Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
LEXI
I’m done. I’m finished. I don’t care what Nathan Beaumont has on me or not. If he knows everything that happened at St Chalamet, I’ve put up with this lie for nothing. And even worse? I’m taking Tristan down with me.
He’s going to be collateral damage, and I know how that feels. It hits me so hard in this moment that I love him—that I’ve always loved him and never stopped—that I gasp. I can’t hurt him like my dad hurt me.
“Mr. Beaumont,” I say, raking my courage together. “Just so you know, this was my idea. Tristan had nothing to do with it. I suggested the fake engagement to get the job. Please—”
“I knew it!” Jem says. “I knew something was off from day one! Her! What with her dad spending time in prison for stealing—”
“What?” Blood rushes to my head as it drains to my feet at the same time. How did she know? I sway and prop a hand up on the wall to keep me steady.
“Lexi—” Tristan says, taking a step towards me.
I hold my hand up to stop him from getting any closer. Jem dug until she found treasure.
“Say that again?” Nathan says, his eyes narrowing.
“Her dad is a convicted—” Jem starts.
“Let her talk, Jem,” Nathan cuts in.
I pull in a deep breath. My dad did his time; this is my crime. “I said our engagement is fake and—” My voice breaks. Tristan reaches for my hand, but I jerk away. “Please. I—” Inside I’m rattling like a bird trying to take flight in a cage.
“Can we have this conversation in private?” Tristan interrupts.
“Gentleman,” Nathan says, addressing the coastguard and police. “Please excuse us. I think we have an in-house issue we need to deal with first.”
“Yes,” Jem says. “Officer Odinga, you and the men go check out the dive center. Who knows where they’ve been stockpiling the drugs. And watch out for Roger, that boat boy. He’s been doing night trips on the sly to Pemba. That’s how it always starts. I don’t trust him either.”
“Roger has nothing to do with anything!” I beg, wishing I could go back in time. My legs give out, but Tristan’s there, helping me to a seat at the round meeting table in the corner.
“Lexi,” he whispers urgently in my ear. “Just don’t—”
“I have you on record,” Jem announces as the police file out. “Nathan, I’ll show you all my evidence.”
What evidence can she have? I’m not sure why Jem keeps yammering about drugs, because that’s ridiculous.
But nonetheless, everything in this moment reminds me of my last meeting at St Chalamet, where my integrity, self-worth, and reputation were ground to a pulp.
And even that pales against my current horror, now that other people are being dragged into my mess.
Roger, of all people. And Deshni without a doubt too.
Nathan sits down next to me, and Tristan squeezes my shoulder before he takes another empty chair.
Jem has her phone out, searching for something and muttering incoherently.
Nathan looks at Tristan. “Dr. Martinelli,” he begins, and Jem clamps her mouth shut. At least when he speaks, she doesn’t interrupt. “I have to ask you again, now that the police are gone, what are you doing here?”
“I’m the dive master,” Tristan deadpans.
“I don’t think so,” Jem says. “Ever since you arrived, I’ve been suspicious of your dubious dealings.
You’re in cahoots with Deshni,” she says as she points a rude finger to me.
“And you’re training Roger, going out by boat, teaching him things.
And then you confirmed this last night in your own words.
” She’s flicked open some app on her phone, and next thing, my voice fills the room from a hazy recording.
“Once you’ve put your feelers out, you’ll see there’ll be many options. There are countless opportunities all the way up and down the coast here, and then Mauritius, the Seychelles, the Maldives.”
“We still have time to set things up for you,” Tristan’s voice says.
The recording cuts, and I’m at a loss. What the hell?
“Worst of all,” Jem says, pointing that finger at Tristan, “you had the audacity to call your midnight meeting team building.”
“Are you suggesting we’re setting up a drug-trafficking ring? In the three months we have on the island?” Tristan asks. “Because we’re not. There’s a serious misunderstanding here.”
“There’s no misunderstanding,” Jem contradicts, her tone heavy with accusation. “You’re busy with some serious illegal things here, and I aim to get to the bottom of it.”
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, a whole 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 word work.
“What you’re doing in such secrecy that you set up shop in your closet?
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 the coastguard 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’s in 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 sure you going viral was Mia Reed’s intention.
I bet she was rather hoping she would 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—I actually 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.
“Right,” Nathan says as he shifts in his seat. “I see how it was. He was your senior, was he? How high up?”
“General manager in training,” I whisper. “God, I was so dumb. He used me to—to… I don’t know. He used me.”