Page 52 of The Devil Wears Orange
He jabs at it, then returns my lifeline. “I’ve added your social media accounts to your phone.”
Puzzled, I stare at him. “What do you mean? I don’t have social media accounts anymore.”
“My PR staff took care of that. You’ve been online for more than a week now.”
“What?” I swipe between different social media platforms, viewing my new profiles. Already, there are numerous photos – me inspecting one of Anton’s jackets, a clothes rack in the background; me at the races, greeting Rashid’s father and countless others. I hadn’t realized at the time how significant these people were, but now seeing the responses on social media has put everything into perspective. My followers are already in the tens of thousands. The comments are relatively kind, with few alluding to the theft business in Paris.
“You’ve been taking these when I wasn’t looking?”
“My staff has as well. After all, my new editor-in-chief must maintain a social media presence for our brand. I’m…” he starts and abruptly stops. Rashid turns away from me momentarily, as though it’s unbearable for him to maintain eye contact when he continues. “I’m so very sorry your life was thrown in turmoil.” Bringing his eyes back to me, he says, “You have a new handle, a new life. Isn’t it about time you put that other life behind you?”
“I got the job?!” I exclaim, pumping a fist in the air. “You were right. I do feel better.” I slip the phone back into my purse and tuck it by my feet. My body slackens; all that tension leaves me, reassured by the fact that Rashid has no idea what I’ve been up to with Jack. Of course, I’m not in any danger. Rashid wouldn’t have spent the last week setting me up within his company if he were planning to kill me. Yet, there’s a small part deep inside that’s tugging at me and makes me feel guilty about trying to expose Rashid that will have him thrown in prison.
Chapter 29
Jack, surrounded by acrowd of tourists, looks across the waterway. Up ahead, he notices a motorboat, white with beige trim, the wordsShe isMinesprawled across the back. Gross.
A woman, wearing an ostentatious wide-brim hat, passesShe is Mine, stops in mid-stride, and turns so Jack can see her profile. Charlotte. Jack huffs. She told him she’d feel safer knowing that he’s nearby, and he can’t let her down.
Though Favreau never responded about the blurry photo of the mystery man at the races, Jack had dutifully couriered the USB to him with a short note, indicating there may be something of value among the files that could lead toMistress. Sealing the envelope, he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake and purposely left out how he obtained the USB. He couldn’t tell Favreau that he had stupidly followed his gut, traipsing after the inscrutable Charlotte Milton from Paris to Monaco to Dubai. TheCapitainewould consider him a fool.
Charlotte boards the boatShe is Mine,and a man rushes to her side. Rashid.Of course, the boat is his!Once Charlotte joins him on the speedboat, it’s not long before they pull away.
Jack shoots a hand up to hail a water taxi. “I’d like a leisurely tour,” he tells the driver upon arrival. He climbs on board the small white boat with navy blue trim and takes one of the two seats in the back. The driver revs the motor from the idling position and guides it across the water, and the boat smashes against tiny waves. The traffic reminds Jack of Italy, where anarchy rules the roadways, drivers cut across one another. Among the traffic, he searches for Charlotte.
Jack spotsShe Is Mineand breathes a sigh of relief. He can’t lose sight of her again. After all, should anything go wrong, he’ll need to do something though judging by the water traffic, it seems highly unlikely Rashid would try something here. Still, Jack will be ready if need be.
“I’m here, Charlotte,” he says in a low whisper. “Circle that boat there. Not too close.”
The driver looks back at him and nods, steers the water taxi to loop aroundShe Is Mine. Charlotte stands next to Rashid as he drives, the pair of them looking like an advertisement for beautiful, rich people in exotic destinations. She appears unscarred after that head-butt he gave her that he felt so guilty about.
His life has been exciting since she came into it, and he dreads returning to the tranquil life he set up for himself after finishing what they’d started. Jack has spent a lifetime marching towards the ordinary. Perhaps it’s time Jack chose extraordinary. If he can help capture the people responsible for the theft and retrieve the stolen artwork, it would do wonders for his career and reputation at Oxford. Perhaps there would even be renewed interest in his book proposal on horticulture and the modern man.
A woman’s scream slams into Jack’s reverie, a cold sweat taking over. Is that Charlotte?
Chapter 30
My scream catches meoff-guard as I’m thrown out of my seat. One white-knuckled hand clutches the rail beside me while the other holds my hat down on my head. The boat speeds along, skimming the waves. I imagine the wind sweeping my mind of fear and doubt, while my peals of laughter linger like a trail behind me. I haven’t felt this carefree in a long time.
Rashid smiles over at me, then looks up to the setting sun. “You don’t need the hat anymore.”
“Not one ray will hit this face and wrinkle me like a prune when I’m older.” I’m not sure he can hear me over the sound of the motor or the jackhammering of my heart.
Rashid slows, and it’s not until the boat sits idle that I discover how far he’s taken us. My hand drops from holding my hat. “Why are we stopping here?”
“Turn around,” says Rashid.
I twist around, my dress tangles around my legs.
“It has the best view of the city,” he continues, gently touching my lower back.
“Beautiful,” I say of the skyscrapers.
“It’s extraordinary given our humble beginnings as a fishing village. Eventually, the area attracted merchants and traders. Against protestations from Britain, Sheikh Rashid bin Saeed Al Maktoum built up the infrastructure, planned for an airport, a port for trading.”
I should be listening, but I’m distracted by the tingles where his thumb caresses me.
“The Sheikh had a vision…” Rashid’s voice drifts. Something in the waterway preoccupies him, but he doesn’t rest on the distraction for long before continuing with his history lesson. “… a vision after our short-lived endeavor with oil. See there,” Rashid says, pulling his hand away and points to the right of us.
