No Ordinary Bloke (4 page)

It only took a few seconds for the look in her eye to change from endearing disbelief to suspicious amusement. She chuckled and finally took my seat. “I have to admit you’re right about that.”

Natalie’s voice then rose from behind me. “Ms. Wright, would you care for a cocktail before dinner?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Allison brightly. “I’ll have a kir royale.”

“Certainly.” Natalie turned to me. “Another pint, Mr. Bates?”

“No, thank you.” I pointed to Allison. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

Natalie met my eye, and it was all she could do not to burst out laughing. Only her tone betrayed how funny she thought I was being for drinking a girlie champagne drink. “
Of course
,” she said slowly. “I’ll be right back.”

As Natalie walked away, Allison asked somewhat cautiously, “Do you two know each other?”

“We’re friends.” I smiled at her putting two and two together. “Given the amount of miles I travel internationally, we see each other quite often.”

“So how often do you travel?”

“I’m on the road about half the time. What about you?”

Leaning onto the table, she rubbed the back of her neck. “Traveling like this is still new for me. I got a promotion a couple of months ago. I now oversee all the human resources directors in our international offices.”

“Congratulations on the promotion. It sounds like a fantastic position.”

“Thanks. It’s been good…really good.” She looked around the cabin. “Normally, I fly business class, but my boyfriend suggested I upgrade. He said that this was too long of a flight even for that.”

As she continued talking about how he travels all the time, I noticed her voice sped up. She seemed nervous. What I had on my hands was a lovely, accomplished woman who was devoted enough to her boyfriend to feel guilty for having a casual dinner with another guy. That was why she had to bring him up the first moment she could. Little did she know she’d just made herself even more attractive. I needed to put her at ease, though, so when she stopped talking, I asked about the bloke I really had no interest in at all. “So he travels a lot as well?”

“Yeah, more than me actually.” She smiled, now clearly more comfortable when speaking openly about him. “Trey also works at Greystone.”

“Trey?” My question was calm and unassuming while my mind jumped to bad conclusions.
Please not that gent in Corporate Reorganizations.

“Trey Chabot. He works in Corp—”

“Corporate Reorganizations.”

“Exactly. How did you know?” she asked with surprise.

“I know Trey. I’ve worked on a couple of deals with him.” It wasn’t that I actively disliked him. He wasn’t the usual Wall Street type—a young buck out to prove himself or a ball buster of a woman. Twenty years my senior, he was a bit more refined than most Americans, but while he was friendly, there was something about him I never quite trusted. When we were in negotiations, he kept his cards close to his chest, and as a gambler, that indicated to me he was always thinking a few plays ahead—plays that were only in his self-interest. I also knew one other thing about him, which until now meant nothing to me.

I looked into her soft eyes and evaluated the facts. There was a beautiful girl before me. She was bright and funny, with an older boyfriend she was obviously devoted to. This boyfriend, though, was an avowed bachelor. He’d mentioned it to me early on after we met. He asked if I was married, and when I said no, he claimed quite proudly he had no use for marriage either, and I distinctly remembered that he’d said, “There are too many beautiful fish in the sea.” At the time, I’d laughed and agreed, thinking nothing more of it.

He was a distinguished looking man who never wanted for female companionship, yet now he’d supposedly settled down? I had to probe further. “I actually haven’t seen him in a while. I think we might be in the same meeting in a few weeks. There’s a deal we’re both involved in.”

“What a coincidence. I’ll have to ask Trey about you.”

“He won’t have much to say. We don’t know each other well. How long have you two been together?”

“I guess nine months or so.”

“Nine months? That’s getting serious.”

“Yeah…” She gazed at me with a bashful stare. “He says I’ve changed him.”

So there it was. She knew he was a bachelor and a ladies man before her, and she thought he was reformed. I was skeptical.

Why? Because a thief knows a thief and a player knows a player. No matter how unlikely marriage was for me, I wasn’t quite forty, so I hadn’t entirely ruled it out. I’d even admit to my mum that I was impressed with Adam and Nicki—not jealous, but impressed they were making it all work. But if I spent the next twenty years casually banging every girl who caught my fancy, I knew things wouldn’t change for me. I’d be a confirmed bachelor for the rest of my life. If you told me an accomplished bachelor nearing sixty had also found God or Buddha or something else in his life, then I might believe he was changing his life in a big way like coming out of the closet or settling down with a woman, but not without that. And didn’t I already say I didn’t quite trust the guy?

N
atalie returned at that moment with our drinks, a welcome interruption as I pondered how I felt about hitting on Trey Chabot’s bird. I didn’t mind at all, but I smiled and was polite to Allison all the same. “I’m sure you have changed him.”

“So you said you weren’t married. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No. Not at the moment.”

“You aren’t dating anyone?” She wasn’t buying it. “No one at all?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” I chuckled. “You asked if I had a girlfriend. I consider a girlfriend someone you date exclusively—someone you’re quite serious about. According to that definition, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Okay. That makes more sense.”

“What do you mean?”

She took a moment to answer, scrunching her brow like she was scrutinizing me. “Um. Yeah. I think it’s obvious.”

