“I can draw Woodstock.”
I met his gaze and was relieved to see he was smiling. “You can?”
He nodded and took the notebook and pen. Turning to a fresh page, he quickly doodled Snoopy’s partner in crime. It was perfect.
“Wow. I’m impressed.”
“I also do dicks, but they’re mostly self-portraits, and I’m going to assume we aren’t there yet.”
I snorted. A joke and a cock mention? Double whammy! Maybe dick jokes did mix in rich crowds. “You might need a bigger notebook.” Annnnd I just ruined it.
His laughter took me by total surprise. “Definitely.”
Parry and thrust. Gather around, children, we have ourselves a sparring of dirty minded wits. Giddy-up!
Trying to keep the banter going, I spaced my fingers about six inches apart. “A notebook this big?”
He shook his head and my hands moved a little further apart.
“Keep going,” he rasped.
Labored breath passed my lips as I separated my hands a bit more and looked into his eyes. Glancing down at my palms, which were now over a foot apart, I dropped them into my lap. “Oh, come on!”
He laughed. “The world may never know.”
Of course, he’d make a lollipop reference. I took my notebook back.
“Anyhoo, I’m planning this party for your sister, and I don’t have a clue what she might like.”
He eased back on the lounge and crossed his arms behind his head. “Phina? She’s easy. She likes technology, gourmet pizza, shoes made out of hemp, ancient grains, the fashion industry, and selfie-sticks.”
“Did you just generalize her into a Millennial?”
He frowned and tipped his chin. “Maybe, but she does like all those things.”
“Do your dad.”
He grinned at the challenge. “He doesn’t use complicated sentences, he owns countless ties, but every single one is in the red family, he keeps a small spritz bottle of vermouth on him at all times in case of an emergency, and his prized possession is the horse he won in a bet against Eleanor Wicket.”
Laughing, I asked, “What was the bet?”
“I don’t know, but the stakes were pretty high and involved her being naked for the payoff. The horse was a mulligan and he loves holding it over her head.”
Impressed, I said, “Do me.”
His brow hitched and his lips curved into a half grin. “Hmm… I’m not sure I know you well enough yet.”
“Come on. Please.”
“Fine.” He scratched his chin in thought. “You don’t own a curling iron. You’re a lot more popular than you realize. You’re well educated but incredibly indecisive. You’re curious, optimistic, yet strangely afraid to try. You doodle dogs, dicks, and do a mean pirate impression—which I haven’t heard yet. And I’m guessing you have no problem indulging in dessert before dinner. How was that?”
I gaped at him. “How did you do that?”
His grin turned cocky. “I pay attention and have fairly decent instincts about people most of the time. And you still owe me a pirate joke.”
“You’ll get one. And I’m not ‘afraid to try’.”
I had to give him credit for accuracy on everything else, but the truth was I’d try anything once. What I sucked at was seeing things through. However, Hale had been the one to say he didn’t believe in doing anything-long term that didn’t bring some form of personal satisfaction, so maybe we had more in common than we realized.
Low lidded eyes watched me as his smile remained and he whispered, “Tell me a pirate joke.”
My heart should not be beating this fast. “What’s a pirate’s favorite letter in the alphabet?” I rasped.
He smirked. “Arrrr.”
I slowly shook my head, unable to take my eyes off his mouth. Putting my pirate accent in place, I said, “You think it be R, but I’m in love with the sea.”
He laughed silently and shook his head. “Terrible.”
“I know.” I shrugged, reorganizing the items on my lap.
“Your turn,” he said.
“What?” Gah! Every time he looked at me like that my IQ reduced.
“What do you see when you look at me?”
Oh, so many pretty things. “I don’t know how to generalize people.” I was terribly unobservant.
“Just give it your best shot.”
I sat up, licking my lips, and considered all I knew about Hale Davenport. Great ass, top shelf abs, glacier gray eyes, aphrodisiac pheromones. Knowing I couldn’t say any of that, I stuck to the basics.
