Victoria’s Secret Wish(9)
“Let’s go to our suite so you can change out of those wet panties, love.”
“Funny. We’re due at the christening-launching ceremony in fifteen.”
“Pity. I suppose you’ll have to suffer the discomfort, then. I think we should host a little dinner soiree in the suite tonight. Invite Carmyn and Mark, and young David.”
Her pulse had just slowed; now it kicked up again. “What if he doesn’t want to come?”
“Vic. Be serious. Who wouldn’t accept that invite? It would be tantamount to turning down an invitation to dine with the captain. Besides, I saw how he looked at you. He’ll not turn it down.”
“Publicity wanted us visible in the dining room tonight. That damn reporter is supposed to eat with us.”
“If your David is hiding out, he won’t want to eat with that guy.”
“Would you stop calling him my David? He’s just a swimmer. Somebody I Googled. You may not have noticed, but I Google a lot of clients.”
“If you say so, love. You want to invite him to dinner, or no?”
Much as it pained her to admit… “Yes.” For one thing, she really wanted to learn his media-avoidance techniques. “We’ll send a note to the captain that we’ve changed plans and are dining in. If we don’t tell Mick, he’ll show up there as planned. Which is fine. Maybe he’ll decide to do a bio on Captain Bekyros. Who knows, maybe the captain will decide to speak more than two words.”
* * * *
Gil left the heliport restroom a happy man. The iPad was gone, which meant while he’d been ferrying the rich and famous, his little blogger friend had come through for him, found a reason to sneak up to the top deck and retrieved it. Well, maybe. Either that, or… No. Surely somebody else hadn’t come snooping around and found it? Shit.
He should’ve had her leave him some sign so he’d know she’d been the one to pick it up. Stupidass.
The damn ship would be sailing soon. If he didn’t take off now, he’d have that much longer to fly home tonight. Fuck it. He’d stick around to watch the christening. After all, one day this would all be partly his. After all the publicity hoopla died down, he’d find Little Miss Gossip Girl and make sure his eagle had landed–in the right nest.
Chapter 5
“Who’d you say this other guest is?” Carmyn ran her manicured fingers along the top of a plush settee. Her perfectly highlighted hair had probably taken her five minutes to pull back in a chignon, but of course looked glamorous. Especially paired with a slinky gold cocktail dress.
Victoria had specifically said casual dress. She’d slipped into a comfy sundress and low-heeled sandals, and now would look like the ugly stepsister compared to Carmyn. Why hadn’t she expected that? “Bo Davidson.” She sat back on the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table. It had been such a long day for her feet.
“Anyone we’d know?” Mark quirked a brow from over at the bar area.
“Um. Probably not. His registration intrigued me.”
Britt smirked.
Carmyn and Mark shared a look, then shrugged.
Time for a subject change, before she started stressing about whether David would show. “Cute, how you two both shrugged. You know, you’re both starting to have the same mannerisms. How many years is your next anniversary?”
“Fifteen,” Mark replied. “And just wait ’til you see what I’m getting Carmyn.”
Carmyn’s eyes lit and she fluttered her lashes at Mark. Amazing, how they still flirted after all this time.
“Fifteen years,” Britt muttered. “That’s a lot of bloody luggage handling.”
“Oh, do shut up.” Carmyn laughed and flipped Britt the bird. “Why don’t you hire yourself a personal assistant to do that for you, if you’re so burdened?”
Britt only grinned and saluted her with his drink. A knock at the door caused him to pause midway to his mouth.
Oh God. Showtime. Maybe David had backed out and it was only their dinner servers? Hopefully. No, that would suck. Or would it? She rose to her feet and smoothed her dress, while Britt got the door.
“Well, hello there, Mr. uh…” Britt paused with his hand extended. Oh, good grief. Britt was terrible with names in the first place. No way would he be able to keep track of the different identities. “David.”
“Son.” The other man hesitated, but stepped forward and shook Britt’s hand. “Davidson. Bo.” He wore a snug black shirt, new-looking jeans and bright white sneakers.
“Er, yes. