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I look behind me and see a window. I open the window and climb up. Then I look out of that window. No deck. All I see is water glistening in the moonlight. I hear people begin to scream. That’s it. There’s nowhere to go but down!
I jump out of the window and fall about fifteen feet into the water. My body drops about five feet under the water. It takes me a few moments to regain my composure. I come up for air and begin to swim towards the harbor.
I reach land and climb up onto the sand. My body and my dress is soaking wet. I look behind me and still see Sergey’s giant mega-yacht. I begin to run away from that boat. I look at my watch. It’s 2:45. While it is not quite three o’clock, I have a feeling the whereabouts of General Zhukov is the last thing on Sergey’s mind right now!
My mind races with the instructions given to me by my boss. I am supposed to meet him at a specific street at 3:00 a.m. With all of the insanity of the past few hours I can’t remember the name of that damn street.
Think. Think. Think. I begin to walk down a road whose name I can’t pronounce. I remember it has an American name. Was it the name of a President?
I continue to walk down this street as I see exotic cars racing past me. There are a couple of drunk guys speaking with an American accent. “Excuse me?” I ask. “Is there a street around here named after an American President?”
The first guy just pukes all over the street. The second guy says, “You may be looking for Avenue J.F. Kennedy.” The guy looks me up and down and says, “Why are you so wet?” I don’t answer. I just walk away. Then the drunk American begins to yell, “She fell into the harbor! Ha!”
Avenue J.F. Kennedy? Where is that located? I continue to wander around the streets when I hear a car honk behind me. I turn around and see the high beams of an unfamiliar luxury car.Oh my God. Is that Sergey’s car?!
I just stand there frozen for a moment. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to escape. The car pulls up besides me. The door opens. A large man gets out of the car. However, I can see the man’s face.
“Why are you so wet?” the familiar voice of Mr. Peak booms. It’s my boss - my billionaire master. Tears begin to fall down my cheeks as I run up to him. I jump into his arms. Mr. Peak places me inside of the car and closes the door.
“Go!” my boss yells at the driver. The car speeds off. Mr. Peak pushes the wet hair away from my face. “You look like you went for a little swim in the harbor,” he announces. It takes me a moment before I can collect myself and address Mr. Peak properly.
“I had to find a creative way to exit Sergey’s mega-yacht,” I explain.
“Were there any complications?” Mr. Peak asks.
I look down at that ring with the huge diamond still pointed inside of my palm. I run my index finger over the diamond and turn it back to its proper position. “The ring came in handy,” I tell my boss.
“You used it on Sergey?”
“Um, well, yeah.”
There is a little smile on my boss’s face. He is pleased. As the car speeds down the road, my boss takes my hand and stares at the diamond. “What did you do to him?”
“He wanted me to give him a blowjob. I offered to give him a handjob beforehand,” I say as I let those words hang there for a while. A mental picture of the scene flashes back into my head. I can still hear Sergey’s screams. “There was a lot of blood.”
Silence. And then a huge laugh comes out of my boss’s mouth. I had never seen Mr. Peak laugh like that before. My boss grabs my body and presses it against his huge chest. “That’s my girl,” he says. I couldn’t feel more proud of myself right now.
As I bask in the night’s victory, I notice that the car is speeding out of Monaco! “We are not going back to the hotel?” I ask my boss.
“The jet is fueled. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. The luggage is being loaded as we speak,” Mr. Peak explains.
“So we are going back to Los Angeles?”
“No. We are going to New York. Things are moving fast, Sarah. There isn’t a minute to spare.”
Everything is moving so unbelievably fast. The driver swerves around the traffic near the airport. We get to the private plane terminal. The car stops and Mr. Peak exits. I quickly follow him as he rushes to his plane. Mr. Peak grabs me by the hand as a way to keep up with my boss’s long strides.
Mr. Peak’s Gulfstream is already waiting for us on the tarmac. We pass through a dedicated screener for private planes and we are ready to board. I swear this took us less than three minutes.
