Page 29 of Maneater
Suspect list for Daydream resorts based on current intel:
Daniel, the general manager
Jonas, head of security
Tanya, the spa manager
Jealous redhead
TWELVE
JOSIE
Once we had collected ourselves, Rory and I ventured out to explore some more, grabbing a late lunch at one of the more casual restaurants that had been facing delivery issues in the past few weeks. We don’t notice any issues with food or service, but we do notice a hostess who nearly starts crying when the GM goes over to ask her something, and the chef on staff, who can be heard grumbling from the kitchen.
After that, we decide to head up to get ready for the meet-and-greet dinner and cocktails, putting on our best Mavens uniform—i.e., hot dress, big hair, sexy makeup, and sky-high heels. A hostess greets us and then leads us through the large room filled with about a dozen large, round tables meant for family-style serving and getting to know strangers, though, since it’s relatively early in the night, only about half of them are filled.
An older man sits alone at the table we’re approaching, and Rory’s hand moves to tap my fingers before she leans just a bit.
“I’m pretty sure that’s Horace Greenfeld,” she whispers, and my eyes widen.
“From the investment company?” She nods. “What the hell is hedoing here?” My pulse quickens with excitement, wondering if this case might really be that simple.
Rory shrugs, but then explains. “His social media shows him at a few of the Daydream resorts, so it seems there’s no ill will from him for getting beaten out. He’s the head of an aviation conglomerate, and this is one of the most luxurious chains.”
I scrunch up my nose, trying to fit that piece of information into what I already know of him as a potential suspect, but I’m unable to, especially not when the hostess sits us at the same table as him on the opposite side. He’s preoccupied with his phone, giving me a good opportunity to take him in. The man is in his sixties but clearly takes care of himself and enjoys expensive things, as evidenced by his outfit, jewelry, and watch. He’s alone, but the seat next to him is pulled out like someone recently got up. I look at Rory, who nods before I put on a shy smile, turning the man-eater on.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” I say, leaning forward across the table. His head lifts from his phone. “But is that a Patek Philippe Nautilus?” I tip my chin toward his wrist, where the one-hundred-thousand-dollar watch sits. He smiles wide, his eyes moving straight to my breasts, which are high and full in a push-up bra and low-cut dress, his body turning toward Rory and me. From the corner of my eye, she wiggles her fingers coyly at him and smiles, though I don’t avert my gaze from the man in front of me.
A key part of winning over men with large egos is to make them feel like the only person in the room, rarely diverting your attention from them. For men who have more money than God, undivided attention is a currency in and of itself.
“It is. You’ve got a great eye.”
“I’m a collector myself,” I say, twisting my wrist toward him to show the vintage Cartier I’m so grateful I packed, a Christmas gift from Gabriel last year.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous. Do you mind?” he asks, putting a hand out. He doesn’t know the watch has an audio recorder in it that’s taking note of this entire conversation. His cold fingers gently touch the delicateskin on the underside of my wrist as I show it to him. “This is a limited run; barely any exist. How did you get it?”
He sits back, but his fingers don’t leave my skin. I fight the urge to pull my hand back, the flirty version of myself on duty instead of the introvert.
“A pawn shop back in my hometown. The find of a lifetime.”
“You don’t say. Are you two ladies alone?” I nod, and he smiles wider. “Why don’t you sit with me? Move closer! No need for us to take up so much space, and you can tell me all about your collection.”
