Marbella Nights

by Camille Oster

  “I thought you were better than that?”

  “Better than what?”

  “Hey,” Rohan said, stepping in. “What’s your problem?” Rohan tried to defend her, which was quite sweet, although she didn’t need defending.

  Cory stepped forwards at Rohan’s aggressive stance.

  “No, you don’t, you prick,” she said. “Fuck off, Cory.”

  “I’m not the one laying it out for every passing tourist.”

  “No, just the rich bitches. What? They buy you presents? Don’t get in my face because I don’t sell my services.” If she wasn’t so drunk, she wouldn’t be saying these things; she’d be shutting this down and ignoring him, but she was drunk and she was going to give him a piece of her mind. Admitted it was a low blow and probably completely uncalled for, but then he was getting in her business for no reason at all.

  “Oh really, am I the one shaking my arse for the tourists every night?” he said pointedly.

  “You’re out of order, mate,” Rohan said.

  “No, you’re out of order being here,” Cory turned his aggressiveness to Rohan.

  “You’re such a dick, Cory. Unlike some, he’s fun to be with.”

  His brazing eyes turned on her.

  “Let’s not do this,” Nathan said, stepping in and wrapping his arm around Cory’s neck, which Cory tried to shrug off.

  “Yeah, Cory—piss off. You’re opinion isn’t appreciated. Run back to your girlfriend and complain about it. Maybe she’ll care.”

  Nathan dragged Cory away, who finally relented.

  “Friend of yours?” Rohan asked.

  “No, not really. Only known him for a few weeks. A bit unstable.”

  Nathan, Cory and those boys all left, and Trish sat down at the table, relieved that Cory was gone. She’d certainly hadn’t wanted him there, and their absence was no loss.

  “What the hell was that about?” Hannah asked. They were all stunned silent around the table.

  “Turns out Cory is an utter dick.” The awkward silence continued, as if they expected her to go on—which she wouldn’t. There was nothing to tell. Just some hook-up that was getting above himself, she dismissed.

  “Who’s ready for a drink?” one of the vets said, breaking the silence.

  Trish smiled tightly with her arms wrapped around her waist. She wasn’t in the mood anymore. Cory had certainly managed to ruin her evening. Now, she just wanted to go home. How dare he come along and practically call her names when he was the one running between girls as if no one would notice? Did he really think he would get away with it? And then the audacity to have a go at her for hanging with a guy, as though she was supposed to be loyal to him or something. He had no right to her; he shouldn’t even have an expectations she would even talk to him, let alone think he had the right to complain about her behaviour.

  Chapter 32

  “Where are we going?” Adelaide asked when she stepped into Quentin’s Audi when he pulled up by the marina entranceway. Quentin noted she looked good in a skirt and blouse. Admittedly the material was cheap, but she made up for it.

  “There is a French restaurant not far from here.”

  “I can do French.”

  “Good.” He leaned over and kissed her before turning his attention to the road and the traffic streaming down Calle Ribera, out seeking entertainment, like them.

  He had missed her over the last few days. It was strange how this girl had taken such a grip on him. It would normally grate in his mind, but she wasn’t even trying. In fact, he was the one that had to chase her, even after the spectacular weekend they’d spent in Morocco. There was a certain excitement to think they could sneak off somewhere, just the two of them, and hang out for a weekend.

  The engine roared as he stepped on the throttle, rocketing them down the street when a gap presented itself.

  Tonight it would just be the two of them, trying one of the restaurants. He wasn’t going to bring her back to the marian tonight, expecting they would finish the night at his house. In the past, an intimate evening like this would give him the creeps, but he was actually looking forwards to it. He actually wouldn’t mind if they spent more time together at his house.

  Adelaide crossed her legs and her lovely, athletic thighs drew his attention away from the road. He smiled at her ability to distract him.

  “There’s a party next weekend I have to go to. Older crowd, terminally dull, but I have to go. Please come distract me from the pointless waffle.”

  “Your sales pitch is unique. It sounds like torture.”

  “Yes, but then we can go home after, and I will make it up to you.”

  A smile spread across her lips. “How?”

  “There might be chocolate involved.”

  “Kinky.”

  “If fact, we might have to practice tonight.” He grabbed her hand and pulled it to him, kissing her fingers leisurely. This desire for her was constant, and he didn’t quite understand it. Probably because it was new and exciting, something that would pass in time.

  The restaurant was crowded, but he had a table booked. Being French, the décor was a little darker, more intimate. A candle stood on the table, making her face glow across from him—a face which was the picture of health, and dark and deep eyes sparkled in the light of the candle.

  A waiter appeared almost immediately and their drinks order was off to get fulfilled. Quentin looked around the restaurant, spotting some people he knew, but not well enough to require him to acknowledge them.

  This was a wives restaurant. This is where men took their wives or significant other, not one of the places further inland where they took their girlfriends. Old guys, pretending they were young and hot through the attention of some gold digger looking for support by a rich, married man. There were some girls who wanted that exact set up, and the bargain was common in this community. He hadn’t picked this restaurant for any particular reason other than the rich food, but the observation was just occurring to him.

