Forbidden Surrender (2 page)

Richard nodded enthusiastically. “From what I know, Kelly Slater got his chops riding those waves.” This was part of the plan. Richard would open up with a softball about the weather then progressively use more surfing jargon, ultimately tying it back to investments through analogies. It was like a children’s education program. I’d been skeptical—concerned the approach could be misconstrued as condescending—but when he spelled it out, the effective simplicity of the message was actually kind of brilliant.

Vincent’s demeanor was impassive. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

Receiving the anticipated signal, Richard continued, “The thing I admire most about him is his ability to read the water. They called him the Wave Whisperer.”

We’d rehearsed the lines, me playing Vincent and Richard playing himself. It was standard best practice. Everything was going smoothly so far. Next, Vincent would say something along the lines of “I’m glad to hear you’re a fan. Surfing’s a big part of my company and you seem to understand that.”

Vincent glanced at his expensive sea-diver watch. “I have another meeting soon, so if you don’t mind, let’s cut straight to the point. Why should I trust you with my money?”

Shit. This wasn’t part of the plan.
In a flash, I saw weeks of work flushed into oblivion. Panicking, I looked to Richard, hoping he’d pull something from a deep place of wisdom and experience.

Richard swallowed a hard lump, tiny beads of sweat dotting his brows. I’d never seen him so frazzled. “Of course, Mr. Sorenson. I’m going to let Kristen tell you more about our exciting investment strategies.”

I reeled in horror when I realized where that deep place was.

My mouth opened to protest, but I quickly shut it to avoid ruining what remained of our facade of professionalism. I didn’t dare look at Vincent, but I could feel his intense focus on me. Eyes wide, I fumbled through the documents in my dossier, trying my best to control my trembling fingers. If I screwed this up, Richard would blame me; he’d left me to drown.

“We’ve prepared materials illustrating the key benefits you’ll receive from choosing Waterbridge-Howser,” I somehow managed in a steady tone. I rose from my seat and walked over on shaky legs to hand Vincent the briefing materials we had planned to leave with him after we finished our pitch. What was I doing? Where was I taking this?

Stressed out by the situation as it was, I made an effort to avoid touching him in the exchange, but juggling the maneuver with everything else proved to be too complicated. I wobbled on my heels and fell, winding up with my chest and palms flat against his shirt, papers strewn across his lap.

I distantly registered strong hands catching my waist and my nipples instinctively tightened at the sensation. Something strange beneath my fingers caught my attention. Hard. Round. Circular. What was it?

He has nipple rings.

Curiosity overriding logic, my fingers pinched one of the rings through his shirt. I’d never met a guy who had nipple piercings before. His dark eyes locked with mine and I could swear for an instant I saw a spark turn into a smoldering fire.

When the silence passing between us became deafening, I collected my bearings and apologized emphatically.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice having the same effect on my body it had earlier.

No, your chest is too firm and I can’t focus.
“I’m fine, thank you. Sorry for the clumsiness. As I was saying, we have experts specializing in diverse strategies to fit your goals. Think of us as partners. Our firm helps your firm grow.” He eyed me curiously and I felt my cheeks grow hot with embarrassment at the poor choice of words. “I mean wealth. Helps your wealth grow.”

Awkwardly, I returned to my seat. It was the longest five steps I’d ever taken. Vincent was silent, his attention focused on the materials. I couldn’t guess what he was thinking, only that the dark look in his expression couldn’t be good. I tried to fill the void by verbalizing what he was already reading and in the middle of my meandering explanation about discretionary allocations, he cut me off. “Who made these charts?”

We were already bombing this presentation and this was going to be the nail in the coffin. Poor presentation, poor graphs. Could it get any worse?

“Kristen did,” Richard said, surprising me. I made a mental note to strangle him when this was over.

Vincent looked at me with what I could only guess was a mixture of approval and fascination; it made him even more attractive, as if everything else wasn’t enough. “They’re good,” he said, flipping the page and moving on to study the next document.

At the first sign of positivity, Richard attempted to salvage our chances. He cleared his throat and over the next fifteen minutes made an eloquent speech about value-added returns ending full circle with the surfing analogies we’d practiced. Apparently I’d bought him enough time to reformulate our strategy.

Still, only a few slight nods hinted Vincent had actually been listening. Mostly, he was just reading the materials I gave him.

“Any questions, Mr. Sorenson?” Richard asked.

