Marbella Cool Page 15

  Jasper quickly finished his stew and got up. There was a moment of sheer awkwardness as they said goodbye. That was why he had come over, to say goodbye. She have him a hug which was now extremely uncomfortable and he quickly exited the cafeteria.

  Putting her computer bag down on the dining table, Rosalie slumped down in a chair, stroking her hand through her hair. Maybe it was time for a haircut, she wondered.

  “Tough day?” Paul said, coming out of the kitchen bearing two glasses of wine.

  “Odd day. Did you know Jasper has been offered a role in Dubai?”

  “I heard something about it,” Paul said guardedly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Paul said brightly, taking a sip from his glass.

  “You’re speaking as if you don’t think I know how your devious little mind works. You know something and you’re not telling me.” She stared at him and he was definitely avoiding her eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Tell me,” she ordered.

  “It’s only rumour,” he finally said, “but I heard Margo organised that position for him.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  Paul chewed on his lip. “It is said,” he started carefully, “that Alexi Sumneroff wanted him gone.”

  “What do you mean wanted him gone? How does Alexi even know him?”

  Paul shrugged, putting the wine glass down on the table. Rosalie continued to stare at him as she was processing what she’d just heard, which sounded utterly ludicrous. It made no sense.

  “Obviously,” Paul continued, “Margo needs the support Alexi has promised to the school, so she had no choice but to comply.”

  Jasper meant nothing to Alexi—other than the fact that Jasper was her date for the fund raising evening the other week. Breathing in, she ran her fingertips across her mouth. Had Alexi run Jasper out of town because she was interested in him? It certainly seemed so at first glance. That couldn’t be true. It had to be true! There was no other reason. “That bastard,” she finally said, hissing through her teeth. “Why would he do something like that?”

  “Maybe he is interested in you and seeing off the competition?” Paul grimaced.

  “He is not interested in me, not after looking down his nose at me throughout that God-awful trip.”

  “Perhaps Russians just have an odd way of showing such things.”

  “Not that odd. That’s just devious and… and... underhanded. Pure malice. I wouldn’t put it past him. He never had much of a moral compass.” She didn’t know if that was strictly true, but he certainly wasn’t one for empathy as far as she remembered. And now he had acted with malice, trying to ruin a relationship she was starting. Why the hell would he do that? What was his agenda here? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be tolerated. She didn’t care who he thought he was. Perhaps he was used to clicking his fingers and messing around with other people’s lives, but she wasn’t going to stand for it.

  “I’m sorry,” Paul said.

  “I should have known running into Alexi was a bad thing. But I’m not going to stand for this.” What she would do, she had no idea. She had no clout here, and certainly nothing that would compete with the influence Alexi had with enormity of wealth on his side. Sadly, wealth tended to bend wills. It would be nice to think the world, especially the world of academia, would be beyond such weakness, but it wasn’t and Rosalie knew it. Alexi would get anything he wanted. There wasn’t anyone he couldn’t get fired, even her. For her it didn’t matter, this was simply a side gig, but for Paul it was a more important issue. The best thing she could do was to meekly tolerate it and hope Alexi didn’t care enough to bother messing with her again.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to dissipate the anger in her. Anger served no purpose and it only bolstered Alexi’s aims. She refused to be obliging on this point.

  Chapter 35

  Pain pierced through Felix’ skull. He hadn’t been this fucked up in a while. His mouth was dry and tasted sweet and sticky. His head pounded when he shifted it, forcing his eyes open to completely unfamiliar surroundings. Where the fuck was he?

  He was on a sofa of some kind. Some tatty leather thing that had last seen its heyday a decade before, if not more. There were stains on his shirt and one of his shoes was missing in action somewhere—another pair of Hugo Boss hoofers gone.