“You like your job on most days and love your dad enough to stick with it on the days you don’t. You’re tidy. You like fast vehicles and powerful machines. And you appreciate a good beignet.”
“You forgot brunettes.”
“What?”
“You forgot to say I like brunettes, especially short ones with green eyes.”
Alert! Alert!
The air raid siren in my brain sounded, and all of my split personalities screamed in panic, spinning in circles and crashing into images of every guy from my past. I swear, every oddity running the show up there was ten times more awkward than the outside me. They should all be fired!
My smile fell away as I studied Hale, waiting for any sign that he might be playing some sort of twisted, fucked up, humiliate the new girl kind of joke. He wasn’t smiling or frowning, but he watched me expectantly.
Crap. Where was Elle when I needed her to decipher tricky messages? I mean, I know he just named three qualities I had but was he talking about me? What if he didn’t even realize my eyes were green and he was thinking about some bombshell he was currently fucking?
“Sorry.” He glanced toward the pool. “I thought you picked up on that. I guess I was being a little presumptuous.”
“Wait.” I shook my head until all the little minions running amuck in my brain settled down and shut the hell up so I could think. “Um, if you’re just joking around, now is the time to tell me, because I’m really bad at reading people, and you’re not the easiest person to read anyway, with your poker face and reserved words and half smiles. I’m not making any sense right now, but could you just maybe go back and clarify what you just said? My eyes are green by the way. In case you didn’t notice.”
The look on Hale’s face was a cross between intrigue and regret. If there were voices in his head, they were definitely yelling abort!
Now he probably realized the can of worms he’d poked was stuffed full of crazy lady. Good luck tidying up that mess. He clearly wasn’t referring to my green eyes and brown hair.
I’m such an idiot.
His gaze shot to the cabin, and he rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at me. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his phone and made a pretty convincing sound of disappointment.
“Damn. I have to take this call.”
The screen lit, but I couldn’t see what it said. Maybe he just pushed a button. “That’s fine,” I said, letting him off the hook.
Clearly, I’d taken his comment way too personally, and now he was desperate to escape. Quick and painless.
His mouth opened and I couldn’t bear to hear him make up apologies because I was a jackass. Rushing his escape, I said, “I have work to do anyway. Take your call.”
I did my best big girl smile and pretended no harm no foul. He had the phone to his ear before he was even off the deck. The sad part was, I doubted anyone was on the other line.
Shutting my eyes, I groaned and eased back on the lounge chair. Maybe if I pretended none of that happened it wouldn’t exist anymore. Yes, that seemed like the best solution. I’d just will it right out of history and piece together my dignity once I made it back to my safe bubble of make believe.
It took effort, but I shoved all fantasies of Hale deep into the recesses of my subconscious where I hid other unfulfilled dreams like living in England, having my own home theater room, or meeting my dad.
Yeah, some of those aspira
tions were a little more complex than the others. But the truth of the matter was, all Hale would ever be was a fantasy, because he was well groomed and sophisticated and uber successful while I was a train wreck.
Chapter Eight
Arrr…Ye Be Starin’ At My Treasure Chest
That evening I endured a quiet dinner with Remington, Eric, and, I believe, Hale was there too. I couldn’t be sure, as I forbade myself to look at him. But yeah, I’m pretty certain the scent of sexy male wafting across the table was all him.
After dinner, I helped Remington get settled and said goodnight.
“Meyers.”
Pausing at the door, I hoped he didn’t have any outlandish requests. Today had been busy, and my lack of sleep was catching up to me. I was exhausted and ready to call it a night.
“Yes, sir?”
“You’re welcome to use the common areas of the ship. Treat yourself to a drink upstairs. You did good today.”
