The Flirtation

by Kayley Loring

  “There’s not much to tell. I emailed you your telephone messages. So far not one person has jumped off a building or threatened to stop doing business with you when I told them you were out of town for business and had to reschedule.”

  “Oh. Well that’s…good, I suppose. Thanks.”

  “Have you met her yet?”

  “No, I’m not off the plane yet.”

  “Does it look nice outside?”

  “I don’t know, I haven’t really looked.”

  There was a brief, and very English, polite but judgmental pause. “Sir, you’re in the Bahamas, things are fine and under control here, I really do hope that you enjoy yourself while you’re there.”

  “Yeah. Yep, will do, thanks. Talk tomorrow then good night.”

  In the terminal I caught sight of a pleasant-looking cocoa-skinned man in an exotic flower print shirt, who was holding a sign that said A. Davis & L. Mason. Admittedly, seeing our names together gave me a tiny thrill. Good God you’re like an adolescent girl, get a grip.

  I nodded and waved at the man, whom I assumed was our driver. He looked to be somewhere between twenty and fifty years old, sturdily built, with a stunning smile. His voice was deep and his accent was vaguely British.

  “Mr. Mason, sir? Welcome to paradise! I am Samson, I will be driving you and Miss Davis to Chandra Villa. May I take your bag?”

  “No, I can carry it thank you. I didn’t realize Miss Davis and I were arriving at the same time.”

  “It worked out quite well, sir. How was your flight?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “Excellent, it is a beautiful day here.”

  For some reason I wasn’t expecting to see Avery so soon, I thought I’d have the ride to the villa to settle my nerves. “Yes, it’s lovely. Lovely weather, is this normal for this time of year here?” Could you be more British? Talking about the weather. Try not to bore Avery to death when she gets here.

  “Yes, very mild and pleasant this time of year, a good time to come.”

  “Wonderful, well it was cold and miserable when I left London, so…”

  “You will enjoy it here I’m sure, sir.”

  “Chandra, what does that mean, is it Sanskrit?”

  “Yes sir, it means ‘shining moon.’ A very good name, you’ll see why. That must be her. Walking faster than anyone else. That’s how you can tell the New Yorkers.”

  I followed his gaze to the beautiful silky dark blonde-haired woman who was moving so rapidly towards us. My long-awaited viewing of her lower body did not disappoint. But I was somewhat worried she’d crash into me.

  Avery

  Dammit, he’s gorgeous. This is terrible. Deep breaths. Be professional. Be friendly. Don’t be weird. Let’s just get this over with. Shit, slow down, you’re going to crash into him.

  I stopped just short of Luke Mason’s firm chest, like a robot. I didn’t want him to say “Hello darling” to me in person. I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it, so I extended my hand, very formally, and said “Hello Luke Mason,” barely looking at him.

  “Why hello, Avery Davis,” he said, possibly mocking me, and shook my hand. “So nice to meet you in person.”

  Hot. He was hot. I had a strong feeling that life, as I’d known it, was over. Future Me would divide my timeline into BIMLIP (Before I Met Luke In Person) and AMPMFSHH (After My Panties Melted From Shaking His Hand—also the sound my mouth made instead of “nice to meet you in person too.”)

  I turned to the local man next to him. “You must be Samson!”

  “Welcome, Miss Davis, please let me take your bags.”

  “No, it’s fine really. Okay, just that one.” I let him take my rolling suitcase and gave him a quick hug, surprising him. I was showing him all the great American warmth and verve that I was trying so hard to withhold from this gorgeous British specimen, who was taller than I’d been expecting him to be.

  He’s going to think I’m autistic, but I can’t handle looking at his dimpled smiling face up close. So I stared at his watch. He was wearing the most beautiful sexy watch I’d ever seen. Or maybe it was his wrist that was sexy and beautiful. Or his hand. Definitely his hand. It was big and capable and just looked so good with the rest of his arm, which was connected to his broad shoulders. I mean, his entire body was perfect. It was ridiculously fucking perfect. His shoes were magnificent and tasteful and his feet were big—exactly as big as they needed to be to support his frame, which was about six feet three inches tall, if I had to guess. Just kill me now. This is torture. I’ll never feel those hands on me or his arms around me or his perfect body on top of me, so I just need to take a deep breath, and when I exhale I will be in work mode and I will stay there for five days straight and for the rest of my life probably.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Hunh?”

