She's the Boss (19 page)

“Um,” I cut into her tropical island fantasy, “that movie was filmed in Bali. And I’m not sure if this whole trip will quite measure up to the spiritual journey of
Eat, Pray, Love
.” I stopped talking when I realized my words were falling on deaf ears.

Truong shrieked, “Free trip!”

Inge shrieked, “Free trip!”

“There’ll be work.” I laughed, reveling in the excitement I heard in their voices. “And Carter will be there too, so we can’t just slack off. But I’m sure we’ll have time to play.”

“Free trip!” Truong shrieked for the umpteenth time.

“This calls for another toast.” Maddy raised her shot glass. “To Malaysia.”

“To Malaysia.” We knocked back our vodka and slammed our shot glasses down on the counter.

Chapter Thirteen

“Yoo hoo! Plane waitress.” Inge’s lilting voice carried across the aisles.

“Inge!” Truong admonished. “That’s so rude. They’re called air stewardess. Or flight attendants.”

I busied myself, snapping on the seatbelt and getting out my Kindle Fire.

Truong peered over my shoulder. “What are you going to read?”

“Sun Tzu’s
The Art of War
.”

“Oh come on.” Truong smirked, his brown eyes mocking me. “Genghis Khan is no longer riding around in a big fur hat with rabbit flaps, conquering Central Asia and Europe, looting, raping and pillaging. The wrath of Khan is long gone, honey.”

“The wrath of Khan is still very much alive.” I lowered my voice, nodding in Carter’s direction. He was sitting comfortably in Business Class whilst the rest of us were left to languish in Economy. “Sun Tzu says that if you know the enemy and you know yourself, then you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.”

“So . . .” Truong’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Does this mean that you’re gonna try and get to know the elusive Carter Lockwood?”

“From your lips to God’s ears.” I nodded sagely. “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”

“Good thinking,” said Truong, nodding his head effusively.

I grinned at him, pleased by his enthusiastic response. At long last, Truong seemed to understand that military strategy and tactics learned from the battlefield as observed hundreds of years ago by the ancients could still be applied to present everyday life. Then Truong added, “Are you going to subdue Carter by seducing him in bed?”

OK, maybe he didn’t
quite
get it.

“Of course not!” I said at once. “First I’m going to befriend him. Then I’m going to ask him to become my mentor so I can learn
everything
from the guru himself. And then I’ll take his job.”

“That is,” Truong pointed out, “if he agrees to take you on as his little protégé. What if he refuses?”

“I’ll find a way,” I said staunchly. “Hell, if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.”

“Huh.” Inge looked at me in astonishment. “Kars! I had no idea you were a Muslim mountain climber.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why did you call yourself Muhammad and why are you so keen on scaling a mountain?”

“It has nothing to do with Islam or mountains. It’s just an old proverb.” I explained with patient resignation. “It means that if you believe in what you are doing, you can overcome any obstacle.”

With the light touch of a Geisha, Truong heeded, “If by ‘obstacle’ you mean Carter Lockwood, then I suggest you tread very, very carefully.”

“Why?”

“Honey.” Truong reached over and patted my hand. “Girls shouldn’t play with fire, and boys shouldn’t give them matches.”

“So you don’t think I should do it?”

“
Girrl
.” Truong whipped out his signature diva snap and smiled a wicked little smile. “I think you should.”

“What? Share rooms?” I slumped forward on the front desk, growing increasingly distraught. “You’re kidding me, right?”

The receptionist shook her head slowly. “This hotel is fully booked for the duration of the Malaysian Grand Prix.”

“Mmmm.” Truong idly drummed his fingers on the marble counter. “Why don’t we try a different hotel?”

“I’m afraid all the hotels near the airport are fully booked up.” The receptionist smiled benignly. “But like I said earlier, we do have two rooms available here for you.”

“Great,” Carter said tonelessly.

With extreme generosity I added, “On the bright side, it’s only for one night. Our flight to Penang leaves tomorrow morning.”

Carter’s face bore an expression of infuriatingly polite disbelief. Given the circumstances, I couldn’t really blame him. Due in part to long lines and an excessive delay in customs and immigration, we had missed the connecting flight to Penang. So for the time being, we were stranded in Kuala Lumpur.

“Why don’t you and Carter share a room?” Truong winked hard at me. “I’ll share the other room with Inge.”

“That’s fine with me,” Inge chirruped.

Wait. This was certainly
not
OK with me. “No way,” I said firmly. “I am not, definitely
not
, sharing a room with Carter. I’ll just bunk with you and Inge.”

Truong was staring at me owlishly.

“Truong, is something wrong with your eye?” I asked, earning myself a deep dig in the ribs.

“Remember Sun Tzu?” he hissed.

“Sun Tzu?” I said with artificial surprise. “What about him?”

Carter looked at us suspiciously, as well he might.

Truong adjusted his expression quickly. He edged closer and whispered, “Remember what we talked about on the plane?”

Of course I did. But I wasn’t about to let Carter in on my Sun Tzu strategy. Although, I could see where Truong was going with this. No doubt, this was an opportunity for me to get to know my elusive enemy.

“Fine,” I said with all the enthusiasm of someone asked to suck the hairspray out of Donald Trump’s comb-over. “I guess I’ll share a room with Carter.”

