Free Green-Eyed Monster by Gill McKnight

yachts, fine art, and diamonds happen to be my hobbies, okay? We’ve all got our interests. You have your computer games. I don’t pooh-pooh those.” Another snort. “I don’t need to hide my computer games in Belize, or Uzbekistan, or—”
    “Oh, quit preaching and help. So how do I stop her from emptying what’s left in my accounts? And more importantly, how do I get the money out of her Monegasque accounts and back into mine?”
    “You can’t. All I can do is show you where it went. It’s all under her control now. I mean, you can’t really go complaining that your tax evasion funds have been stolen. She’s also managed to cover her ass with several of your bogus companies, so if you go sniffing around, you’ll blow your own cover. Seems you taught her well, even if it was by osmosis.”
    Victoria sighed. This seemed as far as she could go for the meantime. The next step required a little more thought and a possible confrontation with her ex-girlfriend somewhere, somehow. Some hope! They sat in contemplative silence until a deep belly growl drew her into the present. Mickey glanced down at Victoria’s stomach. She had the grace to blush at its gurgling protests. Mickey looked up. “Time for dinner, it seems. Please let me cook this time.”
    “Maybe. But you’re having a shower first. You stink.” Victoria placed a cuff on Mickey’s wrist.
    “Hey, I thought we had a deal?” Mickey rattled the cuff.
    “Yes, and we’re halfway through it, and things don’t look too good. Last thing I need is you bailing on me, Mickey. You’re my Plan B. If things go really wrong, I can always hand you over to the police as my kidnapper and watch my whore of an ex explain where the million for the ransom went. It might be all I recover, but it’s better than nothing.” Her logic was cold and bitter. Mickey looked at her in dismay as Victoria gently guided her away from the desk. “Did you really think I had no Plan B?
    Tell me, Mickey, what’s yours?”
    ❖

    Victoria sat on the toilet seat filing her nails as Mickey clumsily tried to wash the shampoo out of her hair.
    “This is impossible with just one hand.” Victoria scanned Mickey’s lean body, water cascading pornographically down its length. Now I understand why those men’s magazines make millions. She’s so goddamn goofy and gorgeous, and she has absolutely no idea. Note to self: start porn empire.
    “If I don’t rinse out all the shampoo, my hair goes frizzy.” Mickey’s left wrist had been cuffed to the shower rail above, severely inhibiting her movements.
    “So what? Maybe your mother won’t recognize your mug shots on the front pages. I mean that’s a good thing, right?”
    “You know I was kind to you. I could have made your past few days miserable, but I didn’t, I—”
    “Yes, it was peachy,” Victoria bit back. “Drugged, kidnapped, and raped. It’s all going into my biography, you know. Along with your frizzy mug shot.”
    “I did not drug you. It was not rape. We were together. We made lo—had sex. It was consensual. Victoria, please don’t call it something else.” Mickey was anxious and upset now. The cuffs rattled hard against the rail.
    “Yes, let’s talk about it. Because let me assure you I was most definitely drugged.”
    Mickey stood silent and stiff as the water continued to stream down her body. Victoria slowly rose and approached, producing a key from her pocket. She looked Mickey square on as she released her hand from the rail.
    “You drugged me. And you abducted me. It was premeditated and it was cruel. And yes, we had sex, but I was blindfolded, scared, and alone. You fucked me over on so many levels, Mickey, and for what? Your money? Your dues? Your million bucks? If you’d done your homework, you’d have found two hundred and fifty thousand is the set bonus for the patent of an employee’s work, not one million. Two hundred and fifty thousand, that’s the amount someone else stole from you, along