  “I haven’t been here before,” Adelaide said, looking around. He wasn’t surprised. On her wages, it would hardly be worth it, particularly if you didn’t know the circles who frequented places like this.

  “The food’s good.”

  “I like French food. We actually have more choice in food in New Zealand. Not Te Awamutu, where I’m from, but in Auckland, the variety is broader. There is food from every country you could think of.”

  “Same in the UK. Continental Europe, they tend to prefer the tried and true local stuff.”

  “Do you like the Spanish cuisine?”

  “Yes.”

  “We tend to do the Spanish restaurants more,” she admitted. The restaurant scene was tiered. You had the exclusive ones, like this one they were in now, the hidden restaurants for more clandestine dealings, the tourist crap, which was the worst food imaginable, then the Spanish restaurant, for the locals, which was good, authentic Spanish food at reasonable prices. “And then José’s. We go there a lot.”

  “José’s?” he said with a smile as old memories returned from when they were too young to get into any of the bars. José had always been there and never too fussy about who they serve beer to and fourteen year old young bucks gravitated towards it, hidden from the adults, their own little playground. “I haven’t been there in years. I didn’t realise he was still going.”

  “He still does a mean burger.”

  Quentin laughed. “I remember. Maybe next weekend, we’ll go there.”

  Sobering slightly, Adelaide watched him for a moment. They had seemingly reached a point where they would plan for upcoming weekends, assuming they would do things together. That was how easily one slipped into a relationship, and this time, he hoped she wouldn’t baulk at the idea.

  “Okay,” she said. “José’s it is. I can’t believe you haven’t been; it’s still the most awesome location on the whole strip.”

  “Yeah, I kind of just forgot about it. Anyway, how was your week?”

&nb
sp; “Ugh, dramas. Friends with boy trouble. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Then let’s not, because I’m over drama in every conceivable form.”

  “I am so glad to hear you say that.”

  And that was why Adelaide was so cool. She just wanted to hang out, explore things and just be there. She wasn’t looking for somewhere else to be, someone to impress, or to hide her activities from. She was simple and she was hot, and he liked her more and more.

  Chapter 33

  Sitting with a champagne glass in her hand, Cheyenne patiently listened to the man across the dinner table talk incessantly about options trading. Clenching her jaw, she stifled a yawn. The man she’d gone to dinner with was rich, but he had nothing interesting to say, and couldn’t bear silence, apparently. At least with Alexi, he would shut up when he didn’t have anything to say, which was most of the time.

  The trader was one of Morgan Stanley’s high fliers, next in line for one of the lucrative executive jobs which paid millions in bonus—to bolster the substantial family wealth. He was alright, in a preppy past-his-youth way. Good, rich American family, but she just couldn’t get excited about it. The man smiled, showing perfectly and artifically white, straight teeth, and took a sip from his wine glass.

  There just wasn’t an edge to the guy. Nothing in him made her skin crawl, let alone elicited any notion of excitement. His eyes roamed her upper body and he was wondering whether he was going to get laid tonight. He obviously didn’t know what he was dealing with, and he would learn fairly soon that dinner did not buy entrance into her panties.

  “You bore me,” she said, interrupting his stream of options talk, and he froze.

  “I’m sorry. I’m talking shop and it’s completely uncalled for.” At least he was raised well enough to recognise his own faults. Still—boring. Now he started talking about some skiing holiday, aware that he was yet again losing her attention.

  The restaurant was busy tonight, but there was nothing particularly noteworthy. A couple of guys were eyeing her up, but married, which wasn’t necessarily an issue. What was an issue was some guy who thought he was going to run her as some mistress on the side. That’s not the game she played. Some piddly little gifts to keep her quiet and pliant were not what she was after. Dispatching a wife wasn’t an issue, but then, what value was a guy who was carting around a wife he was blasé about? Alexi knew exactly what he wanted, and if he didn’t, he cut them loose—like her.

  Maybe being with Alexi had raised her standards too high. It was becoming a problem, and she needed to refocus.

  “I need to go now,” she said to the still blathering man, who again was stumped from his incessant talking by her statement. Grabbing her clutch, she rose from the chair, and he half followed.

  “Should I drive you home?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, it was lovely to meet you.” He looked confused as if he didn’t know what to do in this situation.

  Cheyenne looked him in the eye for a moment and uttered a half groan in acknowledgement, before turning and walking away. She hadn’t even bothered finishing her salad; she was just too bored.

  The evening air was warmer outside the restaurant than inside. It wasn’t perhaps the most respectable thing to walk home from a date, but she couldn’t stand that man’s company any longer. He just wasn’t rich enough to be interesting.

  Lights were sparkling along the walkway, down by the marina, bright shop fronts touting the latest and greatest from the catwalks. A smile spread across her fuchsia glossed lips as she saw the dress she wore in Paris not long ago, admired by those who could afford it and coveted by those who couldn’t. She wasn’t exactly in the second category, but she was living on her own means at the moment, and that felt like a failure.

  Continuing her strut, she engaged her most dynamic walk down the street, people clearing out of her way. It really was amazing how awed people were by beauty.

  A bit of fun, but she really needed to get her arse in gear and find someone to target her attention on. Marbella was the place to find them.

