Hawaiian Affair (Part 1 of 4) (Hawaiian Affair - 30 days to sign the deal - and stay out of love) (7 page)

‘Slimming
Magic knickers? Or no ‘Slimming Magic knickers?

Disappointment
now? Or disappointment later?

Dangling
the offending garment in her fingers, she raised an eyebrow.
Come on mirror,
what do you think?
The mirror responded and she could swear she heard the
wicked queen’s voice.

Not
bad. But not great either.

However,
on the ‘plus’-side - as some of her clothes would be if she didn’t stop missing
her power-walking class - she already knew Mac approved. He must like ‘em
cuddly –
there is a God
!  And the way he’d held her meant he appreciated
her curves. Unlike some men – unlike the slick tycoon she was meeting tomorrow,
whom you could barely Google without seeing some supermodel draped all over
him. Slicked back hair, huge designer sunglasses, dark suit - sharp, prickly.
YUK. Luckily she wouldn’t need to do much more than make her presentation,
according to his advisor, who was the only one she’d been dealing with. The
advisor had been absolutely insistent that his client was already interested in
the product, and could meet the thirty day turnaround, which was why they’d
responded to Sadie so quickly and arranged this meeting so fast.
Time really
was of the essence.

Shrugging,
she launched the parachute pants onto the bed, opting for her black lace ones
instead – the baggage handlers obviously weren’t partial to lace thank
goodness, so they hadn’t been filched. Then she picked up her posh toiletries
bag – smart enough to double as a clutch bag – and made her way to The Buddha
Bar for her date. For her ‘just one night’ with the Hottest Boat Guy she’d ever
known. 

Sadie
hovered outside the front entrance to the bar, unsure what to do. She bit her
lip. Through the window, she couldn’t see anyone who looked remotely like the
man she thought she’d met this afternoon.
Damn
.
Do I go in and act
nonchalant? Or do I wait here till I spot him? What if he doesn’t show? What if...

‘Hi,
seen any good boats lately?’

‘Oh
hi!’ Sadie relaxed the tension in her stomach. Then immediately sucked it back
in again, remembering she didn’t have her Bridget Jones knickers on.

‘No.
Nor cruisers. Nor power-yachts!’

‘Superyachts!’
he corrected.

‘The
difference obviously matters to you, so
Superyachts
.’

‘That’s
better. Coming inside? I’ve taken the liberty of ordering already,’

‘Ordering
what?’ she asked, a bit taken aback.

‘Wait
and see,’ he said, and showed her to their table – a side booth, relatively
private, subdued lighting, but music blaring a bit too loud. They shuffled
close, to hear each other.

On
the table in front of Sadie were a beer, a water, a juice and a cocktail

‘
Four
drinks? That must cost an arm and a leg in here,’ Sadie said.

‘Sorry
– it’s an old habit. Saves time standing at the bar, and - can I tell you a
secret? It usually impresses the ‘laydeez’ if you guess their drink.’  – would
one of them hit the mark?’

 ‘And
what if
none
of them are right, Mr Moneybags?’ she teased.

‘Well
are they?’ he winced.

‘Actually
I could murder the juice! All that window-shopping and sea air’s built up a
thirst.’

‘Phew!
Thought I was losing my touch – I always used to guess what a girl drinks, back
when I was in college.’

‘You
must have a long memory…’

He
poked her arm for being cheeky and slid the juice over to her with its garish
umbrella and half a glacier of ice.

‘Here
you go, Sam, cheers.’ For a split second Sadie wondered whom he was talking to,
then remembered what she’d told him this afternoon
. Game on. ‘Samantha’ it
is.

‘So
what brings you to Monaco then – apart from the yacht-crawl?’

‘Big
meeting.’

‘Right.
What kind of business?’

Sadie
was mid-sip and hesitated. She looked away. Even telling him the short answer
would bring on nervous palpitations. She downed the lovely cool juice in one,
looked him in the eye, and leaned closer.

‘Mac
can I ask you something?’ she said, huge doe eyes looking up at him from under
long, dark lashes. 

‘Mm
you smell delicious. What?’

‘A
favour? Would you do me a really big favour?’

‘Depends
if it involves fixing things. Or getting wet.’ He joked, but a flash of unease
had crossed his face.

‘Don’t
worry it’s nothing like that. It’s this…’

He
furrowed his brow, awaiting her next words.

‘Tonight,’
she said, ‘can we please
not
talk about work? At all?’

‘Oh,
sure! ‘Course, no problem.’ He let out a breath he’d been holding. ‘It’s just
that, for a minute there, when you said a favour I thought you meant money…’

‘What!?’

