by Haley Oliver
"Where is that cutie pie, anyway?" Amanda asks as Jane flops down onto my bed. I go to pour us a few glasses of expensive water out of the pitcher the bellboy brought around for me.
"Who, Daniel?" I ask distractedly.
Jane barks a laugh and sits up suddenly, eyes shining as bright as the crystalline green waters outside. "That's definitely not who Amanda meant, Valerie!"
I nearly drop the glasses I'm carrying. "Oh, Henry! I meant Henry!" I protest, far too late to save myself. Jane side-eyes me hard as I deliver her water. I momentarily consider purposefully spilling it all down her front to try and distract the room from my immense error. I contain my rash impulses, though.
"Right. Henry," the redhead repeats in an utterly unconvinced tone.
"Oh, there he is!" Amanda is out on the balcony and the subliminal half of our conversation seems to have gone right over her head, bless her. I join her outdoors, pass her a glass of water, and look down. I see a tiny figure splashing around in the pool with the other children. I'd recognize that unruly mop of blond hair anywhere. I also may or may not have helped him pick out his Spider-man water wings. "Shouldn't you be down there with him?" Amanda asks curiously.
"Oh, let the girl take a break!" Jane calls from the other room. "That's what lifeguards are for."
I laugh. "Daniel's down there with him." I point to the handsome figure leaning in the shade of a palm tree talking to one of the poolside waiters. The distance helps a little in obscuring the sculpted, completely distracting muscles of his naked torso. Of course he's already catching a tan, I think as I let my eyes linger. I have no doubt that Daniel Sway could catch the moon if he wanted to. He wouldn't even have to sweet talk it; he'd just draw it right in with that smile. He has a knack for shaping the world around him. Sometimes, I think I might be the only one who realizes how hard he still works for it all. But I think, too, that Daniel underestimates his natural innate ability to charm the world... sometimes.
"Okay. This I gotta see for myself." Jane joins us on the balcony and squints. "Wow. That's him all right. What did you do, Valerie?"
"Me?" I confess I don't always follow Jane's train of thought. Then again, it's not much of a confession. Amanda has admitted to feeling the same way on more than one occasion. Usually we're just along on the Jane Train for the ride.
Jane shakes her head to further confirm her disbelief. "Yeah. You, Blondie. I'm talking about you. Gabe has expressed his concern on more than one occasion that Daniel isn't prepared for real fatherhood. Yet, you seem to have whipped him into shape."
"How much has he told you?" I press. The girls look at me curiously, and I realize it's out of character for me to press about anything. But now that I've opened this can of worms, I find that it's not so easy for me to shut it again. "I mean... Gabe. How much has he told you about Daniel and Henry?"
"Not a lot," Jane admits. "I mean, I still don't know what the deal is with Henry's mother. Do you?"
I shake my head. "I don't know anything. Nothing, except..." I trail off, and glance down again. Daniel is crouched by the side of the pool speaking to his son, apparently giving him a lesson on how to tread water. As I watch, Daniel decides it isn't enough to explain the technique. He jumps into the pool in a great cascade of water. A wave washes over Henry's head and carries him back toward the wall. I can hear the delighted ringing of his bell-like laugh all the way up here.
"I think Henry's mother passed away," I admit.
The girls stare at me, aghast. "Recently?" Amanda wonders aloud.
I shake my head. "From what I've gathered, Henry was in the foster care system before coming to live with Daniel. And..." I'm suddenly at a loss of words, wondering how to articulate my suspicion. "... and I don't think Daniel knew he had a son. I think information was kept from them both." It's the only thing that makes sense to me. Henry's mother must have told Henry stories about his father, considering how often he remarks on some of Daniel's lesser qualities. But how, and when?
"I can't believe it." Jane sinks into one of the chairs on deck.
"If Daniel knew about his son sooner, I would have known about him, too," I state. "I would have seen Henry's name in his schedule. I would have met him. I'm his secretary."
"You're more than that," Amanda says. "Valerie, you're probably the person closest in the world to that man."
