I hate myself for lying to her to trick her into coming to the marina, and I hate even more that our little fuckfest is over, but I have no other choice.
Ideally, between Lord Alec and Ted Polansky and Mason Sharp, Blair will soon be too distracted by eligible men to even remember my name. I don’t like the idea of her getting passed around amongst them like a tray of goddamn hors d’oeuvres, but that’s not my business, is it? My business is to make matches. There’s no reason for me to feel conflicted about it. She’s nothing to me but a piece of ass.
I feel a buzz in my pocket and slip out my phone just enough to read the message on the screen. It’s from Blair. Shit.
Sorry I’m running late- almost there.
Knowing Lord Alec is already impatient, I’m about to ask for more details on his ‘ABC’ charity—just to keep him distracted for a few more minutes—when his phone rings obnoxiously loudly. I recognize the ringtone,Rule Britannia, immediately. How patriotic.
“Lord Bingham-Cavendish,” he answers, turning his back to me.
“Mr. Argos?” a voice calls from the deck of my boat. “It’s after five.”
I wave at the captain, who I hired to pilot the yacht tonight so that Lord Alec could give his full attention to Blair.
“Just another few minutes,” I tell him, glancing at Alec, who is now pacing down the dock on his phone call.
The captain gives me a salute and heads back to the bridge.
When I turn around, Alec is standing there with a pained expression on his face.
“Sorry, mate, but I’ve got to reschedule,” he says.
“What? Is it a family emergency, or?—”
“One of my new properties in Knightsbridge has hit some red tape with building control, so I’ve got to get hold of the Secretary of State to fix it before the entire project gets cancelled.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow? It’s after ten p.m. in the UK.”
He nods. “Which is exactly why I’ve got to get hold of him now on his home number, so he can handle the issue first thing in the morning. I’ll have to raincheck with Blair. You’ll let me know once you’ve made the arrangements. Whatever you think is best. Ta.”
With that, he walks away, already dialing on his phone.
For a moment I just stand there, stunned. Here’s a guy who paid a quarter of a million dollars to retain the agency’s services, and he just turned his back on his potential future wife to make an after-hours business call? Is his real estate empire really more important than the woman he might be spending the rest of his life with? Maybe she’d be nothing but a trophy to him, something to take out and show off at his discretion. In which case…maybe he’s not good enough for Blair anyway.
The sound of footsteps on the dock has me turning around, and although I absolutely expected to see Blair walking toward me, I wasn’t prepared for the sight of her in a body-hugging white dress, long blond hair tossing in the breeze, bombshell red lips curved up in a wicked smile. She looks good enough to eat. No, better. Damn Lord Alec and his real estate problems.
“Hey,” she says. “I was Zooming with Brooke and I lost track of time.”
“You’re perfectly on time,” I say without thinking.
“I assume you’re taking me out on your boat,” she says. “That’s why you wanted me to meet you at the marina, right?”
“Absolutely,” I hear myself say, even as I silently remind myself that I need to dump her right here and now like I intended to.
“Nice boat. I love Nina Simone, by the way,” she says, pointing at the name on the side of my yacht. “Didn’t realize you were a jazz fan.”
“I could say the same about you. Though Nina’s more of a blues and folk musician.”
“Strongly disagree,” she says. “She transcended genre. Though obviously her training at Juilliard was in classical, so if anything, she’s a classical musician. Despite the ‘High Priestess of Soul’ moniker.”
“Favorite album,” I challenge.
“Wild is the Wind.”
“Ooh. Nice choice. ButSings the Bluesis perennial.”
“Both sixties albums,” she points out. “You can’t go wrong with sixties Nina.”