‘…I
mean... ‘

‘What
kind of girl do you take me for, buster?’

‘No,
I mean… favours. When people ask me for favours it’s usually money.’

‘What
the…!’

‘Em…Not
you, though – obviously.’ Trying to change the subject, he back peddled. ‘You
know – sponsor me for this, lend me that, or asking me to buy your silence in
return for not reporting me…. to the Snog Police.’

She
looked thoughtful then laughed, shaking her head incredulously. ‘Idiot!’

Mac
laughed too, and also took a sip of his drink, turning his head away from Sadie.
She didn’t see him mouth to himself in disgust - ‘
the
snog police?!’.

 ‘The
thing is,’ she explained, ‘you see, this is the thing.’

‘What’s
the thing?’

‘It’s
all been really intense lately, and …I’d rather have a night off from thinking
about business.’

 ‘That’s
the thing?’

‘That’s
the thing.’ Sadie looked at him hopefully. It would mean she could totally
forget about everything else and just let her hair down – literally and
metaphorically.

‘Mmm,
well I’m not sure,’ he replied. She felt a flash of nerves, wondering if he was
going to quiz her all night long about her trip. She needn’t have worried. ‘… After
all, that’s my whole repertoire gone if I can’t do my “funny thing happened at
the office” routine!’

Sadie
nudged him playfully.

‘…
No, seriously,’ he continued, picking up his drink, ‘Great idea.
Wonderful
idea.  No job-talk, then. No moans. No anything relating to the daily grind.
Tonight we can be whoever we want to be.’

‘Yes,
absolutely!’ she beamed, picking up the iced water.

‘In
fact, let’s go the whole hog. No last names. Just Sam and Mac. And one night in
Monaco. How ‘bout it?’ 

‘Well,
mystery can be very exciting…’ She smiled at his enthusiasm for her suggestion
to make it all incognito. 
It’s like he knew…

‘Mystery,
eh. Sure, why not. Cheers to mystery!’ he said, and raised his glass.

Mystery
it is,
she thought,
right
down to the mystery of whether I’ll be strong enough to end this ‘one night’
early enough to be fresh for tomorrow.

‘Cheers!’
she said, clinking glasses. Then she sipped through the straw and smiled
.

If
Mac’s plan tonight was to get lost in her, he was already half way into the
forest. He swallowed, realising the implications of what he was setting up. No
telling her who he really was. Was that a good thing, or a bad thing? She
seemed to think it was a very good thing. Maybe she had secrets too…

God
her mouth was so kissable
.

Seeing
her tongue toying with the straw whilst she watched him, he felt his pulse
quicken a little.

He
was enjoying the anonymity – buying ordinary drinks, paying for them in cash,
being in ‘mufti’, and not having to sit in the fenced-off VIP area being ogled,
and occasionally approached for photographs. Keeping totally incognito would make
this a night to remember – and a bit of a fantasy. An inverted one, where it
was more fun to be poor than rich. And he was more like Shrek than Cinderella.

‘Cheers
to mystery, romance and adventure!’  He raised his beer glass again, and this
time she lifted the cocktail glass. ‘Here,’ he said, linking his arm through
hers, as they brought the glasses to their mouths. Their faces were just inches
apart.

‘Chin,
chin!’ she laughed, her face beaming.

Never
a sweeter sound than that laughter,
he
thought. She was enchanting. Ordinarily he’d opt for safe, disposable arm candy
with absolutely no chance of reeling him in. But there was something so
refreshing about her realness, her womanliness. It was filling the heart of him
with a yearning to get closer.  They relaxed back into their seats together.

‘And
what else are we drinking to? End of an era you said earlier?’

‘Oh
it’s nothing much,’ he said. ‘Just a decision I’ve been toying with for ages
about ...  a job.’

‘You
got a new job? Won’t the Captain be mortified?’

‘No
– he’d be going, too. But not even he knows that yet. So that’s all I can tell
you, or we’ll break our pact before we’ve even begun!’

‘Well
cheers to new directions!’

They
linked arms again and this time the straw got in the way and flicked a little
of the cocktail onto her cheek. She giggled and he wiped it off, and then
licked his finger. She blushed slightly then reached into her makeshift clutch
for a tissue.

‘Did
the other bag survive its swim then?’ he asked.

‘Bag
will live, but can’t say the same for the phone! Strange being without it. My
mother will think I’ve run off with some weird man!’

‘Not
yet, but the night is young.’ He relaxed back on the bench.

