Page 133 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘Oh yes, of course.’ He began unfastening the leather strap.

‘Here, give it to me, honey,’ beamed Birdy, slipping it into her handbag.

Dennis slipped the watch onto his wrist and carefully fastened the clasp. It made a satisfying click. The Toyboy raised his sleeve, turning his wrist back and forth, a smug, self-satisfied smile on his face.

‘So what do you think?’

Turning to Birdy and Dennis, he affected the expression of a man unsure and in need of approval.

‘It’s stunning!’ she enthused.

‘It’s one of our most prized timepieces and a true classic.’ Dennis nodded reverently.

‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s so much money.’ He shook his head. ‘Perhaps we should wait, go shopping tomorrow when the ship stops in Tangier—’

But Dennis quickly interrupted. ‘Please, sir, I must warn you. Be very careful of fakes.’

‘Fakes?’ Birdy looked shocked and clutched her Louis Vuitton handbag to her surgically enhanced chest.

‘Absolutely, madam. They have some excellent forgeries. Only an official dealer would be able to tell the difference. Many of our passengers have been tricked by what they thought was a genuine luxury watch only to be left severely out of pocket and very disappointed.’

‘Well, that’s decided.’ Birdy shook her head firmly. ‘We must buy you a watch here.’

‘We must?’ The Toyboy tried not to look too elated.

‘It’s perfect for all those important meetings you have to attend with your AI technology business you’ve been telling me about.’

‘It’s a wonderful choice, sir.’

‘And it totally gives the right impression for any new and potential investors,’ continued Birdy, looking at him with a glow of pure pride. ‘Of which I am now one.’

‘You are?’ The Toyboy swung around, his face lit up. ‘You said you were thinking about it, but I had no idea!’

‘Well, I’ve thought about it and the question I keep asking myself is, what’s the point of being an heiress if you don’t do something with your fortune? Of course there are worthy charities to donate to and godchildren to indulge, but surely an heiress is allowed a little happiness of her own . . .’ She broke off, her eyes downcast, and gave a flutter of her new lash extensions. ‘So yes, in answer to your question, I’m ready to invest . . .’

‘. . . and not just in my business, but in our future,’ finished The Toyboy pointedly.

And then, seemingly both overcome with emotion, they clasped each other’s hands and stared at each other, like Love’s Young Dream, for what felt like an age, while Dennis shifted on his soft-soled shoes and tried not to think about how many years’ salary it would take to afford the Rolex on the other man’s wrist. Or how many months this affair was going to last before The Toyboy and his new Rolex moved on to pastures new.

Or how much longer before he could take his lunch downstairs in the crew’s Mess. He was watching his weight, so perhaps something from the salad buffet.

‘So, have you come to any decisions?’ asked Dennis, diplomatically. His salary was commission-based so he was eager to make the sale, but he didn’t want to appear pushy. Pushy was the kiss of death for retail. ‘Just so you are aware, there is usually a waiting list for this particular model, but today you are in luck.’

Gentle persuasion and a little FOMO worked so much better.

With one arm still around The Rich American Heiress, The Toyboy admired his reflection in the mirror, sweeping the hair from his temples and holding his wrist to his face as if he was in a watch commercial, while she gazed on adoringly.

‘I love it. And you,’ he whispered.

‘We’ll take it!’ she declared.

‘Wonderful,’ smiled Dennis.

Forget the salad buffet. Today he would have the fillet steak.

The Captain’s Table

‘You know that scene from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, where Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell are on a cruise ship and they walk into the dining room?’