My smile, although small, was perhaps the most authentic show of happiness I’d had since arriving. The jolt of satisfaction didn’t have anything to do with my exotic surroundings or my nearness to an impressive man like Remington, or even my off axis nerves around his son. It was merely a compliment, a genuine one, from a man who reserved his praise for those who truly earned it.
“Thank you, Remington. That means a lot.”
“Did you check your stocks?”
Tricky old bastard. He knew that stock was a bust, but he wanted me to learn the hard way.
“I saw it went down, but that’s probably due to political climate. It’ll be up again by morning. I think I’ll move it into something more dependable. Maybe E’say Marketplace.”
His brows lifted. “I’m impressed, Meyers. We’ll take care of that over breakfast tomorrow morning. Seven-thirty.”
I nodded. “I’ll be there.”
The unfortunate thing about losing one’s luggage was that I completely forgot to buy pajamas. My skin was salty from the sea air, and my hair was a bit wiry, so I decided to shower. If I wasn’t so tired, I might have visited the bar like Remington suggested, but it was probably best I stayed sober.
Thankfully there was a plush terrycloth robe in the bathroom. That made it a bit easier to get around without PJs.
I plugged in my phone and considered calling Elle, but that would require revisiting my screw-ups of the day, and I lacked the strength. I did text Tyler though to let him know I missed his grumpy ass.
Settling into bed, I reached for the tie of the robe and stilled, as there was a knock at the door. Closing my robe, I climbed out of bed and cracked the door.
“Hale.”
“Can we talk?”
“Um, sure.” I stepped back as he let himself in.
He glanced at the rumpled bed and dim room. “Shit, you were already in bed. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I was up.”
Noting my wet hair and lack of clothes, he turned and faced the wall. “I wanted to apologize for earlier.”
Did something happen earlier? I’d completely blanked it out of my mind, or at least I was working toward doing so. Talking about it was a step in the wrong direction. “Please don’t—”
“Let me say my piece.”
“Okay.”
I wasn’t used to him cutting me off, but he seemed to have something to get off his chest. Though I didn’t need it spelled out. Hopefully, his little rejection speech would be swift and only mildly excruciating.
He rubbed the back of his neck and paced in front of the bed. “That was a really important call I’d been waiting for.”
“I’m sure. It’s really fine, Hale. I understand.”
He lifted a brow. “Do you?”
I gave up. “No, not really.”
He sighed. “Do… Do you want to come upstairs and have a drink with me?”
Hesitating, because upstairs meant dragging this out, I tried to convince myself his offer was inviting trouble. Sort of like an evil mermaid seducing the captain of a ship to his doom. But, wow, it was tempting.
“I’m in a robe.”
“Everyone’s in bed.”
My well-accomplished inner monologue about staying sober through the first week of my new job flew out the window. Fuck it. I wanted booze and I apparently had no willpower when it came to this man.
“One drink.”
The ship was dark as I followed him quietly to the upper deck. He looked at home behind the bar as he filled a stainless steel martini shaker with ice. “What would you like?”
“I’ll just have whatever you’re having.” I didn’t think people like the Davenports kept the fridge stocked with Bud.
Nodding, he made what was probably the most flawless dirty martini I’d ever seen. Seriously, this was some James Bond shit. I wasn’t a martini drinker per se, but there was something eloquent about having a perfectly composed cocktail made from liquor that came from crystal decanters.
“Fan-shee.” I accepted the drink. One sip and my sinuses cleared. “Wow. That’s a strong martini.”
He raised his in a toast, which I probably should have waited for before I sipped. “It’s actually a Manhattan.”
“I knew that.” No clue what the difference was—pretty sad for a girl who worked in a bar for the last decade.
Hale took a slow sip and sighed. When he didn’t immediately jump into conversation I took another sip. Yowzers. This was pure alcohol.
When I made it halfway to the bottom of my glass I set it aside, certain finishing one of those in fewer than five minutes was a little trashy. I really needed to work on my willpower if this was me not drinking. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
Again, he sighed. “You know the saying when it rains it pours?”
