Some Like Them Rich

by Shirley Hailstock

  This was bad. I shook my head. I was on the Vineyard with a mission. I’d been here for nearly a year, and the task I set out to do was just shy of completion. I couldn’t afford to be distracted this close to the finish line. But I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt for the woman in white—and red. It was a good thing I wouldn’t be near this house. I lived at the hotel. The island wasn’t that large, but with me working, and her vacationing, our paths didn’t need to cross more than once or twice. At this moment, I was thankful that a real estate firm managed the house. She didn’t even need to know I had any interest in it. And since I was undercover as Don Randall and not Sheldon St. Romaine, son of the hotel owner, she need never know anything about me.

  I stared as she and two other equally good-looking sisters walked up the five steps on the side to the wide porch and disappeared inside the front door.

  I remained where I was, staring after them. It had been too long, I told myself, since I’d been with a woman. They came and went at the hotel, some demanding, some seductive. But I’d kept my liaisons to a minimum and I was both careful and discreet. However, this woman had an effect on me. I followed her movements like she was a magnet and I was the opposite pole.

  Even after Lady Legs was no longer in view, I thought of her, recalled her unhurried movements and how she made me feel. I wanted to go back, flip the heavy knocker on the wooden door, and review that wide smile, the long sensual legs that extended down to high red shoes, and watch the teasing slits in her dress move back and forth showing those long, shapely legs.

  I started the engine, pushing my thoughts aside. I was lusting after a woman I didn’t know.

  And she had yet to learn my name.

  “Oh my God, can you just smell the testosterone?” With both hands, Jack pushed the French doors open. They gave an expansive view of the back lawn. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was about to begin that exercise program she often speaks of but never finds the strength to follow through with.

  “Wow,” Jack said, turning back to the room. “Can you believe this place?” She looked around the beautifully appointed room. There were paintings on the walls of higher quality than mass-produced hotel stock. The furniture was solid and made of dark wood. The rooms were warm and inviting, filled with large windows and plenty of light. Flowers cheered every room, bringing the outdoors in and perfuming the air with their redolent sweetness. “I am so glad I decided to come. And I didn’t see many women on the ferry. How many men do you think are here?”

  She decided to come, I thought. Jack had a knack for inventing her own history. It wasn’t a month ago that I had to practically force her to join me, and now she acted like the idea was all hers.

  “Yeah,” I said flatly.

  “It’s like a buffet of men and us ready to choose the size, the weight, and the glorious bank account,” Lila said.

  Lila Easton was our third. Recently on the make, she nearly jumped at my proposal. I knew she was still rebounding from her last boyfriend. She might not find a husband this summer. It was too soon anyway. But at least this atmosphere would help her release, or at least file away, her feelings for Orlando Robinson, a man unworthy of her brain or talents. Yet as a friend, I knew I could never explain that to her while she was blinded by love.

  “Did you notice all the people looking at the limo as we rode by?” Lila was saying. “Not to mention the ones on the ferry. I swear I never felt more like a movie star in my life.”

  “Hold on to that thought,” I told Lila. “For the next three months, you are a star.”

  The three of us had come up with new biographies. We weren’t going to tell any actual lies, but we planned to evade the whole and complete truth and allow people to believe we were rich.

  “I’m going to change into my suit and go to the beach,” Lila said. “I’ve heard a hundred things about the Inkwell. Now I’m going to see it. And it’s probably the place to begin looking for guys.”

  Her enthusiasm was a little too over the top. I knew she was acting, putting on a front for Jack and me.

  Grabbing her smallest suitcase—she had five of them, all pink—Lila headed for the stairs.

  “Wait for me,” Jack called, turning faster than she usually did and joining Lila on her way to the bedrooms. I followed. May as well begin the plan at the beginning.

  After we sorted out the bedrooms, unpacked, and donned our new bathing suits, we left for the Inkwell.

  “Oh my God,” Jack said for the second time that day as the three of us moved through the sandy hill and the stretch of famous beach opened up in front of us. The place was a triangle of rocky sand dwarfed by an endless ocean. It was crowded with people, families, couples, and groups of singles.

  “This is it?” Lila asked, a frown marring her forehead.

  “I thought it was much larger,” Jack said.

  “From watching that movie they made about this place, this space should be huge,” Lila went on as she scanned the small square of beach.

  We all looked at it. In reality, the Inkwell was less than half the size the television screen had made it seem.

  Lila smacked her lips as if she’d found something delicious to eat. “I don’t care that it’s smaller. It’ll be easier to meet people.”

  “Showtime, ladies,” Jack said.

  “How can you tell which ones are rich?” Lila asked as we picked our way down the sloping hill to the flat sand. “I mean, this is a public beach. Anyone can come here.”

  “You can’t tell by looking,” I told her. “We’ll get their names and Jack will work her magic on the computer to find the pertinent facts and figures.”

  “And I’m looking,” Lila said.