“No. That’s all I need to know.” Vincent’s rise from his seat indicated our meeting was over and we followed. “Thank you, Kristen.” He shook my hand first, then Richard’s. “Thank you, Dick.” Richard paused then reciprocated the handshake, seemingly ignoring the misnomer.

When we left Vincent’s office, my shoulders slumped and my body felt numb. Even the lively South African air couldn’t reinvigorate me. On the walk back to the hotel, I was tempted to call Richard out on his behavior during the meeting, particularly the part where he threw the entire burden on my shoulders when things started going sour. I studied his features, expecting to find him dejected since he had more to lose than me, but he looked surprisingly calm.

“We blew it, didn’t we?” I said, more as a statement than a question.

“Huh? I don’t know why you think that.”

“He wasn’t responding to the emotion-driven strategy like we practiced. He barely said a thing.”

Richard waved his hand as if dispelling an odor. “These brooding billionaire types, they just want you to think they’re dark and mysterious. It gets the ladies but it’s all an act. Did you see the guy? I was spot-on about his clothing. And I’m certain we aced that meeting. Don’t worry.”

I groaned. “Sure.”

“Besides, I think he was into you. That move where you tripped and groped his pecs was perfect. We couldn’t have planned something better.” Richard chuckled.

“Don’t tell anyone that happened,” I snapped. It was bad enough Richard knew about that mishap, but it’d be even worse if more people at the firm found out—there was no telling how they would interpret it. The office gossip would be trouble.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” His finger to his lips completed the mockery.

“What are you doing the rest of the day?” I asked, wanting nothing more than to change the subject before my irritation with him made me speak out of line.

“Oh not much. Try the local cuisine, check out babes at the beach while I catch up on some emails.”

“Which beach?”

“Clifton.”

I smiled at him. Riley and I were definitely not going to that one.

When I got back to my hotel room Riley was curled up on the bed watching television. Richard had gone to his own room to do who knows what.

“So how did it go?” Riley paused after I shot her a miserable look. “I’m so sorry, Kris. You don’t have to talk about it.”

I kicked off my heels and let my hair down, anxious to get out of professional mode. “Richard seems to think we did well. Sometimes I feel like he’s in his own world though. Vincent was definitely not going for our pitch. You could totally read it in his body language.”

Riley’s expression was sympathetic. Remote in her hand, she switched off the TV. “I’m sure you did your best. Maybe luck just wasn’t on your side today.”

“That’s the thing. I couldn’t even do my best. I messed up multiple times.” My mind replayed the awkward moments from the meeting and I shuddered. I didn’t have anyone to blame but myself, but in my current mood I was eager for a scapegoat. “If Vincent wasn’t so damn gorgeous, things might’ve been different.”

“Oh, do tell.” Her voice increased a pitch.

I told her all about my blunders, and when I was done she smiled. “Well at least you
looked
professional.”

“Thanks for the sympathy.” I gave her a wry grin.

“You know I’m always here for support. That’s why we’re going to have a blast today. You’re going to forget all about that meeting and Mr. Abs Sorenson. Tonight we’ll hit the bars and have guys buy us drinks. I know you haven’t been dating much, all that sexual frustration must be eating you alive.”

It was true. I’d only gone on a handful of unsuccessful dates since I’d met Riley. I told myself it was because I focusing on my career instead, but there were also personal reasons I didn’t want to think about dating—reasons I never told Riley. Still, she was right about the sexual frustration. If my battery-operated boyfriend could talk, he’d probably say I was smothering him.

“I’m not really interested in the male species right now. Between Richard’s chauvinism and Vincent shooting us down today, I think I’m a little burned out on testosterone.”

“Fair enough. It’ll just be us girls then. Get in that sexy bathing suit you brought.” Riley untied her robe to reveal her bikini, its thin straps and enhanced bust leaving little to the imagination. “I’m all ready to go.”

Having vented to Riley, I felt better about the situation this morning. I slipped into my bathing suit and left the hotel with her.

When we arrived at the aptly-named Bikini Beach just before noon, the shore was packed. There was a nice mix of tourists and locals, with lots of people both in and out of the clear blue waters. We laid our towels down on the heated sand and relaxed in cheap folding chairs we got from a nearby beach store. Once we were settled, Riley went to get us some drinks. I stared out at the waves and thought about how picturesque the scene looked. This kind of experience was rare when you lived in Manhattan and I took the opportunity to soak it in. As the afternoon wore on, the stress of the morning seemed to melt away like the ice cubes in our mojitos.

