Exotic Nights

He had his jeans on and was still pressing buttons. ‘In New York, it’s nine a.m. and my client needs help right now.’

‘But it’s Saturday.’ He wouldn’t even look at her.

‘No such thing as Saturdays, not for me. I have to get back right away.’

But what about the wedding? Devastated, she envisaged the hours to come. But she wasn’t going to remind him. He’d probably had too much to drink to even remember. The idea of him being her date had only ever been a joke. Except her family knew. Everyone knew. She was on the train to humiliation central.

She drew her knees up. Face it, she was already there. Mortification spread over her skin and she was glad it was dark and her blush hidden. He could hardly wait to leave her. Silently, quickly, he found his top, pulling it over his head. His mind had already left the building.

Frowning at the screen, he spoke. ‘Give me your number.’

He was taking the control—not giving her his details, but trying to make her feel better. As if he’d ever call.

‘Bella.’ He spoke sharply. ‘Tell me your number.’

She recited it, with a cold heart and a determined mind.

He nodded, still pressing buttons. ‘I’ll call you.’

He made it sound sincere. But she knew for a fact he wouldn’t.

Thirteen hours and no sleep later, Bella watched Vita and Hamish walk around the beach wearing their cheesy flip-flops that left ‘Just Married’ imprinted in the sand. She really wished she had a hangover. That way she could blame the whole escapade on booze. Say she’d been blind drunk and shrug the thing off with the insouciance of an ingénue.

But while she was aching, the pain wasn’t in her head—it was deep inside her chest and she tried to tell herself it wasn’t really that bad. Fact was, she’d never had a one-night stand before. She’d had boyfriends that hadn’t lasted long—OK, so all three of her ex-boyfriends would fall into that category. But she’d never had a fling that lasted less than ten hours … And she’d gone and done it in front of her entire family—who thought she was a hopeless case already. What had she been thinking?

And there was Celia, hangin

g on the arm of Rex, flashing victorious glances her way at every opportunity. Thank goodness he hadn’t arrived until this morning and hadn’t been witness to last night too. And now everyone was thinking she couldn’t hang onto anyone—not the fabulously suitable accountancy star that was Rex or the laid-back, coolly casual sex god that was Owen. Thank heavens her father had spent the night talking business with his brothers—hopefully he wouldn’t have heard a thing about it.

She felt a prickle inside as she saw the sheer joy on her sister’s face. Maybe Owen had been right—she was a little jealous. But who wouldn’t want to be loved like that? And little sister Vita seemed to have it all—she’d been the one to embrace the family profession—as all four of their elder brothers had. Vita had been the one able to do everything the way the family wanted. Even down to marrying one of the partners in the firm. She’d worked really hard to get her degree and her charter. And to cap it off, she was nice. She deserved to be happy.

But Bella worked hard too. Damn hard. Didn’t she deserve to be happy? Didn’t she deserve some respect too?

She was jealous. How nice it would be to have someone look at her the way Hamish looked at Vita. To have the career and the lover. But she’d yet to get the job she wanted, and she couldn’t even have a one-night stand last the whole night.

As if Owen had really had to get up and go to work at three in the damn morning? On a Saturday. He’d probably programmed his phone to buzz then and the talk of the client in New York was just for believability. It was probably his standard modus operandi—enabling him to make that quick escape and avoid the awkward morning-after scene.

The morning after had been unbearably awkward for Bella. And it wasn’t just because of the questioning looks of the younger members of the family—the ones who’d been in the restaurant last night. She’d gone to Reception and asked which room ‘Owen’ was staying in—only to be told there was no Owen staying at all. And no Owen had checked out recently either. Then she’d asked to check her tab, bracing herself for a huge bill from the bar. But she found it had been paid in full, including the accommodation cost. She’d asked whose name was on the card—but apparently whoever it was had paid in cash.

It had been him—she was sure of it. What was he doing—paying for services rendered?

She stood, brushed the sand from the horrendous dress. She wasn’t going to sit around and be the object of mockery or pity any more—and certainly not her own self-pity either. It was time for action. Things were going to have to change.

CHAPTER FIVE

A LOT could happen in three weeks and a day. Life-changing decisions could be made and the resulting plans put into action. And it was too late for regrets now. Bella had finally pushed herself out of the nest—and it was time to see if she could fly. Thus far, she was succeeding barely on a day-by-day basis.

The minute she’d got back from that hellish weekend she’d moved out of her father’s home in Auckland and down to Wellington. Movies were made there. There were theatres. It was the arts hub. She’d found a tiny flat quite easily. Above another flat where a couple lived. It was in the shade of a hill and was a little damp, but it would do. She hadn’t wanted to flat-share. She was going independent—all the way.

Because she’d finally had the shove she needed. And it wasn’t ambition. It was one humiliation too many. If she ever saw Owen again she’d have to thank him. His was the boot that had got her moving. The smug sideways glances of Celia, the questions in her perfect sister’s eyes at the reception. Bella had explained that he’d had to leave for work. It had sounded lame even to her. When they’d asked what he did, where he worked, she’d only been able to parrot the vague answers that he’d given her.

She didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into him ever again. It would have been just her luck that he’d have come into the café where she’d worked in central Auckland.

So now she worked at a café in central Wellington. The manager of that branch of the chain had jumped at the chance to hire someone already trained, and with so much experience she could step in as deputy manager any time he needed. And she’d started children’s party entertaining here too. She’d had a couple of recommendations from contacts in Auckland and today’s supreme effort had ensured a booking for her second party already. Several other parents had asked for her card at the end of it too. It wasn’t exactly glam work, but she was good at it.

But then there was the lecherous uncle. There was always one. The younger brother of the mother, or the cousin of the father, who fancied a woman in a fairy dress. He’d cornered her as she was packing up her gear.

‘Make my wish come true. Have dinner with me.’