She stood, determined to start over. They were colleagues and roommates for the next few days. There was no reason they shouldn’t be friends.
Energized with her newfound realization, she swung the door open and ran straight into Simon’s hard, warm chest. “Shit,” she whispered. Her newfound confidence plummeted right to the floor.
Simon laughed; his warm breath caressed her neck and sent a shiver down her spine. “It’s okay,” he said. “Are you ready to go?”
She pulled herself from his grasp, suddenly cold without his touch. “I’m ready. Let’s get out of here.”
~~~~~
Andre definitely needed a raise, thought Grace as she took another sip of her…something. The waitress had said what the fruity concoction was, but for some reason drinks that didn’t have dirty names never stuck with her.
And her memory probably would’ve been better if she wasn’t three drinks in already. She bobbed her head to the pop music that played from the other room and debated heading out to the dance floor.
“Are you okay?” shouted a voice from behind her.
Grace twisted around and saw Simon behind her, a fresh drink of his own in hand. Some sort of brown liquid and ice. She narrowed her eyes as she tried to guess what it was. He was rich enough to be an aged Scotch or brandy man, but her gut said whiskey.
His warm hand landed on her arm. “Grace? What’s up?”
She tilted her head back and stared up at his eyes. “I was guessing your drink!” she yelled over the music.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk!” she protested, but even as the words came out, he pulled on her arm to lead her…somewhere. “Where are we going?” she yelled.
He didn’t answer, but she supposed she wouldn’t have been able to hear him over the pounding pop music anyway. She bobbed her head, but she apparently couldn’t do that and walk at the same time, and tripped over her own feet. She stumbled a few steps but was able to steady herself while only spilling a few drops of her drink.
Simon whipped around to stare at her, and she held her glass up in victory. “Did you see that?” she asked with a big grin.
He shook his head and once again led her across the dance floor and through a set of double doors.
The cool night breeze brushed through her hair, and Grace took a deep breath of the salt tinted air. “What are we doing out here?” She took one of the empty seats on the balcony and took in the beautiful nighttime ocean view.
“I figured you could use some air.” He took the seat next to her.
She laughed. “I kind of thought you wanted people to think we were sneaking out to do things.”
He raised a brow. “Flings run off to do things. Couples go to where it’s quiet to talk.”
Grace slouched down in the chair and laid her head back to stare up at the stars. “Hmm,” she muttered. “I guess I forgot that. It’s been awhile since I had one of those talks.”
Simon leaned back a bit, too, and took a sip of his drink. “Between DuFord and Bar, I thought you’d be a relationship expert.”
She snorted. “Please. Bar never happened and Mark was…I don’t know what the hell Mark was. He was great, you know? Handsome. Charming. Sweet. Good for business,” she added, pointing her glass toward Simon; she knew he’d understand. He gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement as he took another sip. “But it wasn’t right. I don’t think either of us was really feeling it. I was working all the time and he wanted to go on all these trips. I think we were on two different paths.” She let out a sigh, and for a few moments, the only sound was the waves as they crashed on the soft, sandy beach. “What about you? Do you leave a long trail of broken hearts everywhere you go?” She looked to him. The moonlight made his pale skin seem to glow and his eyes seem even darker.
He shrugged. “Women and me have never been on the same page. I was too geeky in school, and by the time I grew out of it, I was too busy.”
She smirked. “Are you a forty-year-old virgin then?”
He gave her chair a playful kick. “I never said that. I’ve just never been in anything that I’d call serious.”
“I knew it,” she muttered. “A trail of broken hearts.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him. “The true heartbreakers are the ones who don’t even know they’re doing it.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “Those poor women,” she whispered. As she gazed out over the ocean, she mustered up the courage to ask the one question she’d been avoiding. “What’s the deal with you and Mark?”
The silence stretched between them, and she glanced back to him. But he didn’t look angry at the question. More pensive than anything else.
“If I tell you, this has to be between us. No one else can know.”
She sat up a bit straighter. Somehow she’d expected something like Mark had stolen his girlfriend or something. “Our secret. I promise.”
“DuFord is a really smart guy. He can sniff out money like a bloodhound and knows exactly what to say and when.”
Grace thought back to the parties she’d gone to with Mark, and she couldn’t disagree. She’d seen him talk business with complete strangers numerous times, and on each occasion, he was smooth, calm, and collected. She’d always admired that about him.
“But if you want the truth, he’s not the best investor.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about? Everyone I’ve talked to who’s worked with him raves about his instinct.”
Simon nodded. “Oh, he’s good at making money. He takes on high-risk projects that have a hard to impossible time getting funding from the normal channels.”
Grace leaned forward. “You’re saying he invests illegally? That’s impossible.”
“He invests offshore and makes twenty percent on every dollar. He gives the client ten and keeps the rest as his fee, which he tells his clients is about one percent. “
“But he’d get caught eventually. He couldn’t have been doing that all these years without the government noticing.”
“As far as I know, he’s only gotten caught once.”
Grace raised her brows. “And…”
“And he erased any hint that he had anything to do with it. His signature wasn’t on any of the documents and the funds never touched an account that he handled. It was his client’s word against his.”
“So what happened to the client?”
Simon looked away from her and to the ocean. “He was facing years of jail time and lost all his money. The guy killed himself.”
She covered her mouth with her palm. “You’re serious?”
His lips tightened and he nodded. “Dead serious, Grace. The guy’s dirty and he needs to be stopped. He’s been playing the same game for years now, and no matter how often I’ve tried to tip off any type of authority, DuFord somehow manages to cover his tracks. I almost was able to catch him in the act of transferring money to the Middle East, but the backer pulled out at the last minute.”
“You have money. Why can’t you be the backer?” He tilted his head, and it clicked. “Because if it went wrong, you’d be on the line,” she said, answering her own question.