“Fine.” Carter’s jaw went rigid. “I guess I don’t really have a choice.”

I winced inwardly. My eyes cut back to Truong and he made an “isn’t this exciting” face at me.

In return, I made a face that clearly shouted, “NO IT IS NOT!”

We stood next to each other in silence as the lift ascended, then Carter turned to me and said in a level voice, “While I realize it isn’t your fault that we missed our connecting flight—”

“Why, how kind of you to acknowledge that.”

Carter’s mouth took on a particularly grim line. Whoopsie! I’d forgotten he didn’t care to be interrupted. I bit my tongue while he nobly climbed back onto his pedestal and continued proselytizing, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be sharing a room. I find it highly inappropriate.”

And on and on he went galloping on his high horse. He just wouldn’t stop. I was already surly and exhausted after the long flight and to add to that, my ears were now aching. Great Mother of Pearls! Carter was so uptight that if you stuck an oyster up his ass, you’d have a cultured pearl in less than a week.

I sighed dramatically. “In what part of this conversation am I supposed to express interest?”

Carter fixed me with a basilisk glare.

“And doesn’t it get tiring, Carter?” I asked mildly. “Being so uptight all the time? You needn’t worry, though. I’m not planning on jumping your bones and doing it like they do on the Discovery Channel.”

“Will you just STOP!” he snapped.

“Why don’t YOU just stop!”

I could almost feel the nudges passed between Truong and Inge as they hung tactfully back, wisely staying out of this Battle Royale.

Finally, the lift chimed and its doors slid silently open. We walked to our rooms in tense silence. “Room 488!” I exclaimed brightly. “That’s us, Carter.” I swung the door open, letting it bang against the wall. “Bye, Truong! Bye, Inge! I’ll catch up with you later!” I yelled over my shoulder. “And if you don’t hear from me . . .” I threw a pointed glance at Carter. “Alert the authorities!”

Carter silenced me with a frown and slammed the door shut so violently it almost came off its hinges. Then he flicked on the lights and stepped back, staring at the queen sized bed.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said gallantly.

For a while, we unpacked in silence, me by the bed, Carter by the couch.

As I was fishing in my suitcase for my toiletry kit, I felt Carter’s gaze searing into the back of my skin. I spun around and caught him watching me with interest. I understood the look on his face and gave him time to indulge it. Nature had blessed my bottom rather than my bosom, and I was OK with that. My derriere more than made up for it. If I threw down the gauntlet to Pippa Middleton, challenging her to a Battle of the Butts at Buckingham Palace, I bet you I’d win.

As I played out this fantasy, Carter cleared his throat.

“Are you checking out my badonkadonk?” I asked.

I knew my bodacious badonkadonk had somehow made an impact on Carter because it took him a few beats too long to pick up the thread of conversation. “And what, may I ask, is a badonkadonk?” he managed at last, in his usual crushing-the-underlings tone.

“The first ‘donk’ is for donkey. And the second ‘donk’ is also for donkey. So basically, it’s an ass of asses,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Karsynn,” he stated purposefully.

“Carter,” I stated back.

“Quit making an ass of yourself. To answer your question, yes, I was staring at your donkey ass, or as you so eloquently call it, a badonkadonk. Because,” he added wryly, “there happens to be a long strand of toilet paper stuck to the back of your pants.”

“What?” I whipped my head around and yanked on the ten-foot long TP.

And then came the sinking feeling, the awful deflation. My whole body underwent a thermal flush. Calmly, I grabbed my bag and allowed myself one large sigh before crossing the room, headed for the one and only sanctuary that remained.

I stepped inside the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

Sagging heavily against the sink, I swore even more heavily.

Toilet paper hanging from my bum? God. I cringed with mortification.

That pretty much cemented my shame. For all eternity.

And how long had it been hanging there?

How did it even happen?

I made the slow deduction. When I’d stood up after using the toilet and pulled up my pants, the toilet paper that I’d used to line the seat must have decided it couldn’t bear parting with my delightful bum.

Furious with myself, I ran a warm bath, releasing a steady stream of profanity under my breath. Slowly, I sank my head back into the still water, exhausted and overcome by jet lag.

After my invigorating bath, I toweled myself dry and caught an involuntary glance of myself in the mirror. I jumped back in fright. Pfft! I let out a puff of air. I looked as shitty as my passport photo. With some effort, I dragged a brush through my recalcitrant hair, tugged on a baggy T-shirt, an old pair of gym shorts and padded out of the steamy bathroom.

Carter was adjusting a pillow on the sofa and appeared to be getting ready for bed. A thought suddenly occurred to me. “You don’t sleep in the nude, do you?”

“Only on hot summer days,” he replied, plumping up a pillow.

I walked to the AC and cranked it all the way up. “Don’t get any ideas,” I informed him loftily.

“Well,” said Carter.

“Well what?”

“Who’s the uptight one now?”

“Hey!” I exclaimed, vaguely surprised that Carter was slowly unbending. “I’m glad you’re loosening up somewhat.”

“I’m not always uptight, you know.”

“No,” I said with a certain degree of cynicism. “I
don’t
know.”

“Fine,” Carter said. “I’ll prove it to you. For the entire duration that we’re here in Malaysia, you’ll see another side of me.”