  Lying back, he groaned, placing the palms of his hands on his forehead, trying to sooth the pain. His stomach heaved with nausea. Carefully, he stood. Why was it so fucking bright here? Didn’t these people understand the usefulness of curtains? He slowly padded into the kitchen and drank out of the tap. The kitchen had a collection of used drinks glasses on the bench. Had he drunk all those? Was that why he had no memory of last night? Had he been partying at some stranger’s house? Not just strangers, poor people.

  Looking around, he surveyed the open plan kitchen and living room. Girl stuff. Everywhere there was girl stuff. Obviously, he’d picked up some girl last night, but then ended up on the couch. Understandable considering how pissed he would have been. Probably didn’t get laid. There was always a risk messing with the poor girls, them seeing it as an opportunity to claw themselves up through the utility of their wombs.

  Speaking of gold diggers, the most hated one returned to his mind. The image of her fucking his father burned in his skull. She was the reason he was chased out of the house, drinking himself into utter oblivion.

  It hurt to stand so he went back to the couch and lay down. His stomach had that sickly, empty feeling. He hadn’t eaten anything yesterday.

  And today was the day his father went off to prison, or was it yesterday? An additional unease speared through him. He couldn’t face it. His father had always been the person who could do no wrong, but he’d fucked up. Felix’s perspective of the world had been wrong and had now turned on its axis, and he had no idea which was up anymore. It fucking sucked.

  He didn’t know what to do about it. Was this the end of them, was Felix supposed to take over now, be the head of the family? He had no fucking skills for shit like that. What was he supposed to do now, and how the hell did it end up all depending on him? No one had ever explained to him that this could happen. It wasn’t supposed to happen. He was a wastrel, wasting the family money and serving as a disappointment to his father. It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around, but that was all out the window now.

  Was he supposed to witness the downfall of their family, was that what this was? Were men going to come and take everything away; leave him and Esme without anything? Maybe they would end up in a little shoebox like this. Felix wondered if he’d rather die.

  Soft footsteps were heard on the stairs. “You’re alive,” a girl said, an Australian. Felix had some vague recollection of her, but nothing beyond that.

  “You live here?”

  She turned to look at him like it was the stupidest question ever, and she might have had a point. Another girl appeared, again, looking somewhat familiar. Then another and he knew this girl, Trish. She threw him a dirty look and kept walking to the kitchen. So, he’d ended up bumping into Trish last night. As he watched, she squeezed past one of the other girls in the kitchen and poured herself an orange juice. Her with the heavenly body. He closed his eyes.

  Before long, the smell of eggs and bacon filled his nostrils. His stomach revolted and coveted at the same time. He needed to eat; part of this shakiness he felt was lack of food.

  As the girls moved outside with their plates, he decided to follow. “So what happened last night?”

  “You don’t remember anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “You were pretty pissed. Actually, you should thank us, or you’d probably have found yourself face down in a filthy toilet somewhere with a very sore arse. Seriously, it’s stupid to get that drunk.”

  Felix had to concede the point.

  “You’re a fucking mess, mate,” another said.

  “And you owe me twenty euro,” Trish said, spearing some bacon and putting it
into her mouth.

  “I will pay you,” he said, patting his pockets to note his wallet was gone. “And thank you, ladies,” he said, leaning back on a large daybed in the middle of the garden. For being tiny, this space was actually quite nice. “Mind if I have a shower?”

  “Go ahead. Upstairs. Don’t make a mess.”

  He would feel much better showered and he went upstairs, finding a tiny bathroom. Everything was white tiles and simple fixtures. So this is what lack of luxury looked like. It was just a bathroom. Nothing special. The window had a view over someone’s garage.

  For some reason, he wasn’t rushing to leave, rushing to get back to the mess. When he did, the first thing he would do is get rid of that whore. Father wasn’t here to protect her anymore and they were all better off without her type feeding on their family carcass.

  Chapter 36

  Cory sat under the misters fans by the edge of the tennis court, placed there to cool people down. Mirabel was on the court, smashing the ball with her normal sexy grunts. Her thighs were working, straining with the movement. But today, his mind was wandering to the evening before at Emperor. Trish had been with that guy. It sat like a flashing beacon in his brain. That drunk fucking slob. Was she out of her mind? But then Cory knew he was one of the rich boys—filthy rich and no sense.

