She blinks a couple of times before she takes my arm and laughs. “In your dreams, asshole.” Her tone is friendly and happy, but low enough that no one can hear the actual words.
A smile spreads on my face as I take us to our table. Yesterday she would’ve stormed off after a comment like that, but now she laughs and throws it right back.
The captain stands when we get to the table. He’s tall. Taller than me, even, which doesn’t happen often. He’s older, short hair peppered with grey. He stands like he’s got a rod up his ass and I bet he’s ex-Navy. His beard’s neatly trimmed, not a hair is out of place. He doesn’t need his white dress uniform to show he’s the captain, but I’m sure the ladies love it.
His whole look seems contrived to look as handsome sea captain as possible. He looks me over, probably noting that my clothes say money, but my attitude says ‘fuck you’. We’re both players, we just use different rules.
Holding out his hand to Angie, he takes hers and bends to kiss it. “Welcome aboard my vessel, Miss Wilson. No wonder Mr. Caldwell’s taken to you. If you’re as kind as you’re beautiful, he’s a lucky man indeed. My name is Captain Charles Melbourne.”
Smooth moves, Popeye.
Her soft pink blush goes bright red. She does a semblance of a curtsy, but looks completely taken aback by his approach. “Tha—Thank you, Captain Melbourne.”
Is she actually falling for this shit?
“Please, call me Chuck.” He turns to me and extends his hand. Our handshake’s one of those grapples for dominance, both of us squeezing like we’re trying to force the other to cry uncle. Neither of us does, but I hope his hand’s as sore as mine. His steely gray eyes meet mine and he grins. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Caldwell.”
“Please, call me Ga—Herb. Yeah, call me Herb.” Oh fucking hell. I should’ve stuck with Mr. Caldwell. I glance at Angie and she looks like she’s barely containing her laughter. Oh, I’m gonna fucking get her for that later.
“Very well, Herb. Thank you. Now if you’d like to be seated, I believe the rest of our guests are here. He gestures. “Mrs. Joyce Merriweather, Mrs. Mabel van der Pelt.” Oh, the two oldies from check-in. “Mr. Hank Lennox and his wife Tracy, Mr. David Browning and his wife Melissa, and last, but certainly not least, Mr. Cole Elswood and his very lovely wife Karen.”
I greet all of them, knowing I won’t remember a single name after five minutes or so. They don’t matter anyway. Why should it, when we aren’t even who we’re supposed to be?
Our seats are right next to the Captain, with Angie on his left, me on her left, then Joyce and so on all the way around the table. A whole evening to play newlyweds. What can possibly go wrong?
Captain Melbourne... Chuck seizes onto Angie almost immediately. Between them making small talk on one side and Joyce busily entertaining Mabel on the other, I’m feeling just a little ignored. Angie is my fake fiancée. I don’t expect any better from Chuck, but she should at least pretend to give me her full attention. So I do what I do best. Make trouble.
I butt in, shifting my chair closer and putting my arms around her waist. “How’s it going, honeybuns?”
She starts at my touch, but keeps her happy girlfriend mask on. “Just peachy, pookie.”
“Your wife-to-be’s lovely, Herb. What did you do to deserve her?” Chuck laughs, and it sounds really fucking condescending to me. I’m just going to assume he isn’t going to actually put the moves on my fiancée, but he’s definitely posturing. Even if we’re just faking, it still pisses me off.
But I can do fake smiles too. “Oh, I don’t know, Chuck. I just treat her the best I can, you know. Give her the world and she’ll never need more.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sure a woman as beautiful as her gets a lot of attention.” He’s really talking at her more than me when he says it. Angie looks like she’s eating it up, which bugs the hell out of me. Smiling and chewing her lower lip, she’s looking at him with huge eyes, looking very impressed. I kick her ankle to get her attention.
She plants the heel of her shoe on my foot and turns towards me. “What is it, dear?”
God, those lips. Her voice is pleasant, but her eyes sparkle with amusement. She’s fucking playing me.
Shit, I have nothing to say. That’s a first. “Have you tried the scallops? They’re really good.”
“Oh, Herbie.” She pats my cheek softly, laughing when she sees me bristle at the name. “You know I’m allergic to shellfish.”
“Right. Of course.” I glare at her. “I don’t know how I forgot.” Maybe because she never told me? This whole conversation is bullshit, but I want her focused on me, and not him.