  “Sorry—you looked like—it looked like you were holding your breath.”

  “Nope. I’m fine,” I said as I exhaled. “Just, um, breathless with anticipation about going over a strategy for the debriefing…Of Bucket. Regarding the —”

  “Right, exactly, can’t wait.”

  “Shall we? The car is this way.” Samson gestured towards the exit.

  Luke and I followed him. Make small talk, dummy! “How was your flight?”

  “Fine, actually. Slept a bit. Decent food. Can’t complain.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Nightmarish.”

  “Sorry. Long haul.”

  “Feel a bit of an ass, though, complaining about an all expenses paid trip to the Bahamas.”

  “Please. Ten hours without phone or internet? I totally get it. You’ll never get that time back.” There. I can manage a normal conversation with him as long as we’re walking side-by-side and looking straight ahead. “Were you able to get in touch with the tax attorney about post-closing?” He looked at me quizzically for a moment, and I realized I’d just darted back into the business talk lane, in order to avoid accidentally blurting out that I thought he smelled divine and could he please turn around so I could see what his butt looked like in those tailored trousers?

  “Yes, I typed up my notes on that during the flight,” he said.

  “Fantastic. Good flight?” Shit.

  He laughed. “You’d think you were the one with the jet lag.”

  “Yeah, I’m a mess no matter where I travel to. I mean, people don’t talk about it anymore, but it’s really weird to just get on a plane in one city and then get off in a completely different part of the world.” Oh God I said the words ‘get off.’ “But anyway, I’m sure the villa will be nice, right Samson?” Good save, Davis. He’s totally not thinking about what a weirdo pervert you are now!

  “The villa does not disappoint, mademoiselle. Right this way to the car.”

  I didn’t look over at Luke, but I could tell he was looking at me, shaking his head and smiling. When we stepped out through the sliding doors and into the open air, a warm breeze caressed my face and I suddenly stopped in my tracks and realized—really realized that I was on a tropical island. I suppose I hadn’t really noticed how warm it was when I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac, because I was so focused on how I should handle those first few minutes of interaction with Luke (nailed it!), but now it was hitting me how strange it was that I had been so cold when I’d rushed into the terminal at JFK and how pleasant it was to be walking out of this one. It had been too long since I’d had that sensation. Much too long.

  It wasn’t until we were both seated and buckled up in the back of the Land Rover that I gathered up my strength to look Luke straight in the eyes. Sapphire blue. Gorgeous. Stunning. Big mistake. Huge. Now I couldn’t come up with some excuse to run away and get my shit together. I was stuck there, inches from him, sharing the same air as him, smelling his subtle cologne, hearing him breathe, and all I could do was clear my throat and look down at my phone, pretending that I had just remembered there was an important email I had to read.

  We both see
med to have the same idea—keep asking Samson run-of-the-mill touristy questions as he drove, so we didn’t have to talk to each other. His hand accidentally brushed against mine at one point, and I felt tingly all over my body. How was I supposed to get through five days of this?

  There wasn’t much of a town that we drove through, it was mostly residential. It was quiet and peaceful but still colorful, and there was just so much natural beauty. My eyes weren’t used to so much sunlight or color. It was all brick and concrete and glass where I lived and worked, and ninety-eight percent of Manhattanites wear black, grey or navy most of the time. Here, I was seeing hints of pinks and yellows and aqua blues that were somehow vibrant yet subdued at the same time—tropical island culture tamed by English culture. People were driving on the left side of the road like in England, but the steering wheel was also on the left, like in America. It was all very odd, and did nothing to ease the sensation of butterflies in my stomach.

  As we drove down the lazy highway to our secluded destination, I finally stopped yammering about touristy and businessy stuff long enough to notice the ocean to one side of us, and a long stretch of sandy beach that appeared to be deserted for miles. On the other side, there was nothing but trees.