  Lila and Jack moved ahead of me. I looked down at my feet to keep my footing when I saw something from the corner of my eye. A car stopped a few yards down the beach. A man got out and went around to open the door for two women. The women were giddy and with a wave headed for the water. He stood back, his hand up hooding his eyes, and watched them. I watched him. He was tall, wearing a suit. It was too early to be heading for cocktails, so he had to be employed somewhere. I permitted myself a moment to admire him. He looked confident, with short dark hair and broad shoulders. He looked nothing like Emile, yet something about his stance reminded me of Emile. I shook off the thought. Emile was out of my life, and I wasn’t about to let any thoughts of him cloud my mind or push them off on another man.

  Not that this one was in the running. He was obviously a working man, and while rich men worked, they probably weren’t doing it in a suit on the Vineyard. Yet I’d keep my mind open.

  “Amber, where are you?” Jack called.

  I looked toward the place where she and Lila stood. They weren’t far away and Jack hadn’t shouted, yet the man I’d been looking at turned and made eye contact with me. The hand shading his eyes dropped to his side. I expected him to smile, but he didn’t. He blatantly stared at me. I felt no sexual pull, more like he was assessing my body in parts as if I were a horse he was thinking of buying.

  Turning my attention back to my friends, I walked toward them, but not the way I’d walk if there was no one looking. Despite my beliefs that the man was not suitable, I presented my profile, sucking my flat stomach in and thrusting my breasts out like a runway model. I joined Jack and Lila without looking back at the man. I wanted to, yearned to see if he was still staring at me, but I forced myself to keep my head high and act as if I didn’t notice him at all.

  The sand was dotted with people. A volleyball game was in full swing a short distance away. The water had sailboats breaking the landscape between sea and sky.

  “He’s still looking at you,” Jack said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The man you couldn’t take your eyes off.”

  “And I might add, it looks as if he can’t take his off you either,” Lila said, laughter evident in her voice.

  I turned and looked before ta
king time to think about whether I should let him know I was aware of his presence. For a long moment he didn’t move, then he raised his hand and gave me a nod and a short wave. I thought of a king waving to his subjects. Without waiting for my reaction, he opened the door to the car and got in. I felt dismissed, and it irritated me.

  “Not even a name,” Lila said. “He must know that he’ll see you again.”

  “I’m sure I don’t want to see him,” I said, not bothering to disguise my anger.

  Jack looked up the hill at the man in the car. “It’s a small island,” she said.

  Chapter 2

  I found out how small the Vineyard was the very next morning as I decided to do a little windows hopping. We’d come with a full complement of new clothes. I didn’t need anything, but I wanted to become familiar with the area, find out where things were and, more importantly, check out the activities that might attract the most rich men.

  My walk led me to one of the hotels, the St. Romaine at Martha’s Vineyard. The lobby wasn’t as vast as other hotels I’d been to, but it was inviting and comfortable, a place where guests could meet and talk, whether casually dressed or decked out for a society wedding. This morning the place was very busy with guests standing or sitting in small groups and engaged in conversation. The concierge would be able to tell me the schedule for the coming week. But as I entered the front door, I came face-to-face with the man from the car.

  Impeccably dressed again, this time in a cream-colored suit that contrasted with the deep brown color of his skin, he detached himself from four gray-haired women and came straight toward me.

  He was tall, well over six feet. His hair was short and neat and his suit had to be custom made. As was his winning smile. I felt it. That sounded strange. I couldn’t analyze it. It’s the only way I had of describing it. But all those qualities paled beside his aura of authority. I could easily see him in a military uniform, barking commands and having people jump to carry out his instructions.

  But there was also a gentleness about the way he approached me. What a contradiction, I thought. What a package. I couldn’t help wondering what that hard command combined with gentleness was like in bed.

  “Welcome to the St. Romaine,” he greeted me.

  I offered my hand and he enveloped it in both of his. They were large and warm, and he held mine a moment longer than necessary. I noticed he was wearing no wedding ring. No jewelry at all. While many men sported an earring in one or both ears, his ears had never been pierced.

  I wondered why I was scrutinizing him in such detail. I hadn’t done that since … I couldn’t remember when. I guess it was the formal way he greeted me. After seeing him at the beach yesterday, I expected that he would acknowledge that encounter. But it appeared he was choosing to ignore the fact we had even seen each other. Working in a hotel, he must meet scores of people on a weekly basis, but I hadn’t thought I was that unmemorable.

  “I’m Don Randall, the manager here. Is there something I can help you with?”

  I smiled, hoping my face didn’t reflect the disappointment I felt. The name plate on his breast pocket read Donald Randall, Manager.

  “You’re the hotel manager?”

  “Don Randall.” He smiled and nodded as if I didn’t get his name the first time he’d said it.

  My heart did a little dance in spite of the fact he’d just confirmed his unsuitability for my purposes. Even if this was a St. Romaine hotel and it was on Martha’s Vineyard, Don Randall couldn’t be among the wealthy men I was looking for.

  “Amber Nash.”

  “Well, Ms. Nash, how can I help you?”

  “I’m new to the Vineyard.” I was careful not the say the island. Being from New York, island rolled fluidly off my tongue, but the Vineyard had its own identity. “And I was wondering what kinds of activities are available. My plan was to ask the concierge. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your duties.”

