In The Cut Read Online Free PDF Page B

her shoulders. “Pay them, but pay them with their own money.”
    “Huh?”
    “Saint!” the fifty-five year old Rumanian called out, as if he saw a ghost. It took Olivia a few seconds to realize that he was referring to Clayton, and it took her a few more seconds to realize that he was speaking to him in French.
    Saint bowed his head and then replied to what the Rumanian had asked him. Olivia was amazed at how Saint’s voice took on a French accent as he spoke the language as if it was his native tongue. He gestured toward Olivia and continued his conversation with the Rumanian.
    “Olivia this is Mr. Petrescu.” Olivia remembered the name from their conversation on the jet.
    Mr. Petrescu grabbed Olivia’s extended hand and kissed it. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He spoke English this time, but Olivia still had trouble understanding him through his thick accent.
    “It is a pleasure to meet you, as well, Mr. Petrescu.”
    “Please, call me Laurent.”
    “Okay, Laurent.”
    “You’ve gained weight, my friend,” Petrescu said to Saint.
    “I’m not as active as I used to be.”
    “So, I’ve heard,” Petrescu said, grinning at the double meaning of Saint’s words. “So, what brings you here, business or pleasure?” Petrescu asked, suspiciously.
    “Neither. I’m just accompanying a friend,” Saint said, pointing with his chin in Glenn’s direction. Petrescu looked over and then clapped his hands on his cheeks. “He still looks magnificent. I hear he’s becoming famous here in America.”
    “He’s the future ‘icon’ of the fashion industry, Laurent.”
    Petrescu laughed, but the bite in his stare told Saint that he hadn’t forgotten the night when Glenn punched him in the face. He wasn’t mad at the fact that Glenn punched him. He was outraged that Glenn didn’t accept his intimate proposal. After all, he was Laurent Petrescu. No one said no to him. He bowed his head to Olivia. “I will leave you two to mingle while I go and pay my respects to Glenn.” Before departing, he locked eyes with Saint. The only word Olivia understood in Petrescu’s parting words in French was a name: Josephine.
    They both watched Petrescu as he approached Glenn and hugged him like a long lost relative. Olivia and Saint both smiled at the way Glenn greeted him with a cardboard hug and a plastic smile.
    Olivia stepped back from Saint and looked him up and down. “You’re full of surprises. You speak French?”
    “I speak it a little.”
    “A little?”
    “I lived in Paris for a few years. I was forced to learn the language to get around.”
    “Whatever you say, Saint .”
    “That’s my nickname. Correction that was my nickname.”
    “And who’s Josephine?” Olivia peeped the way he stiffened. “I shouldn’t have asked you that. It’s none of my business.”
    “Clayton!” Glenn was waving him and Olivia over.
    As they walked toward Glenn and Grace, Saint could see that he was sweating and nervous as hell.
    “I would like you to meet Marion Claude.”
    “Marion Claude? That name sounds so familiar,” Saint said. Then he snapped his fingers. “I read an article on you in Fortune 500.”
    Marion nodded humbly. “Please to meet you Mr.—”
    “Andrews. Clayton Andrews.” Saint extended his hand. “And this lovely lady is Olivia Martin.”
    “A pleasure,” Marion said, kissing Olivia’s hand.
    “I see you’ve bumped into an old friend,” Saint said to Glenn as he looked toward Petrescu, who was standing next to Glenn. “Yes, Laurent and I have some catching up to do,” Glenn said, moving closer to Grace.
    “Please, if you will,” Marion Claude said, motioning for them to sit at his table.
    “Your friend, Glenn speaks highly of you, Mr. Andrews.”
    “What are friends for, right?”
    “I offered to buy this beautiful masterpiece,” he said, gazing at the dress Grace was wearing, “as a present to take back to France for my wife, but he insists on you handling all of his business