head back a split second later. “Don’t do it, babes!”
I laugh. Tristan is looking out for me. I would be completely derailed by now if he weren’t here to be my anchor and keep me level-headed.
That thought makes me hurt even more.
With brutal determination, I ignore the internet and open the hotel’s accounting system to run the numbers for the spa. Wow… My eyes do a double take. In just a couple of weeks, the profits have gone up three hundred percent. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Jem.
It’s the pick-me-up I need, and on a whim, I download the report, attach it to an email and address it to Nathan Beaumont.
He might not have responded to my initial proposal email, but maybe he’ll respond to numbers.
I keep my email to the point and professional, knowing this is Deshni and Sarika’s future in my hands, and send it off.
Tristan walks back into the office. “She won’t mind, will she?” he asks as he goes over to Jem’s desk to take a seat.
“I don’t think so. What she doesn’t know and all that…”
Tristan sits and moves Jem’s keyboard and computer screen to the side to plug in his laptop.
That thing really isn’t small. It’s heavy too.
Ah hell… Bad word selection given the direction my mind goes in every time he’s around.
I watch him from beneath my lashes, heat spreading over my skin as memories of last night’s sex replay too vividly in my mind’s eye.
I bite my lip. What is he going to do to me tonight?
Clearly Tristan hasn’t thought that far yet. Soon he’s typing away and doesn’t look up once.
For a moment we’re both submerged in our work, but then it becomes weirdly quiet.
“Jesus Christ,” Tristan says, and I meet his eyes across the room.
“What?”
“Have you checked your personal email yet today?”
“Still on my to-do list. Jem’s eagle-eyeing everything I do, so I haven’t. What’s up?”
Tristan shakes his head. “No new emails from Sheila at St Chalamet?”
“What’s going on?” I ask as I toggle to the internet and open my private email account. Tristan sits frozen at the desk. “You’re freaking me out. What is it?”
“I got an email from my dad.”
Oh hell. Indirectly my lawyer if I could afford him. “What does he say?”
Tristan’s gaze returns to his screen. “Mia Reed has signed my dad’s firm as her attorneys in New York. She’s planning to sue St Chalamet for twenty million dollars.”
“What?” I feel the blood drain straight out of my body as a rush of chills travels up my arms.
“For having the video leaked.” Tristan runs his fingers through his hair. “Wow… Nobody’s supposed to know she’s planning to sue. This is insider info. Obviously.”
Obviously. So far nobody knows about St Chalamet’s involvement, and NDAs have been flying around like pollen in spring.
The backdrop of Mia Reed’s video is still a secret, even though the St Chalamet hacking is out in the open.
The hotel group had to let their guests know.
Somehow they’ve managed that whole clusterfuck without too much backlash.
But this? This is ludicrous. “Twenty million dollars?”
Tristan shakes his head. “St Chalamet will be idiots to pay such hush money.”
“But their reputation is at stake.”
For a long moment we stare at each other, and I’m not sure what he’s thinking about, but the lengths to which I’ve gone to get away from this mess—even faking an engagement—flicker through my mind.
People get desperate. People do stupid things.
People get chunks bitten straight from their asses in the process.
“You know why Mia Reed never paid those hackers in the first place, Lexi?”
Yes. Deep down I know. “Because they would have dropped the video even if she did?”
“Exactly. She had no guarantee that there weren’t other copies floating around.
Even if Reed had paid the ransom, someone else could have posted it, and she would’ve been out a bunch of cash.
” Tristan leans his elbows on the desk and drops his chin to his steepled fingers.
“You have to admit, it’s a gutsy move on her part.
They don’t pay up, she exposes them. The damage to her has been done, and now she’s got them cornered. ”
“Instead of being out the ransom money, she’ll be making millions.” Mia Reed is clever and conniving. I wouldn’t have it in me to pull this off.
“Either way, St Chalamet is screwed.”
“They have been from the start.”
“Which is what happens if you go slack on your security.”
My fingers tremble as I reach for my mouse again. Slowly I close all my tabs and shut down for the night. I can feel Tristan’s eyes on me.
This is a shock. Just as I thought the video had done its worst, we’re now headed for legal mayhem. What if I’m asked to testify in court? What if I have to face Brent Fisherman again? I just can’t. I can’t sit here under Tristan’s caring gaze and deal with this. I need to get out of here.
“I’m going to do the sunset rounds,” I say, needing the fresh sea breeze on my face, away from this cesspit my computer opens up.
“You want me to come with?”
“I’m good.” Doing the rounds alone will force me to focus on the guests and put on a happy face.
“I’ll wrap up here quickly.” Tristan stands as I walk to the door, but right now, I can’t meet his gaze. “Lexi.”
“Yes?” I stop and look at him, Jem’s desk a barrier between us. I will him to come around and take me in his arms. Hug me.
A thick rumble sounds from afar, and we both blink. Was that thunder?
“This will be over soon,” he assures me. “They’ll settle out of court. Trust me, this case will never see the light of day.”
“Hopefully.” I turn and walk away, surprised to find it so much darker outside than usual.
A heaviness hangs in the air, and when I look up, the sky is blackened with thick clouds.
For weeks they’ve been in the distance, providing spectacular sunsets, but now they’ve reached our little island.
It’s the first promise of the rainy season to come.
I walk quickly to the guest area, and raindrops fall here and there. Maybe there won’t be sunset drinks tonight. I’ve been so immersed in my head, in Tristan, and in this stupid mess, that I didn’t notice the change in the weather.
It’s easy for Tristan to say this will be over soon.
It’s not his face plastered all over the internet.
It’s not his name that will be trashed in the headlines.
My anonymity’s hanging from the thin thread of Mia Reed’s twenty-million-dollar lawsuit.
Settled in or out of court, it doesn’t matter.
Once it comes out that the video’s backdrop is some obscure banquet room in the St Chalamet Manhattan, it’s a hop, skip, and a jump to my name becoming another trending but trashy hashtag.