Unstoppable: A Sweet Romance (Jersey Girls Book 2)

by Lisa-Marie Cabrelli

  No one said a word, and the door clicked open and Maureen walked in.

  16

  Mo’s Gonna Go

  The air in the apartment felt thick when Maureen came back up the stairs with Brad’s card. She didn’t care. As she helped clear the dishes, she felt like she was floating across the room about a foot off the ground, just like in her dreams of flying. She couldn't believe she had been so brave. It was clear that Brad valued spontaneity, and she had been the only one in the room who could throw caution to the wind and agree to go on a trip, just like that—and not just any trip, but an amazing trip on a boat on the ocean in another country. She had been hoping for a request for a phone number, but instead, she got a vacation invitation. This evening could not have gone better.

  Since she had returned upstairs, no one in the room had said a word. Nandita hadn't even left the couch as they all pitched in to help clear the table and load the dishwasher. Why were they all so quiet?

  The coffee cup in Maureen’s hands rattled on the saucer, and she quickly moved to the sink to put it down. No matter how hard she tried to build a wall around her doubts, reality was starting to make an unwelcome appearance. A boat? Who was she kidding? Maureen hated boats! She was terrified of the water and had never been on a plane. Claire must have noticed she was rattled, because an arm appeared around her and pulled her in.

  Maureen grabbed the hand on her shoulder and turned to Claire.

  “Who am I kidding, Claire? I can’t go on that trip!”

  “What do you mean you can’t go on the trip, you dumbo?” Sally was lounged across the large living room sofa, trying to catch Tod every time he walked by. She wanted a foot rub. Sally’s rules: she cooked and everyone else cleaned, but Sally’s cooking just involved removing takeout from cartons to create as many dirty plates as possible. It was an uneven deal.

  “Don’t call her a dumbo.” Claire squeezed Maureen’s shoulder.

  Maureen felt her feet firmly on the ground now as, in the safety of the company of her friends, Magnificent Mo took herself home and Mousy Maureen was left to pick up the pieces.

  “I can’t, Sally. How can I? I hate the water, I’m scared of boats… oh hell, I’m scared of everything.” What had she been thinking? This trip was a disaster waiting to happen.

  “I’ll go,” Nandita mumbled.

  Satish suddenly appeared at her side. “You should go, Maureen,” he announced as he carried the last pile of plates from the table. “I told you I wanted to talk to you tonight, remember? The reason was so I could tell you that you should take a little break.” Maureen caught Claire shooting Satish a confused look.

  “A break? You mean you’re not accepting my resignation?” The room stopped to listen.

  Satish laughed, “I never assumed you meant to quit, Maureen. If you had stayed in my office long enough, you would have heard that I secured you a promotion with Ron.”

  Maureen turned to him in confusion. "Ron is hiring a secretary, though. That's not a promotion."

  "You're right: he is hiring a secretary. He is also hiring a project lead for his billing analytics project, though, and he wants to hire you."

  Maureen flushed with excitement. "You mean that project you had me working on? That's going forward? I'm going to lead it? Oh my gosh, Satish, that's great! Thank you so much. Wow! I definitely can't go away, now." She felt a surge of relief.

  There was no need to be Magnificent Mo, anymore; she could just head back to work and bury herself in this project. She wouldn't have to get on a plane or a boat, and she wouldn't have to try and get some man who was way out of her league to like her. She rushed to Satish and, to his surprise, gave him a big hug.

  "Thank you! I am so sorry for the way I acted in your office. I promise I'll make you proud." She turned to the rest of the group. "Well, I can't go on the trip now, right?"

  Nandita stood from the couch. "Well, we can't all refuse. That would be rude. I'll go."

  Satish walked to his sister and pushed her back down to the couch. “The thing is, Maureen, the project has been delayed for one… no, two weeks. It's been delayed for two weeks.” He shrugged, “So it’s the perfect time for you to take a break. I think you should go on this vacation. After everything you've been through, I think it would be good for you."

  He exchanged another look with Claire, who shook her head slightly.