  The gates to the estate opened slowly, and before proceeding, Samson smiled broadly as he looked back at us and said in a weird fake accent: “Welcome, to Jurassic Park!” and laughed maniacally. We stared at him, dumbfounded. He shrugged then drove ahead. “Sometimes people get the joke.”

  “I got the joke!” I exclaimed. I didn’t want Samson to think I was lame, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting him to be hilarious.

  “I got the joke too, Samson, well done.”

  He waved at us, dismissively. We had let him down, but we were both suddenly too gobsmacked to worry about Samson’s feelings or anyone’s perceptions of our lack of sense of humor—because the property we were pulling up to was completely fucking ripped-from-the-pages-of-Architectural-Digest-sensational. It wasn’t just a villa, it was a compound. Chandra Villa was a Southeast Asian-inspired luxury beachfront estate.

  We stepped out of the SUV and into an architectural oasis of honey-colored hardwood floors and wood-paneled walls and ceilings. Décor was sparse, focusing on the exquisite design of the building and views out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Towards the end of the patio was an infinity pool that looked out over a private white sand beach and the most beautiful blue ocean I had ever seen. I swear I nearly fainted. The combination of this place and Luke Mason was almost too much for me. Bucket must have used his private account to pay for this place, because I could find no record of the charges on the credit cards or checking accounts that we managed for him. I would have to remember to tell the accountant to deduct part of the cost for business expenses, since Luke and I were there for business reasons only. Was this why Bucket had invited us? Clever boy.

  “Here we are in the main house,” said Samson, as he placed our suitcases in the center of the foyer, in what he described as “the great hall.” “Here we have the dining area, kitchen where our chef prepares delicious food, living room, bar and wine room.”

  “And is there —”

  Before I’d finished my sentence, he said, “Yes there is very strong wireless internet throughout the compound, miss. Our business center offers satellite internet, so you can stay connected with anyone.”

  Was it that obvious that I was a borderline workaholic? I glanced over at Luke and saw how relieved he was to hear this news as well.

  “There are five villas off of the main house. Each villa is a private bedroom with en suite bath. You may choose which room you’d like to stay in.” He looked at us and winked.

  Luke and I both practically shouted out that we’d need separate rooms.

  “Oh yes of course, that’s what I meant,” he said, I swear there was a twinkle in his eye. “You may each choose your own separate pavilion, with the exception of the canopy suite, which is the large safari-style tent in the center of the compound. Very romantic—Mr. Buck is staying in that one and…” his voice trailed off.

  “And where is Mr. Buck? I should let him know we’re here.”

  “Mr. Buck is playing golf. Mr. Buck would like you both to join him on the patio at five-thirty for cocktails before dinner. If either of you have any food allergies would you please let me know so I can alert the chef.”

  I shake my head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Nor I. Thank you, Samson.”

  “I am, however, mildly allergic to enforced casual patio dining on tropical islands. I hope my cell phone signal is strong out there. In case I need to make some business calls on behalf of Mr. Buck during dinner.”

  “You will have all that you desire out there, mademoiselle.” He laughed.

  I felt my cheeks flush and inadvertently glanced over at Luke, who seemed to be just as amused by me as Samson was. “Right, well then. Better get to my room so I can catch up on my emails.” I grabbed the slate grey carry-on luggage by my feet and settled into the pavilion that was furthest away from the main house, hoping that Luke would choose one in the exact opposite direction. I looked back to check. He was indeed striding towards the bedroom villa on the opposite side of the compound, on the other side of the pool. Great, we’re on the same page then. We both think I’m a freak and want him to stay away from me so I don’t make any more of a fool of myself than I already have.

  At least it made it easier for me, knowing that I had blown it with Luke upfront, so we wouldn’t have to struggle with sexual tension for our entire stay here. I lay the luggage on the crisp white king size bed and looked around at the suite. It was stunning. The vaulted ceilings must have been forty feet high. The slowly-spinning wood ceiling fan contributed to the sultry environment. I needed to take a shower and change out of my New York clothes.

