The Accidental Mistress (13 page)

Zuri stared at him. The makings of sunrise
had already added light to the room. She should hurry and go. What
if he opened his eyes? But she couldn't move. She just looked on at
the man who had become some enigma for her all these years. Why was
he such a miserable bloke? What made him tick? If she could figure
that out she could finally know her enemy. He sighed, and the spell
broke. Quick and quiet she fled the room, raced out of the door and
hurried into the night to her bungalow. Once inside her room, she
caught her breath. Christophe Montague had arrived. He was in for
quite a surprise.

Chapter Nine

Christophe woke to sunshine, more than
usual. As if the sun had risen in his room. He frowned and squinted
against the fiery hot glare, his vision soon returned with slow
focus. He was so tired last night he hadn't noticed that the room
was all windows and the blinds were all drawn open. "Shit!" he
groaned turning over to bury his face in the pillow. The warm heat
of the tropical sun then baked into his back and shoulders.

The phone rang.

Christophe growled in anger. He reached out
and grabbed the receiver in his hand and slammed it back down on
the cradle. Sleep came like a dark fog covering every corner of his
consciousness. It might have been minutes, no more than a half-hour
later when fist pounds hit his door. In defeat, he lifted from the
pillow and rubbed the fatigue out of his eyes. Christophe snatched
back the tangled sheets. When he threw his legs over the side of
the bed, he lifted his gaze and stopped. His closet door was swung
open. There was nothing inside. He sat there puzzled, staring at
the three wooden hangers undisturbed on a clothing bar. Christophe
had been certain the closet was closed when he went to sleep.

The knock came again.

Snatching on a pair of
trousers, he pulled them up over his bare ass.
Who the fuck would come calling this early in the
morning?
When he opened the door and Elliot
strolled in, he groaned. "What is it?"

“
We have a meeting my man.
What the hell are you doing?” Elliot asked, stopping to look at the
bottle of half drunk Scotch. He picked it up. “Have you started
boozing for breakfast?”

“
How do we have a meeting
when we arrived early? They don't know we're here.”

Elliot chuckled. “You drink too much
Christophe. Give it a rest.”

“
Piss off,” Christophe
grumbled. He hadn't drunk that much. He didn't have the usual thick
tongue and achy skull he would have if he finished off a bottle. He
only had a foul temper to match his short patience. Christophe
dropped in a wicker chair. He covered his face with his arm as he
slouched down on the floral cushion.

“
Of course they know we're
here. I got a call from that sexy ass Baptiste woman, Joi. She said
that the manager wants to meet with us first thing. Breakfast. Her
name is Zuri.”

Christophe lowered his arm. “What did you
say?”

"I said breakfast."

"No. The name?"

"Joi? Zuri?"

"Zuri what?" Christophe sat back.

"How the fuck do I know?"

Christophe stared at Elliot
long and hard.
Zuri Baptiste?
It couldn't be her. The odds were one in a million
that it would be her. Still the evoking of her name in a tropical
paradise felt right. “They want to meet?”

“
Yep. You going to get
dressed or what?”

“
Give me a
minute.”

***

“
You look beautiful!” Joi
whispered.

Zuri fixed her head wrap,
known by her people as a
Bakoua
. The cloth kerchief circled
the top of her head, tied down flat with a neat bow to the right of
her head. Her mother had taught her the art of kerchief bow, past
down from days of slavery, as a little girl. She fashioned the
scarf nicely like a ceremonial crown. It matched her
traditional
madras
. The hand-sewn dress of light cotton was royal blue with
golden cross pattern designs. The peasant sleeves were drawn down
from her shoulders and the front bodice cupped and covered her
heavy bosom tastefully. The material was ridged and tight around
her petite midriff, which made the long skirt flare sweetly from
her hips. Before the floor length mirror, Zuri turned. The light
fabric swirled at the ankle.

“
You think I look okay, I
was trying to decide between this one and the red one.”