I spotted a few surfers in the distance zig-zagging along the water. I’d never been surfing before and didn’t have much of a desire to change that. I understood the appeal, but I was afraid of the danger—I just didn’t think the risks outweighed the benefits. A few thrilling moments versus the possibility of getting my arm bitten off by a shark or getting stung by a jellyfish . . . yeah, I’d be happy with just tanning—with sunscreen of course.

Vincent, on the other hand, loved risky activities. His whole business was based on extreme sports. I didn’t really get it but it clearly made him very successful.

A few toned men with olive skin passed by and Riley directed my attention to them. I had to admit they were attractive from a purely physical perspective but that just didn’t do it for me.

“Maybe your standards are too high,” Riley said.

“Just because they have abs and a penis doesn’t mean I want to sleep with them.”

She laughed. “Keith had more than that. You never told me why you turned down my offer to set you up with him.”

“He just wasn’t my type.”

“What
is
your type, Kris? I’ve hardly seen you date since I’ve known you, and don’t say it’s because you’ve been too busy with work.” She nudged me with her elbow.

“I’m not sure I have one.” I was only vaguely aware of rubbing my own pinky finger.

“Oh come on. Every girl has a type, some just aren’t willing to be honest about it.”

Now I was the curious one. “What’s your type then?”

“Let’s see . . . tall, strong, handsome, smart, dark, dangerous . . . oh and let’s not forget rich.”

“Sounds more like a fantasy than a real person.” Actually that sounded a lot like someone I met this morning. “Why don’t we just say I like the ‘nice and caring’ type.”

“Basically boring then, huh?”

“Boring to you, satisfying to me. Why would you want someone dark and dangerous? And if he’s so hot, wouldn’t you be concerned he’d cheat on you?”

“I’d just have to blow his mind.” Her mischievous wink made it clear what she meant. “But to each her own.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon bathing our skin in UV rays and trying out the local food. Fortunately, there were enough tourists streaming through Cape Town that the restaurants provided menus in English. I thought chicken would taste the same no matter where you were but whatever special sauce they used made it exceptionally delicious. We explored the area, stopping periodically to point out unique architecture or unusual occurrences. Although I’d told Riley I wasn’t interested in dating, I couldn’t help but indulge in idle thoughts about Vincent. Maybe I’d spent way too much time memorizing his files.

It was evening by the time we were hungry again. Despite wearing comfy sneakers, our feet were killing us from all the walking. Riley suggested we rest at a local bar to relieve our weary legs and grab some grub. We were off the beaten path by this point and the bar she picked looked sketchy.

“It’ll be fun. Don’t you want to get an authentic experience? We didn’t fly thousands of miles just to go to some bar we could go to back home.”

“Yeah, but we’re two American girls in a foreign country. There are horror movies based on this situation.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Her grin made me ill at ease.

“Don’t say that.”

“Look, I have some mace in my bag. If anybody tries to get frisky with us, I’m going to melt their eyeballs.” I pictured Riley as the female version of Rambo.

“All right, fine. If we get abducted, it’s your fault. I just don’t want you saying I’m a party pooper.”

She laughed. “I’ve never said that. You just like to be cautious, which I respect. Remember when you warned me about Danny? You were right, he did turn out to be a creep.”

Riley had dated Danny a few months prior. When she brought him over to our apartment he kept giving me shifty-eyed stares. I expressed my concerns to her and it turned out he had done time in prison for theft. He wasn’t even the worst of Riley’s extensive dating history. I honestly didn’t know how she found some of these guys.

Upon entering, we found the place was full of mostly locals. There were a few expats in the corner who sounded British and were probably out for some adventure. Somewhere there was a speaker putting out exotic tribal music. The hypnotic beats were catchy but it certainly was a far cry from American pop music—no Miley Cyrus here. When we found a seat at a table and ordered margaritas, I found myself easing into the atmosphere.

“Man, check this place out.” Riley sounded excited. She pointed at the decorations around us. “Animal bones hanging on the walls, a shrunken head behind the bar, and a beat-up sign that says ‘Ompad’. Isn’t it cool?” She whipped out her phone to snap some pictures.

The distinct sound of a shot glass slamming against wood alerted us to a commotion brewing near the bar. A group of onlookers surrounded two men with tumblers in hand and a bottle half-full of amber liquid between them. The one on the left was a juggernaut of a man; a gruff beard and mean stare completed the intimidation factor. The gathering of curious spectators obscured my view of the man on the right.

“What’s going on over there?” Riley asked.