  I unzipped the suitcase and stared down at the jars of marmalade and box of premium extra large size condoms atop perfectly-folded clothes that were definitely not my own. Once I had realized that I had mistakenly grabbed Luke’s suitcase I thought: Ding ding ding jackpot!

  Obviously I didn’t assume that he had brought the condoms along to use with me—I was just happy for him—that he had an extra large sized penis—because he was an excellent business associate and he deserved it. I mean, as far as I knew he might have a girlfriend. Chances were very good that he did. He could be married, for all I knew. Just because he didn’t wear a wedding ring. He didn’t, right? No, I had checked. There were no rings on those long beautiful fingers. However, I decided that I should just think of him as a married business associate. My favorite married business associate with a premium extra large sized penis.

  And then I realized: He grabbed my suitcase! He’s looking through my slutty lingerie and sad expired box of regular sized condoms!

  I zipped the suitcase up and flew off with it, in the direction of Luke’s villa.

  I slowed down when I saw him standing on the patio, his hands in his pockets, my slate grey suitcase next to him. I didn’t ask him if he’d opened it and he didn’t say. I placed his suitcase down in front of him and picked up my own. He smiled—no, he grinned—and nodded at me before taking his suitcase and turning back towards his suite.

  “Are you married?” I found myself asking. I may have yelled it, because he seemed pretty startled.

  “I’m not,” he said, quite plainly, as he turned back to face me. “Are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Listen,” I said. “I mean, look, we’re here for work.”

  “Yes.”

  “We work very well together—for work—and we may have, well, a certain dynamic, shall we say —”

  “Exactly, yes.”

  “— over Skype, but now that we’re here…”

  “Agreed.”

  “Oh?”

  “Absolutely, I’m so glad you brought this up.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes, it’s
good to know you feel the same way.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is what?”

  “Which way do we both feel, exactly?”

  “That we must maintain a professional distance while we are in close proximity to each other.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Now that you’ve seen me in person you think I’m an ogre. “Exactly. Indeed.” Fine. Screw you, you’re not exactly James Bond, I’m not exactly swooning over here.

  He headed back to his pavilion. “It won’t be easy,” I heard him say. He looked over his shoulder at me, smirking.

  Shit.

  I returned to my room, closed all of the doors and windows, to make sure no one could hear me when I made my frantic call to Jackie.

  “Did you have sex with him yet?” she said when she answered.

  “No, but this is a total disaster. He’s more attractive in person and there are extra large condoms involved and also I forgot to mention to you that I told him I have a boyfriend named Haruki Potter who’s half Japanese and is out of town on electrical engineer business a lot. Don’t judge me, I need help.”

  She didn’t even laugh. “Don’t call me back until you’ve told him that you told a stupid little lie because you were scared about how devastatingly attractive he is, and he’s buggered you senseless with his king-size cock.” She hung up.

  She was right. She was always right. And I knew I’d be calling her back before any of the above happened because they probably never would.

  Natalie had sent me a text that said: All is well at the office. Stephanie Sloan called again. Told her you’re in Bahamas and can’t be disturbed. Please tell me you have sand between your toes and an umbrella drink in your hand. xx

  Bless her twenty-two year old heart. I wrote back: Umbrella drink between toes and sand in hand. Oops. Will figure this out eventually. Contact me with ANYTHING urgent, seriously. xx

  I checked my emails and decided to call a particularly neurotic client to discuss the stock market, in an attempt to get myself into an unfrisky state of mind. It almost worked. But the floral arrangement on the side table smelled so sensual. The views outside my windows were screensaver-worthy. I had intended to take a brisk cool shower to wash the airplane stank off of me, but the en suite bathroom was bigger than my entire apartment and I was mesmerized by the tiles on the shower walls. The warm water cascaded down like a waterfall; the body gel was silky and had some sexy tropical beach smell. I found myself cursing Wharton for not offering a course in How to do Business in the Bahamas While Keeping it in Your Pants. Lord knows, it would be well attended.