Page 122 of Ruining Vanessa

Slayer nudges her up until she’s sitting next to him, though she still won’t look at me.

After a long moment, she mumbles, “This doesn’t match the usual amount.”

“Yeah? What’s off about it?” I take out my phone to get a picture of the invoice, just in case.

Vanessa hesitates. Her eyes are red-rimmed when she looks up at me, and she says quietly, “It’s about a hundred dollars less than the ones I’ve been reviewing.”

“Wow. Classic skimming. If this has been going on for the past ten fucking months, that means somebody’s made themselves an extra… four thousand bucks?” I laugh. “Jesus, Slayer, can you imagine, risking my anger over a piddly four k?”

Vanessa squirms. “I… Giulio…” She looks at me, then down at the floor. “It really was an accident. All right? Please, just… It was an accident. I’ll tell you about this, just don’t…”

“That sounds like a confession to me,” Slayer comments. “So who pushed you?”

Vanessa shakes her head quickly. “No one pushed me! It was an accident. But I know about the money. Just…” She’s not making any sense, going from one topic to the other, but that just means they’re related somehow.

I make a go on gesture to her. “All right, so. Skimming from me at such a low amount that whoever it is probably thought they’d get away with it, but also, they’re a fucking idiot.”

Vanessa bites her bottom lip, her expression showing all of her indecision, her doubt. She knows something’s going to happen to whoever’s responsible, and she’s scared—it’s one of the things Damien likes about her so much, that she’s so gentle and caring.

But right now, it’s just pissing me the fuck off.

“It’s not just the beer,” she says quietly. “I’ve noticed some other things seem to be more expensive, too. Some months, they fluctuate. I’m willing to bet that the difference is based on… on who’s handling supplies.” She cringes, like she thinks I’m going to lash out at her.

She seems to be forgetting that I actually know how my businesses operate. “So, that’s a very short list of people. Donny, Paul, and Jenna. Which of them should I go terrorize, Vanessa?”

“Please leave them alone,” she whispers.

“Now, I could say it’s Donny, and he’s been acting incompetent about this whole accounting business just to cover his tracks. But he’d be an idiot to keep doing it after we’ve been breathing down his neck about it, plus, I’ve known Donny from back when I was running the place myself.” I tap on my chin, as if considering. “Paul’s just enough of an idiot to try, but is he that much of an idiot? Fuck, maybe I should be asking, is he smart enough to know how to skim for months on end without anyone else at the club noticing? So that leaves…” I trail off, smirking at Vanessa. “Should I go wave a knife in Jenna’s face, Vanessa?”

Just as I expected, Vanessa crumbles instantly. “No! No.” She chokes back a sob. “It’s not Jenna. It’s not Donny. It’s… It’s Paul, and I don’t know how he got the idea or managed to stay consistent, but… But please, don’t hurt him. I can talk to him. Warn him that you’re figuring it out. I’m sure he’ll stop.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh, Vanessa, that’s cute.” I pocket the invoice again and stand up. “You two stay here. I’ll go grab some drinks for us.”

Vanessa shakes her head desperately. “Giulio, please—”

I ignore her, heading out to the bar, where Jenna and Paul are looking grim.

“Hey!” I say, and it’s hilarious how they both startle at my voice. “So, funny story.” I pull out the invoice from my pocket. “Vanessa was going upstairs to deliver this to Damien, and she fucking fell down the stairs. Clumsy bitches, amirite?”

Paul backs up a few steps. “Slayer… Slayer took Vanessa to the VIP room.”

“Yep, I know.” I motion Paul to come closer, and he reluctantly does. I wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Jenna, how much does the booze cost per crate, do you know?”

Jenna grimaces. “Uh… I don’t handle that. Paul’s the one who does the supply orders.”

“Right, right. Paul, you got the number memorized?”

Sweat trickles down Paul’s temple. I can feel him trembling. He must know I know.

“It’s…” Paul looks at the invoice and reads off the same number. “Hey, look at that. I negotiated for a cheaper rate, and it’s finally come through.”

I laugh, half-impressed at the fucking gall. The other part of me is wondering where Jenna keeps the knives.

“Which really calls for a celebration,” I say. “Jenna… oh, right, we don’t have champagne. Well, whatever’s the least shitty drink, get a round ready for everybody. Paul is gonna join me in the VIP room.”

There are a few seconds where I think Paul will play along, but apparently, he does have at least two brain cells. He whimpers—and elbows me hard enough that I drop my hold on him. Then he starts running toward the closest exit.

“Fucking really?” I yell after him. “Ben, don’t let Paul leave!”

---