“Of course.” His father would hate that cliché. Very fortune cookie.
“I’m in a deluge right now.”
“Okay...”
“I’m very particular, Rayne. I like things a certain way and I don’t like to justify why that is.”
“Is someone questioning your methods?”
“Yes. Me.”
“I’m not following.” And part of my face was slightly numb from the potent drink.
Taking a long swallow of his Manhattan, he said, “There’s a certain method to doing things. There’s a Rayne method, a Remington Method, a guy working to feed his family method, a woman trying to get her degree method—”
“And the Hale method.” I got the point.
“Right. Everyone has their own technique of what works for them. I like my method. It’s never failed me.” He shook his head and his brow creased. “But it’s not working anymore.”
His frustration was cute. Life being unfair was the first lesson in Living 101, but maybe rich people got a different syllabus.
“I didn’t want to tell you this, Hale, but your whole omnipotence complex, you know, the one where you make guarantees like you’re God, it was disproven the moment I got seasick. You promised I wouldn’t. Sometimes we don’t get to decide how things turn out. I’m afraid that includes you.” I patted his knee. “Welcome to the school of mere mortals and hard knocks. Your next class will be Murphy’s Law and after that we’ll tackle things like the banana principle.”
“It just seems—Wait, what’s the banana principle?”
“It applies to grocery shopping.” I couldn’t picture him ever needing to use this. “If you buy a ripe banana, or an avocado for that matter, it’ll be rotten before you get a chance to eat it. You have to buy them before they’re ripe, but chances are while waiting for it to ripen, you forget you bought them and they go bad anyway. It’s a wonder I get any fruit in my diet. Oranges are pretty dependable, though.”
He frowned. “I’m not sure how we got on this topic.”
Retrieving my drink, I waved my hand for him to continue. “Go back to what you were saying.”
“I try to be a guy who goes out of his way to do the right thing, even when it’s the most difficult option.
”
That was more than I could say about myself. I was a big fan of shortcuts and low drama.
“That’s an admirable quality.”
“Life shouldn’t turn around and stick it to you when you apply yourself to accommodating others.”
I snorted. “Why? Because Hale Davenport said so? Life isn’t fair. Kids get sick, good people die; nepotism steals jobs, and I’ll never be a size two. I find it best to accept what is and make the best out of it.”
“What if I can’t? What if the only honorable thing I can do appears to be the least honorable outcome, but it’s the best for everyone involved?”
Trying to crack his code, I narrowed the possible source of his problems down to three options. “Is this about love, money, or loyalty?”
“None of the above. Maybe a little about money, but trust me, any profit isn’t for my benefit.”
“Are you being blackmailed?”
He stilled. “No.”
But he wasn’t opening up to me about it. That much was clear.
“Look, I’m happy to listen and give you my point of view, but I’m not really up to speed on the situation, and it’s only fair that I warn you I’m a bit of a walking fustercluck.” The Manhattan had struck. “Clusterfleck.” Damn it. “Cluster. Fuck.”
He chuckled and I felt myself leaning forward.
“You okay?”
I waved a hand. “I’m also a bit of a lightweight. Probably should have told you that.”
“Sorry. I’m used to making doubles. Do you want something else?”
Staring into his beautiful gray eyes I wondered how offended he’d be if I took a great big whiff of his shirt. And I was tipping out of my chair.
“Whoa.” He caught my arms.
Yes, I’d definitely been leaning a little too much. “Sorry. I don’t hold Manhattans well.”
His grip loosened, keeping his hands on my arms and sliding down to my wrists as I found my footing. We were really close and everything smelled like yummy Hale and Manhattans.
“I almost broke my rules today,” he whispered, our mouths only a breath apart.
“Horseshoes and hand grenades, Hale.” Wait, that wasn’t right. “I mean, death and taxes.”
Calamity Rayne: Gets A Life Page 11
