My Mafia Boytoy

Chapter 3 - Showstopper

Friday, Oliver calls. 'Did you change your mind?'

If the double checking the locks meant changing my mind, certainly, yes. I press my lips together and look at my screen. Yasmin just sent selfies of her glamping trip. Her piece has a morning face mask in the background while she makes a kissy face at the camera.

I'll invite you later! Reads the caption laid across in the middle. I wouldn't want to be stuck in a tent between her and that man, though. If I wanted to see two people getting it on outside, the internet has plenty.

'Samara?'

'I'm sick. I hope you didn't buy tickets.'

'They're more like whenever coupons to this one specific comedy club. But if you're not coming, I might crash Yasmin's trip. Get well soon.'

'Yeah. That sounds—huh?'

'Her dad's private chef's coming to make sushi from whatever her boyfriend can fish.'

'He's not her boyfriend.'

'Not for long, anyway.'

'Whatever. How did you know about the private chef?' And why didn't I?

'I hit it off with her boyfriend and he told me about it. He doesn't mind me dropping by.'

They're not affiliated with his family. He wouldn't murder them senselessly. At least on the surface they're not connected. I heart Yasmin's selfie then switch into my Safari tab, onto the image of a businessman named Hans Evergreen, resuming my earlier detective work.

In the image, Evergreen grins, holding comically large scissors to a red ribbon strewn in front of a newly opened museum. It was taken in 2010, fourteen years ago, for local magazines.

'You can come with me. See her, too.'

He's begging, right? This is begging. I stonewalled him about Friday for days, and now he's begging, using Yasmin as bribery.

This is unfair.

'Fine.'

'Should I pick you up?'

'I have a car.'

'Right. I'll see you?'

'Mm.' And I cut the call. I need to convince Yasmin to stop letting him come along. Because then I have to come along.

I recline into the creaky old couch of my lone dorm and continue my reading.

Evergreen is a new money American who bought up shares of Fortune 500s before they were called that. The court files have blacked out words and names and addresses for every sentence. I gave up reading the actual details, though I got a vague idea: busted for illegal dealing of military arms, bribery, tax fraud, public indecency, illegal dealing of class A drugs, facilitating unlawful casinos and gambling sites, and trafficking wild animals all ten years ago.

This is where Oliver Greene's family comes in. Potentially. I scroll back to the ending part of the court case. An anonymous benefactor, name blacked out, paid Evergreen's bail of five hundred million. I shift back to Canva and my neat timeline of Oliver Greene's family ventures in the 2010s.

In the same year, they bought up nightclubs previously owned by Evergreen.

I receive a text as I'm puzzling it out. 'Samara??? Oliver said ur coming.' Yasmin.

Right. I am.

'He's like five minutes away?? Why is ur location still on ur house?'

Sometimes I regret the share locations feature. I instead heart the message, otherwise leaving it on read, before scampering for a decent outfit and racing out of the dormitory building.

I jump into my Toyota, buckle in, and drive silently. Never again will I rely on Yazmin to get me somewhere. I suffer through car payments for a reason.

It takes around ten minutes before I reach the Glamping resort and meet an entry station, gated shut. A woman in the cabin-like reception box and a tan uniform slouch out from the window.

'Good morning. Welcome to Sun Glamp Resort.' She scans her eyes over me, the Toyota, which yes, I need to repair some paint on the front, and her face twitches. 'What are you here for today?'

'I'm with the guest Yazmin Pear.'

Her spreading smile does not believe me. 'Are you sure?'

'I can phone her.'

'No, I'm good.' She flicks her eyes backwards. 'I have a computer back here with every guest's phone number, email, and address.'

'Okay.'

'So, when we want to verify, our system is indisputable.'

'Okay.'

'I can call her, too.'

'Go ahead.'

I hate these rituals. It happened last time we went to a bar, some classy one that comes with a dress code. I barely made it in. If not for Derek swooping in, I would have drove the thirty minutes for nothing.

She clicks in the phone number. 'Hello! Is this Yazmin Pear I'm speaking with? I have a woman at the gate who claims she's here for you. Well, she... yes, but... she's asking for your name?'

'It's Sammy, Yaz.'