  I didn’t like the way my heart beat a little faster because he was near me. It was better to get rid of him right away. I looked over his shoulder for the concierge’s desk. Unfortunately, it was hard to dismiss the broadness of those shoulders or the way his suit seemed to be made for his body. In a place where the dress was casual, he stood out, but then I would have noticed him even if he was wearing cut-offs and dressed in mud. I couldn’t point out anything in particular that drew my attention. He had a charisma that pulled at me. But I wasn’t interested in a hotel manager.

  “Thank you for your help.” I moved to go around him, but he took a step and blocked my way.

  “She’s got a line.” He glanced back at the desk. There were five people waiting. “Come with me. As manager I’m required to be able to fill in for anyone.”

  “So you’re willing to step in the role of concierge for me?”

  “You’re a guest.”

  “I’m not staying at this hotel. I’ve taken a house.” I don’t know why I said that. Did I want him to know that I was out of his league? Maybe I was trying to reinforce my goal to myself.

  “You’re a guest on the Vineyard.”

  “You own the whole island?”

  He smiled. His teeth were white and even. I wondered if he’d had them bleached or if he used one of those over-the-counter products that promised not only white teeth but sex appeal. Whatever the reason, he had sex appeal. I smiled back and followed him past the line to where he grabbed a map of the island and several brochures. Instead of staying at the desk, he led me outside, away from the crowd. He offered me a chair on the patio. The place was virtually empty, with only a few people sitting a discreet distance away and enjoying the soft island breeze.

  “Would you like something to drink? I can suggest the Orange Island. It’s the hotel’s specialty, made with fruit juices.”

  “No alcohol?”

  “None.” He waved at a waiter, who immediately came over. I nodded when he asked if I wanted the Orange Island.

  The waiter left to get the drinks.

  “Now, for the activities. What kind of person are you? Sports-minded? Intellectual? Artistic?”

  He leaned comfortably back in his chair while I sat on the edge of mine.

  “A little of each,” I said. “But I’m interested in the sports.”

  “Player or spectator?”

  “Player.”

  He glanced up at me and I wondered if he took a second meaning to the word. There was one, but not that he knew or should infer. Men liked competitions. Women liked to sit and talk.

  “Well, you have several choices,” he continued. “There’s swimming, sailing, waterskiing, parasailing depending on the wind. On land, there’s horseback riding, beach volleyball, tennis, and soccer. At night there are dances here in the hotel. Many singles attend. Sometimes there are singles beach parties.”

  “How do you know I’m single?”

  He looked a little embarrassed. “I saw you and your two friends arrive.”

  I looked at him but said nothing.

  “I realize that doesn’t mean you’re single …”

  “I am,” I stopped him. “I’ve rented the house for the summer. They came along for the ride.”

  “I see,” he said.

  I knew he had no clue what he saw, but this was not the time to enlighten him. There would be no time to do that.

  “Would you like the hotel to book any of these for you?”

  “Not now. I’ll take the brochures, if you don’t mind. I’d like to let my friends look at them, too.”

  He pushed them toward me. “They’re yours to keep. All the phone numbers are on them.”

  The waiter returned with our drinks. The tall glass was frosted and filled with an orange concoction. I expected it to taste like sweet water, but it had a surprisingly refreshing taste, like orange juice with a kick.

  “Like it?” he asked.

  “It’s very good,” I admitted, just barely remembering not to gush over how good it really was. “Are these sports organized or d
o people just show up for them?”

  “Both. Many people come in groups, but if you need a partner, we can help you with that. Most of the sports require advance reservations. Tennis, parasailing, horseback riding …” He ticked them off on his fingers. “There are also fencing lessons if you’re interested in that.”

  “Fencing?” I was intrigued. “Who takes fencing these days?”

  “The class is just forming, but it’s proving to be a crowd pleaser.”

  It was obvious that I was interested in that one. The only time I ever saw fencing was on late-night television or during the Olympics. There it got about ten seconds of screen time before the networks cut back to one of the more popular sports. But if rich men took the less-traveled road, maybe fencing was the place to find them.

  “You mentioned artistic and intellectual. What would be included there?” I asked.

  “There are several museums and art galleries. One museum details the history of the Vineyard, one is a maritime museum. The art galleries showcase local artists and some of the paintings go back to the early settlers. You won’t want to miss the library with its extensive collection of historical volumes, and of course, there’s the music festival.”

  “For such a small island, there seems to be an awful lot to do.”

  “We try to make everyone enjoy themselves no matter what they like.”

  “You seem very well versed. Have you managed this hotel a long time?”

  “About a year.”

  “You seem so comfortable. I’d have thought it was longer.”

  “Have you stayed in many hotels?”

  I wondered if that was a pointed question. Was I not playing my role well enough? I decided to evade the answer.

  “I’ve been in a number.”

  “Why didn’t you choose to stay this time? The St. Romaine has an excellent reputation.” “It hasn’t always had that.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “So you know our history, too.”