I knew we shouldn’t have gotten closer. The feeling in my gut that whatever was going on over there was trouble told me we should leave, but intense curiosity pulled us near the action like moths to a flame.

We settled at a table nearby, giving us front row seats. It was when I saw who the figure poised on the right was that I realized why my alarm bells had gone off.

Vincent.

What was he doing here? He was wearing a white button-down and khakis that showcased his lean muscular build. By now the crowd around the bar had grown considerably, tantamount with the noise level. Most huddled around Vincent’s side. Some of the admirers included beautiful, curvaceous women that were all but rubbing their breasts against Vincent, and a pang of jealousy hit me from who knows where.

Riley shouted to me over the ruckus. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yeah, it’s Vincent,” I said. “Looks like he’s in the middle of some kind of drinking game.”

I couldn’t hear her response over the cheering. The only two words I managed to decipher were “fucking” and “hot.”

I leaned in closer to her. “I can’t hear you.”

“I said you should go over there. This could be your second chance to win him over.”

“What? I don’t even know what he’s doing. He might not even remember me.”

“You pinched his goddamn nipple, of course he’ll remember you. Go find out.” She nudged my shoulder but I remained steadfast in my seat. As serendipitous as this encounter was, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of approaching Vincent in this strange social situation. If Richard had been right about the meeting going well, talking to Vincent could sabotage our efforts rather than help.

“Let’s just watch them a little first.”

We witnessed the burly guy down his shot, slam his glass against the counter, and grunt something in Afrikaans. I couldn’t understand it, but if I had to guess by the tone, it meant “Is that the best you got?” He then reached into a nearby bag sitting on the counter and produced a large clear jar. I squinted my eyes to identify the contents. Thin strands, black dots scurrying.

Cobwebs and spiders.

The crowd didn’t seem surprised, instead they clamored approval like they were at a sporting event. Why would he have such a thing? And here of all places.
I hate spiders.

My disgust and surprise must have been palpable because Vincent turned his head in my direction as if attuned to my specific frequency. For the second time today, we locked eyes. A part of me wanted to hide from the embarrassment of this morning, another part of me knew my company had important business to conduct with him.

Before I decided whether I was going to wave at him or shrink behind the crowd of bodies, a ghost of a smile touched his lips.

He waved me over. In disbelief, I pointed my finger at my chest as I mouthed “me?” and he nodded. What did he want with me? I looked to Riley for advice and was met with eager shooing motions. Sensing an opportunity to clear up any confusion over this morning’s meeting, I worked my way through the crowd to him. The women around him were reluctant to make room, shooting me catty-glares, but I managed to wiggle through an opening.

“Hello Kristen,” he said.

He did remember my name. “Hello Mr. Sorenson.”

“Please, just call me Vincent. I didn’t expect to see you here, but now that you are, this’ll be a lot more interesting.” He grinned.

I wasn’t sure what he meant. Confused by the whole situation, I asked, “What are you doing here, Vincent?”

“Business. And you’re going to decide if you want to help me.” He gestured to the big guy and his bizarre pet spiders.

Okay . . . that doesn’t explain a whole lot.

“I should tell you, Mr. Sorenson. I have a fear of spiders,” I said, eyeing the jar.

He leaned close to my ear so I could hear him. “All the better. You asked for my money earlier today, Kristen.” His smoky voice was implacable. “I wasn’t impressed. Here’s your second chance to convince me to trust you with my assets.”

Shit.
We
did
blow the meeting this morning. I gulped. “What do you want me to do?”

As if to answer my question, the hulk uncapped the jar and picked out a spider with a pair of chopsticks.

The sight of the tiny black creature outside its confines made me panic. I tried to escape but Vincent caught my elbow in a light but secure grip and pulled me to him. “You’re fine, trust me. Just watch.”

With his hand on the filled shot glass, the big guy placed the spider on the skin between his thumb and forefinger. The spider—whose backside displayed a red dot—remained surprisingly still, perhaps in as much suspense as I was. Never taking his eyes off the poisonous creature, the big guy slowly brought the drink to his lips, keeping his hand steady, and in one smooth motion downed the contents, flicked the spider off his hand, and crushed the arachnid as he slammed his glass on the bar. The crowd erupted in cheers.

The big guy looked expectantly at me and Vincent. His steely eyes said “your turn”.

“You’re not seriously going to do that are you?” I blurted without thinking.

His eyes narrowed as he smiled. “I am. And you’re going to help me by putting the spider on my hand.”