  “Really?” asked Maureen.

  Sally appeared at her other elbow. “You can do it, Mo,” she said. “What kind of person would turn down a trip to the Bahamas when all you have to pay for is your flight?”

  “A crazy person,” said Nandita from behind Satish.

  “That’s right,” Satish joined in, “you should go. You can have a nice break and come back refreshed and ready to take Telco by storm.”

  Maureen looked up at Claire, who smiled. “You don’t need to listen to anyone else.” She shot Satish a look across the room. “You just need do what you think is right. Remember, though: it’s just a trip. If you don’t like it, or if anything goes wrong, you can just come home. Or, if you want me to, I will come get you.”

  Maureen slipped her hand into her pocket and took out Brad’s card. Their hands had touched briefly when he handed to her, and she could have sworn she felt a little jolt of electricity. This all had to be a sign.

  She had a new fantastic job, and a handsome man had invited her on vacation. Maybe it was because she had tried to be Magnificent Mo and it had worked. Now she had the opportunity of a lifetime ahead of her and her instinct was to bury herself in her cube. Well, her instincts had never served her well before; maybe now was the time to ignore them. Maybe now was the time to be brave.

  She would go to the Bahamas. What could possibly go wrong?

  17

  Better In the Bahamas

  Stephen Caldwell stood outside the arrivals gate at the Nassau airport, pissed off and sweating. He knew it wasn’t his job to pick up some rich jerk’s rich girlfriend, but Captain Don had insisted he get off the boat. He had made Ginny cry this morning, and although he felt sorry for that, he didn’t think it was his fault. When there was work to be done, there was work to be done, and flirting off the back of the yacht with some drunk guys in Bermuda shorts carrying shots of Jägermeister in holders around their necks wasn’t going to get the boat cleaned.

  “You need to get out of here for a while, Stephen, and remember: you can’t act like this when the guests are around. The first mate is a good guy.” Don had steered him toward the steps leading down to the dock and handed him the keys to his van.

  “If I’m going, I’m taking my car,” Stephen had snarled, and Don had looked at him, appalled.

  “I don’t think so, buddy. You’re taking the van. Do you have a brain?”

  Now he was standing on the hot pavement, in a hot mood, being jostled by limo guys holding signs with names scribbled on them in an uneven hand. Fat tourists struggling with coats, peeling off winter layers, and picking at their jeans kept coming up to him, asking him for directions. What did he look like, a freaking welcome center? He didn’t know why that asshole, Brad, couldn’t just come down to the airport and pick up his own damn girlfriend.

  Captain Don had told him to make a sign for “Mo Stockton,” but Stephen wasn’t going to stand around, holding a sign like some idiot. Why should he, anyway? Mo Stockton would be easy to spot: she would be tall, blond, made up to the nines, and dripping in jewels. Stephen had seen enough society girls to pick one out of a crowd in seconds. Hell, once upon a time, he had picked one out of the crowd for himself.

  Don’t go there, dude, he warned himself. He was already pissed off enough.

  Anyway, here she was. A tall, blond woman was headed toward him, tanned and smiling. She was already flirting, giving him a little wink. The girl was perfectly dressed for the eighty-five-degree sun and totally looking the part of Brad Henderson’s girlfriend. He tried to muster a smile for her, but he just didn’t have it in him. He did push himself off the p
ost he had been leaning on and headed toward her, getting ready to put on his customer service face. She walked past him, though, and he watched in surprise as she fell right into the arms of a huge Bahamian dude who looked at him sideways when he stared at her in confusion.

  “Problem, man?” The Incredible Hulk took a step toward him.

  “No problem,” Stephen said, trying to look casual by leaning back against the pole. He missed by a few inches and stumbled backward, though, grabbing for it as he lost his balance. He just caught himself, and the guy grinned and walked away, his arm thrown casually around not Mo Stockton’s shoulders.