Joi had chosen a equally
beautiful
madras
.
It was emerald green with gold stripes, minus the bakoua. She
handed Zuri the pair of large golden hoop earrings she had asked to
borrow. “You look fine. You always did when you dressed up. What's
going on with you, girl? You've been getting ready for the past
forty-five minutes. It's a business meeting. You trying to seduce
that hottie executive?”

Zuri bristled. “Of course not!” she snapped,
piercing the hoops into her lobes. “Are they up? I mean are they
down there?”

"I called that Elliot creep, he said they
will meet us."

"Creep? Why is he a creep?" Zuri asked
curiously, sitting to put on her anklet, then her sandals.

"He's just that icky kind
of man. You know what I mean. The kind that's got a fetish for
island girls or something. Thinks he's smooth. No worries, he's not
the decision maker though. When he visited, he paraded
around
père
as if
he were."

Zuri chuckled. Her mind wasn't quite in the
conversation. Last night had been strange but enlightening. Her
original plan to go straight for it by offering herself up to
Christophe to gain some leverage needed to be amended. Instead
she'd teach Christophe Montague a very deserved lesson. “Has JP
prepared everything?”

"He has a spread fit for a
King. Oh and
mère
called this morning. Père is already asking about this
meeting. He disapproves of us meeting without him present. Zuri,
you know how prideful he is. If he finds out about the merger, he
may not be happy. You need to explain yourself and get his
approval.”

“
There's no time for
that.
Père
will
just have to trust me. I'll call
mère
and explain everything to
her.”

“
Zuri, wait. What are we
going to call you?”

“
Huh?”

“
We can't say Baptiste,
this little plan of yours. So what is your name?”

“
Oh, I'll take
Dumont,
mère's
name.”

“
Are you sure that this
plan of yours will work? I still don't understand it.”

“
No. But what choice do we
have? Let's go.”

***

Christophe strolled out through the open
doors to a terrace prepared for morning brunch. The sounds of the
ocean and smell of the sea carried in through the open walkways. He
passed a few guests, noticing them dressed for early morning swims.
Everything about the Oasis appeared calm and serene. But his heart
was pounding in his chest.

Zuri? Was it his
Zuri?
He couldn't decide on whether that
would be good or bad news. Yes, he wanted to see her again. But the
idea that he would never seemed plausible. Slowly the pieces of the
puzzle began to fit. She was West Indian. She was a college
student, and this was her home.

"Check it out! Damn, I love the food here!"
Elliot said, wagging a boiled red lobster at him and dropping it on
his plate. He heaped oyster, shrimp, baked fish along with eggs,
bacon and sliced fruit. Christophe just wanted a pot of coffee. A
tall dark skinned man dressed in a chef's garb with long flowing
dreadlocks tied behind his head approached.

"
Bonjour
."

"
Bonjour
." Christophe
said.

"
Je m'appelle
Jean-Paul.
Please call me JP. I will be your personal chef during your
stay." He extended his hand.

Christophe shook it. "Nice spread. Is all
this for us?"

"
Oui
." Jean-Paul looked over to Elliot
who now juggled two plates. He gave a nod to a staff member
standing off to the side and the person ran over to offer to carry
his cousin's food to the table, while he finished. "We have three
other dining terraces prepared for the guest. The Baptiste's wanted
this one private for your meeting."

"Baptiste?" Christophe thought that name
sounded familiar. He opened his mouth to inquire about Zuri and
stopped. She emerged. Her eyes fastened to his. She moved
gracefully out of the doors looking like a goddess. Her petite
figure was wrapped in a beautiful blue and gold dress with her hair
pinned behind a head wrap that fanned out to the right side of her
head in a decorative display. She gave him a gracious smile and he
swallowed, hard.

"
Bounjour Monsiuer
Montague... at last
we meet," she said as she approached.

Christophe blinked several
times. Maybe it wasn't her.
No it was
her!
Maybe she didn't remember him?
No. No. Look at how she's looking at you. Oh yes,
she remembers. How could she not?
He held
her stare, barely. His face and neck burned hot as conflict and
shame rose in him like a wave of lava. Zuri extended her small
hand, dainty with slender fingers. What was he to do and
say?