'Sammy,' says the receptionist. 'She's asking for your code.'

'Freddy Mercury.'

The receptionist frowns. 'She said Freddy Mercury?' She flinches back, like the power of Yazmin's laugh or scream broke a piece fundamental to hearing. 'Yes. Right this moment. Sorry, Ma'am.'

The gates slide open in a hurry. I cruise past and bump over the speed limit. She texts me which part of the Resort she's at—near the lake at the back, past a sign that says Composite B, and I park in the nearest lot, before making my way to huge white tents.

My worry melts as soon as I take her in. Yasmin's sprawled across a neon pink beach chair in a red-white polka-dot bikini top and denim shorts. Large sunglasses cover her eyes.

'Where's your boyfriend?'

She frowns with glossy pink lips. 'I'd almost think you came for him instead of me.'

'Ew. No.' I sit in the beach chair across from her.

She flicks her wrist in a vague direction. 'He's fishing with Oliver at the boardwalk.'

I ease. If Yasmin's not with him, I don't mind. Then I feel bad, because it's not like I want her boyfriend killed. It would just be if I had to pick one over the other, it would always be her.

'Okay.'

'Do you think the sushi will make me bloat?'

I wasn't invited to look before, but now I scan my eyes over her stomach—contoured and flat, relaxed with her open stretch. It expands with her breath, lifting the dip of her belly button.

'No.'

'Yeah, fish is light. Doesn't do bloating. Also, when did you and Oliver get so close?'

I sputter. 'Oliver and I?'

'You both coordinated an ambush on my romantic trip.'

'I didn't plan it with him. He makes plans himself and runs.'

'You guys have been going out?' She lifts her dark glasses, exposing her wide eyes.

'No. I just said he makes plans. I don't go.'

'Why?' She sits up, grabs my hands, tugs me closer, until we're at a conspiratorial distance. 'And what plans has he made? Was it when he drove you home that day?'

'You mean the day you ditched me for that guy?'

She pouts. 'Don't be like that. I said I'll make it up to you.'

'Yeah, you said.'

Her thumbs rub my wrists. 'How about we do a double date? It's my treat and I'll even sleep over at your dorm after.'

'Who would I even bring on that double date?'

'Oliver, obviously.'

I turn to ice on the spot. Her thumbs keep on my wrists. 'Sorry?'

'He totally has a thing for you.'

I flatten my voice and inject a laugh. 'Yaz, I don't think me and him are compatible.'

'Sam, I think you two are.'

'He's more of a friend.' It pains me to say that. Because we are not friends. We are less than strangers.

'With benefits?'

'No. Zero benefits. And honestly, it would be the opposite of making up if he came. You'd have to try ten times harder.'

She laughs. 'Okay. No Oliver.'

'No Oliver. And no boyfriend, too?'

'So just us?' She squints her eyes together, dark thick lashes coming close together like a claw clip. 'Okay. Sure.'

I smile. I'll tell her then, to not freak her out, now. She lets go of my hands and flops back into her beach chair.

'Sam, on a different note, don't you think your standards are way too high?'

'What?'

'Rejecting Oliver of all people?'

'There's a reason he's been single for so long.'

'Because he doesn't show interest. I'd say he's in the same raffle as Fred if he didn't hook up with Taniya earlier this year. They never spoke again. But he's making plans! For you!'

'What's the fuss over making plans?'

'He's never at our outings, comes when he wants, and he's just not a guy for plans. It's like if a guy shaves his balls for you—'

'I'd rather he shave the balls bloody off.'

Yazmin bursts into a short laugh then points to a mini fridge plugged into an outlet running into a pole. 'A drink?'

'Which one?' I get off the chair and crouch to it, opening the fridge.

'Coconut creamed rum. Thanks. Love you.'

She has cups when I turn back, red plastic ones, and we tapped them together for a cheers.

Later, the sushi chef comes and cooks. And it's good. Yazmin even puts a piece of sushi in my mouth and lets me do hers. Though later, she ditches for her boyfriend. Again.

No matter how hard Oliver looks at me that night, even during the fireworks, I keep to Yazmin's side. Devoted.

I'll find a way to expose him yet.