"You're closer to him that his brothers," Jane volunteers. "Seriously, Valerie. Don't shake that pretty little head of yours at me. You are like a Godsend for that boy and his dad. I'm just glad Daniel is finally waking up to the fact that he needs you."
"He doesn't need me." My denial sounds surprisingly abrupt. I blink, and realize I'm gazing down at the pool again. I watch as Daniel lifts himself out and shakes the water from his hair like a dog. Then, out of nowhere, he looks up. He's too far away to tell if, or when, our eyes meet, but I feel a jolt all the same. My breathing suddenly becomes shallow, almost as if I've forgotten this most basic human process.
As if Daniel Sway has made me forget.
What the heck is the matter with you? The voice in my head chastises me as I return Daniel's faraway wave. I'm aware that both Jane and Amanda are watching me, a fascinated audience to this exchange. Daniel pantomimes something, and I crane over the balcony to try and get a better idea of what he wants. He crosses to his chair by the pool and picks up a small, sliver-thin object that fits in the palm of his hand. He holds it up to his ear, and then away again. I comply and go to retrieve my phone.
"Are you seeing this, Amanda?" Jane mock-whispers as they come back out. "They have their own language."
"Telepathy," Amanda agrees reverently. "Please tell me you have this particular skill set outlined on your resume, Valerie. I'm sure future employers will find you as indispensable as Daniel does."
"Cut it out you two." Daniel's calling. I lift my phone to my ear. "Enjoying yourself?" I ask him.
"You girls enjoying the view up there?" he fires back at me without missing a beat.
"I've seen better." I shoot a glance at my fellow secretaries, who both cover their mouths to mute any laughter. I assume they can pick up the gist of the conversation.
"You're complete and total dishonesty aside, I need you to clear my schedule for tonight. And yours."
"Last I checked, you had nothing going on." I move back inside the room and flip open my day planner, or rather, my "Sway planner". "Yep. Looks like you're all clear."
"And what about you?"
"I'm sure the girls can take Henry for a few hours this evening." I glance back out at the balcony, and Jane gives me the thumbs-up. Amanda looks radiantly pleased at the suggestion. I can't help but wonder how long it will be before that girl's a mother. She's always looking after everyone but herself.
I turn my head back into my cell. "Why? What's going on?"
"Last-minute meeting," he says cavalierly. "And I'm going to need you there with me to take a few notes. Mainly, I just need you around to signal me if I start to embarrass myself. You know, the usual."
"What? Really?"
"You didn't think I just came to Tahiti to play around in the pool, did you?" Daniel laughs, and I flush. That's exactly what I had been thinking. "Business relationships don't end when the sun comes out."
"All right. I'll pen it in. Where and when do you want to meet?"
"Tonight at seven. The hotel bar restaurant seems like a good place. They have a nice outdoor area... think you can swing it?"
"Of course," I reply without an instant's hesitation."
"Love that pride of yours," Daniel says. "And I love when you put it to work for me. See you at seven."
"I'll be there at six-thirty," I reply, as a huge grin spreads across my face. I hang up on his knowing chuckle, and stare at my phone for a minute, smiling, heart pumping hard in my chest. I have no idea why. All Daniel needs is for me to set up a dinner meeting. Is it me, or is our banter starting to progress in... some newfound direction? Maybe Henry's influence is what's relaxing me in recen
t days.
But if I'm less uptight, then why, oh why, do I feel so winded all of a sudden?
"What was that about?" Jane prods as the girls come back inside form the balcony. She plops onto the bed and stretches back propping her head on her bent arm like we're middle schoolers gossiping at a sleepover. "Or dare I ask who?"
"Just Daniel wanting me to arrange our dinner tonight," I reply. I pick up the room phone to dial down to the restaurant. "You guys don't mind watching Henry for a bit, do you?"
"Of course not," Amanda assures me. "But Valerie... do you realize what you just said?"
"He asked you to dinner?" Jane repeats.
I shake my head. I'm pretty sure my friends are willfully ignoring reality at this point. "A business dinner. It's work-related," I reply. "Hello, yes, a dinner reservation for... four, please. For tonight at six-thirty. Yes, outside works wonderfully. For Daniel Sway. Thank you."