"Well, hello ladies,"
Elliot spoke for him. Zuri lowered her hand with a frown.
She must think I'm an idiot or a cruel bastard
for not shaking her hand. Fuck, she caught me off
guard
. He could barely breathe, let alone
touch her.

The ladies gave a sweet nod to Elliot. Zuri
dismissed Christophe altogether and spoke directly to Elliot. "I
see you've started breakfast. Please help yourself. Shall we?" Zuri
walked away toward the table. A staff member raced ahead to draw
back her chair as if she was some island queen and then the chair
of her sister. It had to be her sister. Equally beautiful, they
shared the same features. Christophe shook off his shock and
composed himself. He followed and took a seat, one that put him
directly across from Zuri.

Why is he glaring at me?
As if I don't belong here. Who the hell does he think he is?
Zuri fought back her disenchantment over his
reaction. She wasn't sure what she expected. Maybe he'd show just a
spark of regret or desire for what he passed on. Instead she got a
blank, almost hostile glare. She worked on her composure, making
sure to never let him see her frown. As she ordered for herself,
and coffee was brought to the table, she noticed the other man in
their company. His name was Elliot. He was handsome, with blondish
brown hair. He had clear grey eyes and a lopsided smile similar to
Christophe's. But that's where the attraction ended. The man
behaved like a starved child. He wolfed his food down. She doubted
he chewed. Sauce dripped from his chin as he munched on greedily.
She slipped Joi a look. Her sister smirked and nodded she saw it
too.

"So! We came early. Surprised you didn't
we!" he exclaimed. "I apologize but my cousin... uh, Christophe is
a busy man. So we had too. The place looks good," Elliot smiled,
dabbing at his chin and swallowing.

Zuri's gaze moved back to Christophe. He
didn't have that stricken look anymore. Now eyes of blue sapphires
were piercing with intensity. She tried again at diplomacy. "Is
this your first time here, to Martinique?"

"Yes." he said, with a slow smile.

"Then you are in for a treat. We, Mrs.
Baptiste and I, have a wonderful plan to help you acquaint yourself
with understanding our island customs and the services the Oasis
offers to their guests."

"Aren't you two related?" Elliot blurted,
wagging his fork at them both. Zuri spoke but kept her eyes trained
on Christophe. "No. My name is Zuri Dubois. I work for the
Baptiste. I will represent them in these affairs."

All traces of amusement faded from
Christophe's smile. He seemed to harden at her news. He looked at
Joi for a long moment then to her. Did he remember Joi from the
hotel? Did he know she was lying? She felt herself shrink into her
seat. If he called her on her lie, then everything was ruined.
Maybe she should have told the truth.

"Well I'm sorry for your father’s troubles,"
Christophe said to Joi. Zuri almost exhaled in relief. "I'm told
he's ill?"

"He is. But he's
recovering.
Merci, Monsieur
Montague."

"Can we speak alone?" Christophe asked Zuri.
"Now."

Zuri could feel every eye in the room switch
to her, including Jean-Paul who stood near the buffet. She gave
Christophe a polite nod. A staff member pulled out her chair and
she rose. Christophe was out of his seat in one shot marching for
the door.

"How about you and I go for a tour. I want
to see all of the resort," Elliot said to Joi, wiggling his
eyebrows.

Zuri noticed how Joi forced a pleasant smile
to her face. "I'd be happy to show you the Blue Oasis."

Elliot licked his lips, looking her over. "I
can't wait."

Zuri didn't bother to comment before she
walked out. Her sister could handle herself better than she could.
After all she was about to confront Christophe. He fell just a step
behind her when she passed him. If she stopped abruptly he would be
all over her. She didn't say a word. Neither did he, thankfully.
The manager’s office behind the reception desk was the only option.
Keeping her composure as hotel heiress, she greeted several guest
before leading him inside.