  Stopping short, she spotted something inside a restaurant. That girl, the little whore, sitting at a table with Quentin Cartright, looking all innocent, working the eyes at him. Cheyenne had been right all along.

  Shameless glee spread across her face as Cheyenne pulled out her iPhone and took a photo. Laughing, she attached it to a text message.

  Perhaps you should be more careful in who you trust. You’re judgement isn’t always spot on.

  Pressing send, she put her phone away, marvelling at her amazing stroke of luck, but then Marbella was a small town; you couldn’t hide crap like that for long. Alexi now knew that he’d backed the wrong horse, and she wouldn’t expect just any apology. He had gravely wronged her and he would have to pull out something spectacular to make up for it.

  There was no reply by the time she made it home to her apartment. Alexi was probably smarting from his own stupidity. He’d really screwed up this time, backing the little slut over her. Live and learn, Alexi.

  Suddenly the future was much brighter. Alexi owed her an apology no matter which way he twisted it, and Cheyenne was not going to let him wiggle out of that one. She could well imagine him swearing in his Moscow apartment. In fact, he was probably on the phone right now, firing the little whore’s arse.

  Chapter 34

  The water glittered calmly, creating sparkles that burned if you stared at them. There was a slight haze in the air, but still warm. The breeze hadn’t starting coming down off the hills yet, but it would when the land warmed up sufficiently.

  Adelaide took a zip out of her Eiffel tower coffee cup. It was the corniest souvenir, but she’d wanted something to remind her that she had made it to Paris and had seen the city stretch out from the viewing platform of the Eiffel tower. Going to Morocco had reignited her travel lust and she was itching to go somewhere. All of Europe stretched out before them and they hadn’t seen near enough. It got harder to travel and explore when jobs curtailed their schedules. Maybe she would make do with a short trip to Madrid. She hadn’t been yet, or to Barcelona, and that fact was getting embarrassing considering she lived in Spain.

  “I love the quiet of the mornings,” Jens said as he stepped onto deck, stretching and running his fingers through his shaggy hair. If they weren’t receiving guests, Jens was not a natural early riser. “Had a good time last night?”

  “Did you?” She knew full well that Jens had gone out last night.

  “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “So that wasn’t you sneaking some guy off the ship at dawn,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

  “No,” he said in a tone that showed he was clearly lying.

  “Because no one else on this ship would sneak a guy off.”

  “And how do you know this, were you crawling in at dawn?” Jens said tartly.

  She wouldn’t dignify that with an answer, because it was true. The night had finished off at Quentin’s house, and truthfully, she hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep.

  “How’s it going with Mr. Player? Reformed him yet?”

  Taking a deep breath, Adelaide narrowed her eyes for a moment, telling herself it was from the bright sun, but Jens’ statement had a bite to it. Quentin Cartright was more or less notorious for going through girls. She knew this. “We’re just hanging out.”

  “Well, keep it that way. Guys like him tend to run a mile when the girl suddenly develops feelings.”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  “As long as you know what you’re doing,” Jens said, walking away.

  “Like you wouldn’t sleep with him if you had the chance,” she muttered.

  “I heard that.”

  The problem was that these things slipped from her mind when she was with Quentin. He seemed so present, like there was nowhere else he wanted to be, interested in what she had to say and how she viewed the world. There was a real risk that she would grow dependent on him being around, t
exting with her in the evenings, coming to pick her up.

  Now she had to go invest in some cocktail dress for this event he wanted to take her to in a few days. Well, not take her to, as such, rescue him from was more the term he used. Adelaide smiled thinking of it. She did that a lot these days, randomly smiling while stuck in her own thoughts. It probably wasn’t hard for Jens to see where her thoughts were at.

  The silver and brass polishers were sitting in a bucket beside her as she crouched awkwardly along the side of the bar, rubbing the opaque emulsion into the metal until it gleamed. All the doors and windows were open and a nice breeze kept the inside of the lounge cool, but it was still hard work and her clothes were sticking to her clammy skin.

  She didn’t mind the work though; it gave her a chance to zone out and just let her mind wander, and it tended to wander in one particular direction.

  The phone vibrating in her pocket startled her. Few people actually called her, so the blaring ringtone was always a bit jarring. If she didn’t keep it though, she never actually heard the phone ringing.

  Looking at the screen, she saw an overseas number, not exactly sure which country code it was. “Hello?” she said, sitting down on her heels with the shammy resting in her lap.

  “Adelaide,” said Alexi. She recognised his brusque voice and accent immediately.

  “Mr. Sumneroff. How can I help you?”

  “I am disappointed in you. You lied to me, and I took you on your word.”

  “I haven’t lied.”

  “You say you don’t dally with my guests, now I see pictures of you having dinner with one of my guests. In my mind, that’s lying.”

  She had no idea how he got pictures of her having dinner with Quentin. Did he have detectives here checking on them or something? Her heart sped up and she felt a bit choked. “I did have dinner with him, but that was something that happened after he left.”

  “I don’t believe you. I put my trust in you and I backed you when you were challenged, but you lied to me. I have no interest in having people who lie on my staff—”