I hang up and continue to ignore the looks I'm getting. Just because love is in the air in Tahiti for one secretary and her boss does not mean it exists around every conceivable corner.
There's one thing I have to admit to myself, though. I'm looking forward to seeing Daniel tonight.
Chapter Eight
Daniel
Valerie arrives at the hotel restaurant at six-twenty. I've been seated at the bar for over an hour already, enjoying an oft-interrupted conversation with the bartender, and furthering my enjoyment of the evening by basking in the knowledge that I've already beaten my secretary to the punch. She's not the only one with a working concept of punctuality. I can be punctual, when I'm interested.
When there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
That being said, I almost don't recognize her when she walks through the door. My eyes are immediately drawn to the blonde bombshell, but the biggest bombshell is realizing that it's Valerie in that sleek, ruby red dress. Where did she get that?
I'm only able to rouse myself from staring when I realize half the assembled dinner guests are doing the same... most of them men, and most of them already on dates of their own.
Not that this is a date.
I watch as she ingratiates herself with the hostess. Her gorgeous smile, framed by a new and brighter shade of lipstick than what I'm used to seeing her in, is sure to win the hearts of the wait staff here. It's doing a number on mine. She is led outside to our table, and I turn back to the bartender. "Looks like my date's here."
Again—this is not a date. But I can't resist planting the idea in every head within earshot. The bartender, who has worn the same nonplussed expression all night and appears to have seen it all, lifts an eyebrow in disbelief.
"I'm filthy rich," I say by way of explanation.
"Uh-huh." He still doesn't sound convinced, and I have to bottle up my laugh for a later time. I accept my check, tip exorbitantly, and don't look back as I make my way out to the patio to join Valerie.
"You got a tan," she notes as she rises from her chair.
"No need to rise," I tease her. She looks down, realizes her impulsive move, and blushes. "At least let me be the gallant gentleman," I say, taking her hand and kissing it. I think I surprise us both with the impulse. I shoot a surreptitious glance in the direction of the bar before guiding Valerie back into her seat.
"You're early," she says approvingly. She seems strangely unable to take her eyes off me for a moment, but I feel the same. When she realizes our shared gaze has gone a bit longer than usual, she glances around the patio of the restaurant. Bright orange flames dance inside torches staked into the ground around the perimeter of the tables, lending a greater air of security and mystery than any candlelit dinner at a restaurant in the city. A warm breeze flutters the strings of fairy lights twinkling overhead, and ruffles the gentle waves of Valerie's golden hair draped over one shoulder. She looks at me expectantly, and I realize she's just asked me a question.
"Huh?" I say brilliantly.
"I said, who are we expecting this evening?" She pulls out a pen and notepad and taps its leather cover expectantly. I chuckle, reaching across the table to push her instruments back down toward her purse.
"Nobody. It's just us."
"But…" Her brow furrows. "You said this was a business meeting?"
"It is, in a way. Today is our three-year anniversary," I tell her. I raise an eyebrow at her obvious astonishment. "Don't tell me you've forgotten?"
"I... w-what anniversary?" she stammers. "What are you talking about?"
"You think I'm pulling your leg, or trying to get a rise out of you," I note.
Valerie glares at me, but her icy stare is hopelessly thawed by her sideways twitch of a smile.
"It's the three-year anniversary of us working together." Since she isn't making any moves to celebrate, I lean across the table to pour her a glass of chilled white wine.
"I see," Valerie says. She stares at her glass, baffled, then up at me with her gorgeous doe eyes. I want to laugh as much as I want to reassure her. In this moment, she looks completely taken aback and unsure how to conduct herself. Even the angle of her elbows is suddenly awkward, as if she's forgotten how to use them while I'm watching.
"Relax, Val. I'm simply treating you to a nice dinner this evening in celebration. Two of whatever entrée your heart desires. That's how you operate, right?"
She laughs, and I know I'm forgiven for springing this surprise on her. If anything, her flustered demeanor signals to me how touched she really is.