‘Your
mum would probably think I’m a bit weird too. Most of them do.’

Actually,
I never really knew my mum.’ She made a ‘poor you’ face. ‘Oops – sorry, we said
no personal details, didn’t we. It’s sweet that yours cares so much though. And
misses you too no doubt, whilst you’re away.’

‘Yes
and my daugh…’

Sadie
stopped herself mid-sentence. She corrected herself quickly.

‘…my
door... key – I lost it. Mum might have been needing to ring me to tell me she…
found it…’ 

 ‘Rrright.
Well you’d better remember to pack your “waterproof mobile” next time.’

‘Thanks
so much for rescuing my bag for me – are you always such a hero?’

‘Of
course!
Drowning handbags
, run of the mill.
Damsels in distress
,
a speciality!’

‘Well
if I’m ever in distress, I’ll give you a call!’

‘Dis-dress,
dat-dress, you look good whatever,’ he said, then cringed. Bad joke. Old habit.
He really was stepping back in time tonight.

She
whacked his arm. ‘Ha-ha, funny man. Well thanks anyway, I’m glad you were there
or it’d have been
me
needing waterproofs.’

‘That’s
ok. You were the best thing to walk down my gangplank all day.’

‘I’ll
bet you say that to all the girls.’

‘Listen,
just ‘cos I’m a sailor doesn’t mean I have a girl in every port.’

‘Hmmm,’
said Sadie, smiling up at him whilst sipping her drink.

‘Seriously
– too busy – been there done that, you know how it is at our age – you start to
want different things. Time to move on.’

‘To
a new era.’

‘To
a new era,’ they toasted again.

‘And
to making your own luck.’

‘And
to making your own luck, Samantha Businesswoman.’

They
paused mid-toast, and the air sizzled between them. ‘Well I hope I didn’t
disturb you too much today. Did you finish your…erm… what were you doing
anyway?’

‘Oh,
just a spot of maintenance. Pump problems.’

‘And
did you finish mending your Pump…Thing.?’

‘No,
my Pump Thing has had to be replaced. It’s seen too much action in recent
years.’

She
raised her eyebrows. ‘
Has
it now?!!’

He
laughed and leaned nearer to her on the soft seat to continue the banter.

An
hour flew by. Quips about Monaco – the place, the people, her opinions about
the Grand Prix – or the ‘car race’ as she called it - ‘
rich posers flocking
in to watch lumps of tin go round and round in circles,
’ She’d get on famously
with Captain Wiltshire, for sure. Favourite foods, sports, pastimes and – of
all things – he was surprised to find out they were both board game fans - 
traditional games, none of the new digital stuff  - she shared his love of
nostalgia – Boggle, Rummikub and Scrabble – the old version, naturally. She
even seemed genuinely interested in the history behind his precious Tank watch.
He’d replaced his usual Rolex with an inter-war leather-strapped rectangular
timepiece. Battered and unassuming, you wouldn’t realise it was an antique.

‘You
should have got it valued,’ she joked, ‘you might be a millionaire!’

‘I
did,’ he said, ‘And one thing’s for sure – I’m not a millionaire.’

She
made a big deal of fake-tutting. ‘Well, seems I’ll have to go find somebody else’s
gangplank to walk down then won’t I?’ she laughed.

One
night,
he thought to
himself,
it’s just for one night.

‘What
would you do if you couldn’t find another ‘gangplank’?’

‘Honey,
I walk my own,’ she said, sincerely, ‘I’d make my own, just like luck’.

That
was the correct answer,
he
thought, and he found himself relaxing more than he’d done with a woman in a
very, very long time.

A
second hour was spent in easy repartee, with more philosophical musing about
life in general.

Mac
could feel himself getting progressively turned on by her feather-light
touches, glancing across his arm, his knee. He returned the compliment by
putting his arm along the back of the bench-seat, touching the skin on the back
of her one bare shoulder every so often and pulling her close every time she
had a story to tell.

They
ate a little dinner, his treat, but she insisted they took it in turns to buy
the drinks - a revelation for Mac. The last time he’d allowed a woman to pay
was back in college, skint. He’d since made it a principle that if
he
extended the invite,
he
picked up the tab.  Over the years the party
numbers had grown inordinately, but his principle had remained the same.
Champagne by the magnum had become the norm. Sure, he got it back in spades
when his rich patrons stumped up with stratospheric charity donations, but
sometimes his bar bills ran into tens of thousands. Tonight he doubted it would
hit a couple hundred euros – even including a big tip. But somehow, in a way
Mac was scared to admit, it meant a whole lot more.