  Mirabel smashed the ball again, then roared with disappointment in herself. She was still teasing him mercilessly, but right now he wasn’t responding. It was like his cock was on strike, and actually it was kind of nice to live without the constant hard on for the girl now heading over to take a swig of water. She was a bitch, but she was so hot.

  That was the guy Trish had fucked in Berlin. Sourness filled his mouth and he bit his lips together for a moment. If that was the way she wanted to play it, that was up to her. He’d just expected her to have better taste than that. It only went to prove that there was nothing between them. She was just some dumb girl from back home.

  Mirabel smashed the ball again. This proved that he should keep going with what he had been doing, getting into Mirabel’s tight, toned thighs. She liked to tease, but it would be worth it in the end. In a way, it felt like if he succeeded in pulling Mirabel, he would be able to lay the Trish ghost to rest. And then maybe he would stop seeing her with that guy every time he closed his eyes.

  “Cory, why don’t you get us some sandwiches?” Mirabel purred.

  Cory checked his watch. The kitchen would be open. “Yeah, alright,” he said, non-commitedly.

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” Mirabel said, seemingly a bit confused at Cory’s lack of enthusiasm. He just wasn’t in the mood to fetch and carry today. Actually, he was bored, but taking care of Mirabel was still his job. For the first time, he almost wished he was back at the pool. If she wasn’t putting out, he was growing tired of her antics.

  Scooting over, he moved down from the grand stand sections and took off, leaving the tennis court behind without looking back. He walked across the sculptured gardens of the Athletic Club into the main club house. Even away from the tennis court, he felt ill at ease. Maybe he needed to get away from Marbella for a while, go on a trip somewhere. He could also screw some random person in another city.

  Random wasn’t the right idea, because the dude Trish had screwed just walked into the weight room; a white towel flung over his shoulder. Cory knew Felix; they weren’t mates, but Cory still felt this guy had trespassed where he didn’t belong.

  Rage bubbled up through him, like hot toffee through his mind, building the pressure. Fucking dick, Cory screamed inside his head.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he’d followed Felix into the weight room. It wasn’t packed this time of day. Felix was standing by one of the bench presses, and Cory walked over, decking him as hard as he could, and Felix fell back on the bench press, awkwardly sliding off the other side onto the floor.

  “What the fuck?” Felix yelled, his hand over his mouth. There was blood underneath and Cory hoped he’d knocked his fucking teeth out.

  “No, you fuck off,” Cory yelled. “Stay away from fucking Trish.” Arms were around him, trying to pull him away. He was straining against them. He didn’t want to go; he didn’t want to calm down. He wanted to beat that dumb-arse twerp into the ground.

  “Trish? What the fuck does this have to do with Trish?” Felix said, looking confused.

  The guys overcame him, pulling Cory away and out of the room. “You lost your fucking mind, Cory? You can’t hit a fucking member.”

  Cory didn’t care at that moment. He still just wanted to grind that rich-boy fuck into the ground. Rage was still pumping through him, but he stopped fighting. On some level, he knew he had royally fucked up. He was going to be fired for this.

  “Go cool off,” one of the gym trainers ordered him and he did, going out to the pool to sit at one of the shaded tables. His heel was bouncing, until he finally leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. And that was how you fucked up your life, you lost your cool over some girl.

  As soon as the heat dissipated out of his body and his mind, he felt like an utter arsehole. Felix had always been cool to him. They’d never had an issue. Compared to some of the other members, Felix was half decent. Cory squirmed in his seat.

  Getting up, he walked back inside. There was still a bit of a commotion going on and the staff were staring at him. Obviously everyone had heard that he’d lost the plot and decked a member. It wasn’t the first time that had ever happened. Everyone knew the members could be endlessly trying.

  Rufus, the manager, appeared, walking up to Cory with a ‘what the fuck?’ expression and tightly crossed arms. Cory groaned. “I lost it.”