Valerie is a fascinating woman. I've never been able to quite disentangle her words and her quirks, but that certainly hasn't stopped me from trying these past three years—perhaps more so lately. I lift my glass to her in toast, and she joins me, unable to suppress that gorgeous, incandescent smile, and I'm blessed to see those dimples emerge. "To three more years," I say. "And then, hopefully, three more after that."
"Lucky number three," she agrees.
"And here's to learning more about one another," I add. "But here's also to inexhaustible mystery."
"Were you at the bar already before I got here?" Valerie jokes.
"What makes you think so?"
"You're acting strange. Also, the bartender keeps looking over here. He's so distracted I actually saw him drop a glass earlier. And that man looks like a pro."
"You're a distracting woman," I reply. The waitress arrives just then to take our order, saving me from having to answer for my conversational crimes. She doesn't save Valerie from blushing in full view, though. My chest balloons in pride as I watch her. I strike again when our waitress leaves. "So why do you order two of everything?" I inquire.
Now Valerie's face turns an interesting shade of pale. Then she laughs, high and tight. "I didn't this time, though?"
"That doesn't change the fact that you usually do," I reply. "Two entrees, two scones with your coffee, more than two ice cream cones from the park… although I know the reason behind that one. Thank you, by the way, for always thinking of me."
"I don't always think of you," Valerie grumbles.
I bark a laugh at her response. "You're avoiding my question. That's another thing you always do."
"You're infur—argh!" she exclaims articulately.
I lift my glass in toast. She knows I've got her. She can either prove me right by avoiding the question at hand, or she can consent to a different defeat by telling me more about herself.
"… I always order two of everything because that's what I've always done," she says finally. She won't meet my eyes, and I wonder if I've crossed a line somehow by wanting to know more about her. The last thing I want is to hurt her.
"A quirk?" Perhaps I should back away from this line of questioning, but something spurs me on. If I don't try and break past Valerie's defenses now, I might not ever find the courage, or the right situation, in which to try again. Funny how I find this woman more daunting than any of the other daring, thrill-seeking pastimes I seek out.
I'm dying to know what Valerie is thinking. That's why I press her no
w, and press her always, I realize. I go out of my way to try and catch her off-guard because that's the only way I stand a real chance of getting to know her.
She pushes her straw around her drink. "When I... when I was younger, we weren't exactly well-off financially. There wasn't always a lot of food readily available to me and my siblings."
The noisy world of the restaurant seems to muffle and mute around us as the world closes in on our table. Suddenly, all of my awareness is completely devoted to the beautiful, unfathomable woman sitting across from me.
"You grew up hungry," I say. I want her to know that although I can't speak from personal experience, it isn't a completely foreign concept to me.
"I mean, we never starved," Valerie says quickly. "But there were nights we went to bed with empty bellies. Well, me mostly. As the oldest it was my responsibility to care for the younger ones. I tried to ensure they at least had a little something to eat…"
Even if it meant she went hungry. She didn't say it, but she didn't have to. I knew her at least well enough to know that she assumed responsibility that wasn't even hers to take on.
"And there were a few times I would come home and Mom had forgotten to buy groceries. So I... as soon as I was old enough to date, I formed the habit of taking home half the food I ordered to share with the others. I guess eventually that turned into ordering multiples of everything. Nothing ever got thrown out or went to waste. School lunches, snacks given out on field trips…there were always hungry mouths..." Valerie trails off, blushes, and is suddenly riveted by her drink. I stare at her in wonder, but realize too late she's misinterpreted my attention. "Anyway. This isn't exactly the uplifting anniversary small talk you were probably hoping for."
"Actually, it's exactly what I was hoping for—the opposite of small talk," I reply. "Valerie, believe me when I tell you I will seize any excuse to get to know you better."
She smiles secretly to herself. "That's your personality type, all right. You're a real go-getter when it comes to seizing opportunities, Sway."
"That has nothing to do with this," I reply. She looks up quickly, and I realize my tone, while not defensive, also contained a note of something... more sincere. I hold her gaze, drawn to the compelling gold flecks in her eyes.
