Pearl (The Pearl Series) by Arianne Richmonde Page A

We’ll need to buy some more real estate with the cash…distribute. I’d like to buy a brownstone on the Upper East Side, you know, for when I visit New York.”
    “Good idea, we should launder a bit.”
    “Launder. I hate that word—it’s so crass. By the way, speaking of laundry, of your dirty laundry, we don’t need to worry about Pearl Robinson anymore; she doesn’t seem to be a threat. Looks like she’s got bigger fish to fry.”
    “What do you mean?” I asked, ignoring her dirty laundry jibe.
    “She’s turned her attention to that Russian billionaire, that arms dealer.”
    “What Russian arms dealer?”
    “You know, the handsome one, that young thirty-year-old Adonis-Casanova guy who’s always strutting about on red carpets with supermodels. What’s-his-face, you know, Mikhail Prokovich.”
    A stab of jealousy pierced my gut. Pearl was turning her attention elsewhere? “That blond guy? He’s an arms dealer? I thought he was in real estate. He’s an arms dealer?” I repeated, incredulous.
    “A clandestine one. I doubt Pearl knows whom she’s dealing with. He’s very black market. He mixes with war criminals, soldiers of fortune, crooked diplomats and small-time thugs who keep militaries and mercenaries loaded with arms. But he’s powerful. Very powerful. Pearl was seen having dinner with him just last night. All smiles, apparently.”
    I hated him already. I felt my fists clench into tight knots. What was Pearl doing ? She hated arms dealers, was talking about exposing them in her next documentary. And now she was hanging out with one?
    “What else do you know?” I pressed my sister, blood bubbling in my veins, jealousy rippling through every muscle in my body. This guy was sickeningly good-looking. Even as a man I could tell you that. Dashing, one of those square-jawed types that look like they’ve walked straight out of a cartoon strip. Blondish hair, searing blue eyes. Sophie was right; he was a red carpet kind of guy—liked to be seen. Cocky. With beautiful women hanging on his arm, and probably hanging onto his every word, as well. Jets. A fleet of flashy cars, some of them enviably cool. Houses all over the world. Every woman’s fantasy.
    “Sophie, what else do you know?” I demanded again in a low growl.
    “That Pearl’s been out to dinner with him, that’s all. Him and some important guy from the United Nations. She’s not just some sweetie-pie, naive American chick with big blue eyes and luscious lips, you know, Alexandre. She’s a smart little operator, a user. She knows people in high places. Knows what she’s doing. Obviously loves mixing business with pleasure. Anyway, at least she’s off our case now, onto the next fool who’ll fall for her innocent little act. Oh wait, before I go, how’s Elodie getting on?”
    “I think you’d better ask her that yourself,” I said, not wanting to betray Elodie’s confidence in any way. But my mind was now focused on Pearl, not Elodie. Sophie’s words rang cruel in my ear… “Pearl likes mixing business with pleasure.”
    The more I thought about it, the adrenaline surged through me. Fuck her! Flirting and smiling with that fuck, Mikhail Prokovich? She was mine! I could hear my breathing getting more unsteady by the second. I was feeling hot and very bloody bothered. I loosened my tie; I’d been in a meeting earlier that day and was wearing a suit.
    The idea of her being anywhere near another man was making blood rush to my head. Especially one as powerful Mikhail Prokovich. I got up from my desk and counted to ten to calm myself. But then I did the reverse, I started counting down from ten, and by the time I hit zero, I was out the door and into the elevator. I had to fuck her.
    Before the Russian got his clammy hands on her.
    I just hoped it wasn’t already too late.

    By the time I reached Pearl’s apartment, my heart rate had doubled. Tripled. She hadn’t apologized. She’d been using me. Using me to further her