  “He says this is about some girl,” Rufus said.

  Cory felt like an even bigger dick. “He’s seeing my ex and I lost it. Can I see him?”

  “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I want to apologise. Seriously. I was out of order.”

  Rufus’ mouth screwed up. “Fine, but then you come to my office and we’ll talk about what the fuck I’m supposed to do with you. He’s in the bar.”

  Cory walked into the bar, where Felix sat on a barstool with a bloody towel and a whiskey next to him. “I’m sorry, mate. I lost it.”

  Felix looked up. He looked more curious than murderous. “Over Trish, huh?”

  “Over, you know …” he couldn’t say it.

  “Over me fucking her brains out?” Felix filled in and Cory bit down the wave of rage. Felix took a swig of his drink. “Look there’s nothing for you to worry about. It was just a weekend fling, nothing more.”

  Cory crossed his arms and looked out the window. Obviously there was no potential between him and Trish to speak off. “I guess I’m still a little raw seeing her with other guys.”

  Felix watched him. “I get it. Trish is a nice girl. Amazing body.”

  Cory threw him a filthy look, then felt bad again. He was the one who had lost the plot.

  Felix smiled. “I kind of wished I felt like that about a girl. I don’t. Certainly not about Trish—cool as she is. We’re not ever going to be compatible. She’s just not my type. If you feel this strongly about her, why aren’t you… ?”

  “She’s my ex,” Cory stated. “Just residual stuff.”

  “Uh huh,” Felix said, almost a little dismissively. Felix stood, sculling the rest of his whiskey. “Am I going to receive any more of your shows of affection?”

  “Mate, I’m sorry. You know we’ve always been cool. All I can do is apologise. I won’t lose the plot again.”

  “Okay. Whatever,” Felix said. “In the future, can you give me some warning if I tread on your toes? I don’t want to get acquainted with your right hook again.”

  Cory felt about ten inches tall. He’d acted like a complete Neanderthal, and about some girl, too. “If it makes you feel better, I think you pulverised one of my knuckles.” Felix smiled and clapped him on the shoulder before walking out.

  Chap
ter 37

  It was winter in Moscow. Alexi sat in a restaurant with views over the snow-covered city. On neighbouring buildings, plumes of steam wafted off the condensing units of building roofs. It had stopped snowing for a while and the sky was clear, but he knew it would darken soon. He didn’t mind the cold or the snow; it was the constant darkness that bothered him.

  Sergei was chatting away, drinking vodka while the stunningly gorgeous waitress placed their food in front of them on the white linen-covered table. This restaurant was one of the most expensive in the city. It is where you went when you wanted people to know you were here and with whom. At the moment, Alexi didn’t care if people knew he was dining with Sergei, who ran a milk empire across Russia with exports growing at a respectable rate.

  Beautiful women eyed him whenever he turned his attention away from his present company. The Russian women were the most beautiful in the world, there was no doubt about it, but they could be hard, ambitious and demanding. Beauty was a commodity, enough money attracted as much as you could want, but he had learnt the limits of its value. No matter the face, the person underneath had the same foibles as everyone else. Beauty ultimately didn’t surpass the person underneath, and beautiful women were often riddled with insecurity.

  Maybe that was what got him with Rosalie. Her insecurities were superficial—underneath, she was solid. She knew her value and nothing anyone said really impacted on it. This might be the crux of his objection with academics. They were so assured in themselves and their place—they never questioned it. They never said it, but ultimately, they looked down on him, discounting all the success he had achieved, exactly as Alexi knew his father would if he were still alive.

  Speak of the devil and he will appear, Alexi thought when his phone started to vibrate. It was her, her name popped up on his screen, ringing angrily. Did she have the wherewithal to get angry? he wondered. She should; he had just shoved his hand into her life and shook it around. Did she even notice that he’d used his clout to mess with her? The fact that she was ringing suggested she had noticed, or else she wouldn’t be calling.