  Twenty minutes later, he was still standing on the pavement, jiggling the keys of Don’s van. He was sneaking surreptitious glances at the luggage tags as the excited vacationers trailed past him. He saw a few stamped “EWR,” but they were dwindling. Where was she? There were a few folks standing around, waiting for pickups, but she didn't seem to be among them.

  He caught the eye of a middle-aged guy surrounded by five jumpy kids, all under the age of ten, and gave the exhausted man a sympathetic nod of the head. There was a pretty, young girl loitering outside the exit doors, looking flushed and nervous, but she most certainly wasn't who he was looking for—way too naturally gorgeous.

  Wait, hadn’t he seen her once, already? He had. He remembered, because she had caught his attention. She was tiny with piles of brown curls on top of her head and huge, gorgeous, brown eyes. He smiled at her outfit, which was classic, what-I-think-I-should-wear-when-I-go-on-vacation-to-the-Bahamas. Her white, linen capris were topped by a cropped, striped-blue boater’s top that exposed a toned midriff—slightly risqué for such a sweet-looking girl.

  He watched her as she surreptitiously pulled a pair of glasses out of her purse. She put them on, her brown eyes magnified, looked around, and caught his eye. He felt a slight jolt deep in his stomach as her lips formed into a smile and she tucked away her glasses, picked up her bag, and headed toward him. He looked behind him in nervous confusion. Nope, there was nobody there. Was she smiling at him?

  “I’ve been looking for you forever. Where have you been?” He started to shake his head at her, but felt a little dizzy at the movement, so he stopped. It had been so long since he had noticed another woman, let alone one who made him nervous. He didn’t like it one bit.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss,” he grunted. “I’m waiting for someone.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise and apology, and she took a step back, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were here to pick me up. I apologize—I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  He pushed down his desire to apologize to her and scoffed. “Why would you think I was here to pick you up?”

  She flushed red as she pointed a shaking finger at the name “Lauren Belle” embroidered in flowery script over the pocket of his crisp white shirt. “Brad told me to look for that name. I’m Mo Stockton.”

  This was Mo Stockton? She didn't look like a society girl. How could she be the girlfriend of someone like Brad? He felt a wave of tired disdain wash over him. What was wrong with these women? Why did they always pick the bad boy? Come on, Stephen, you know why, he laughed at himself. The bad boy has lots of money and girls like money more than kindness. At least, that was his experience. How disappointing that this girl was just the same as the plastic Barbie he had expected.

  "Well, come on, then," he said to Maureen, "let's get you back to your boyfriend." He stormed off toward the yacht van, his headache pounding against his skull. This job sucked.

  18

  Lovely Day for a Drive

  Maureen refused to let some rude employee start this adventure on the wrong foot. Once she had managed to convince this guy, Stephen, that she was who she said she was, he had grunted again, grabbed her bag, and stormed off toward the parking lot. She skipped after him, smiling. How could you be stressed in this environment? The sun was shining in a cloudless blue sky and she could feel the ever-present warmth penetrating her air-conditioning-chilled skin. It was glorious. She wished for shorter sleeves and wondered if the sexy boater’s top Sally had forced upon her was the wrong choice. Plus, her linen pants were so wrinkled from the plane that she looked like she was wearing an accordion around her hips.

  They headed toward a white van with the name "Lauren Belle" emblazoned on the side of it in the same swirling script this guy had printed on his shirt. Fancy. Speaking of fancy, this guy may be an ass, but what a looker! Her mind had been squarely on Brad since she got on the plane, but now she found herself distracted by the man in front of her.

  Where Brad was tall, dark, slim and perfectly put together, this guy looked more like a sailor, which made sense, since he was a sailor. He had a broad, strong back and his biceps strained against the white, cotton short sleeves of his polo shirt, which was tucked in around a very trim waist, and embarrassingly, Maureen couldn't take her eyes off his butt. It was a great butt. He turned to check on her, and his blond hair dropped into his eyes—what eyes they were! Brad's eyes were lovely, of course, in a sweet, chocolate brown, but the blue of this guy’s eyes was pretty intense. Her breath hitched and she doubled her pace. He was obviously eager to get moving.