I smiled in appreciation that she saw me for what I was. I did wonder, though, how she could peg me for being a guy on the prowl and yet she believed what had to be bullshit from old Trey. With her usual perfect timing, Natalie appeared, asking for our dinner choices. When Natalie said she’d return with the appetizers, I absentmindedly replied, “Thank you, love” as she walked away.

About to take a sip of her drink, Allison stopped her glass in mid-air. “Did you just call her ‘love’?”

“Yes. I suppose I did.”

“So you must be good friends.”

“Well, we do happen to be good friends.” I didn’t think it was wise to elaborate just how good. “But calling her ‘love’ doesn’t mean anything. I call women that all the time.”

“Like who?”

“Everyone.” I shrugged and rattled a few off. “My maid, my cousin’s wife, my assistant, waitr—”

Her lip curled into a slight sneer. “Don’t any of them find that offensive?”

“Why ever on earth would it be offensive?” I toyed with her.

“Well, in America … especially in a professional setting … that would be seen as sexist.”

“True in the U.K. as well—in the office and the like—but not if you know the person. It’s a term of endearment, especially where I come from.”

“But it’s ‘love’. That’s a strong word.”

“Obviously, I’m not in love with my maid.”

“You have a maid? Like not just someone who cleans the house.”

“She does everything for me. Cleans, cooks, does my laundry, picks up my dry cleaning. She’s a love, but I’m not in love with her.” Allison pursed her lips in what appeared to be disapproval. It made me want to tug on her chain more. “Sometimes she wears one of those little French maid’s outfits.”

“What?!”

I snickered. “I’m just joking. My housekeeper is a sixty year old Indian woman who wears a sari. I’ve seen her midriff plenty, and I can tell you I don’t want to see her in a French maid’s outfit. She also keeps me in line. She refuses to clean if I’ve been a slob, and she only cooks what she wants, never what I request.”

“Why do you keep her if she doesn’t do what you want?”

“Because she’s far more entertaining this way.”

“So does she think it’s funny when you call her ‘love’?”

“Dunno. I call her other things as well.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s her name, Riya.”

“What else?”

“I call her everything I call all women. Love, dear, treacle, princess, darl—”

“Wait. Wait. Wait,” she said, holding up her hands to stop me. “What in the world is treacle?”

“It’s a sweet syrup, so if I call a woman treacle, it’s like an American calling someone honey.”

“I would be annoyed if a man other than my boyfriend called me honey.”

I waved the thought aside with my hand. “Now treacle, why waste your anger on me? Keep it for someone who really does you wrong.”

She smiled. “Well, when
you
say it, it is kind of sweet.”

“See, princess. I don’t mean any harm.”

“Princess?” Still smiling, she shook her head. “I’m not sure I could get used to princess.”

“Why not?” I raised my glass, but before I took a sip, I made sure I had eye contact with her and said, “You’re as pretty as a princess.”

A shyness came over her, so I added, “Like the ones who marry into the royal family—Princess Diana or Catherine. Not the inbred ones.”

Gone was the shyness, as her giggle bubbled up once again. “Thanks, but I’m no princess.”

“You’re from Iowa. Don’t they have Queens of Corn and Princesses of Poultry? I’ve heard of this.”

She laughed. “They do, but believe me. The last thing I ever wanted to be was one of those. I got out of farm country the first moment I could.”

“So what was that about?”

“It’s not very interesting,” she said with a quick shake of her head to end the discussion.

“I don’t believe that. To me, it will be fascinating. I don’t know anything about growing up on a farm in Iowa.” As Natalie arrived to refill our wine glasses, I continued, “Go on. Tell me the story of your life.”

I glimpsed at Natalie, who side-eyed me. I probably deserved it, but not with Allison. I was genuinely interested in where this pretty little creature came from.

“My life story?” Allison said in disbelief. “I don’t think anyone has ever asked me for that.”

“Start from the beginning.” I eased back, trying unsuccessfully to recline. “We’ve got all night.”

She wrinkled her nose, but after a second or two, she began. “Well, I grew up on a medium-sized farm, but I always knew I wanted to get out of there. My whole goal growing up was to get good enough grades to get a scholarship to a college out of state. I ended up going to Wellesley.”

“Wellesley? Where is that?”

“It’s a women’s college in Massachusetts.”

Swirling my wine in my glass, I raised my eyebrows. “All girls? So no boys around? I need to hear more about that.”

She frowned, though a smile cracked through. “Imagine a bunch of really smart women studying all the time, not some lesbian porno, okay?”

“Hmm. What a shame.” I smiled. “Let’s go back to the farm. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Two older brothers, Pete and Larry.”

“Where are Pete and Larry now?”

“Larry is an insurance salesman in Des Moines. He’s got two kids, and his wife works at home. Pete runs the farm with his wife and kids. He’s got three of them.”

“Did your parents retire?”

“My mom lives with Pete. My dad died when I was young. Pete’s run the farm ever since.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad.” I suppose I could’ve left it at that. Most polite people would. I really wasn’t that polite, and I was too curious to let it go. “How old were you?”

“Thirteen.” Her words became rushed. “He had a heart attack. It’s been over twenty years now. It’s seems very distant.”

As she took a drink of wine and then focused on her dinner, I wondered how many people bought that line from her. Probably old Trey let her leave things at that. Not many men are interested in slogging through a woman’s emotional issues—me included. What Allison said made her different.