  Stephen chucked her carry-on into the back of the white van. “Back seat’s filled with supplies, so you can ride in the front.” He got in and started it up without even waiting for her to open the passenger door.

  Were employees supposed to be so rude? Wasn’t he customer facing or something? She climbed into the black leather seat, wincing as the heat came through the thin linen of her pants. She hoped she wasn’t making sweat stains.

  “Yeah, it’ll be hot. I didn’t park in the shade, because I didn’t expect to have to wait such a long time.” Was he complaining about waiting for her? Seriously? She had seen him standing there for about fifteen minutes before she had the nerve to get close enough to read his shirt. Wasn’t he supposed to be looking for her?

  She decided to ignore his verbal dig and focus on these gorgeous surroundings. They had exited the airport and were now turning around a large traffic circle and onto a wide highway lined with luscious palm trees and what looked like miles of wild, tropical greenery on both sides.

  “Does the whole island look like this?” she asked as she rolled down her window to take deep gulps of the warm, scented air. Stephen just snorted. She looked over, but it was clear that he had no intention of answering her.

  His face was screwed up into a look of scorn that had been present since she had approached and spoken to him—so different from the soft, handsome face she had noticed when she was watching him from the airport door. She hadn't been the only one who had noticed, either: he had seemed blind to the admiring stares of practically every female who had passed him. More than one of them had even had the nerve to say "hello," but he had looked straight through them all.

  They turned left from the main road, and as they crested a hill, the ocean appeared in front of them. Maureen gasped. One time, when she was a teenager, she had taken her book outside to read and had fallen asleep. She'd woken up disoriented and staring at an unending expanse of bright blue sky. For a moment, she'd wondered if she'd died and that this impossible expanse of blue was the afterlife, just floating in blue. Her first glimpse of the Bahamian ocean brought that moment back to her in a flash.

  It was the bluest blue she had ever seen. Small, gentle waves were slipping over the white sand, and she could just catch the sound of their whispering through the noise of the warm air rushing through the open window. She felt a swelling in her chest and surprised herself when emotion caused her voice to catch.

  “It’s incredible,” she had forgotten she was supposed to be ignoring him.

  “What, you’ve never seen the ocean before?” He downshifted the van as they turned onto the coastal road. She didn't miss his sarcasm, but for a minute, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the expanse of beauty.

  When she glanced over and saw his smirk, she caught he
rself wilting a bit in her seat. “Yeah, I have. I mean, I grew up in New Jersey and I don’t think you can compare the Point Pleasant view of the Atlantic with this—not that there is anything wrong with Point Pleasant,” she added defensively. “It’s a gorgeous place.”

  “Never said it wasn’t.” Stephen fiddled with the radio for a few seconds as it blasted through the cab loudly before he turned it off. “What about the charm of the rocky beaches of the Mediterranean? Does it even compare to others?”

  “I haven’t seen any other beaches,” Maureen said. “I've never been out of New Jersey before—except to New York once or twice.”

  Stephen gave her a strange look and then turned his attention back to the road as a large pothole loomed in front of them.

  They stayed silent for the rest of the drive, but Maureen didn’t feel uncomfortable. She was so intent on drinking in every second of this experience that she didn’t want small talk—especially grumpy small talk—to distract her.

  They passed large, oceanfront houses and small, restaurant shacks advertising conch salad and sky juice. Whatever sky juice was, she decided, she wanted to taste it. They passed a large community of pastel-colored houses across from the ocean fronted by a shopping center called Sandyport. Maureen could see a warren of blue canals and a ton of boats moored on private docks. What would it be like to be able to pop into your boat and be on the ocean in just a few minutes?

  A stretch of huge hotels appeared around them, some of which looked unfinished. They turned inland for a while, and Maureen lost sight of the ocean. The signs said “Bahamar,” and Maureen was about to ask Stephen why it looked so empty, but she decided she would ask Brad later. She had been keeping a log of things to ask him, anyway—one of her “Make Every Man Want You” tips was to “be interested in everything about him,” so she was making a list.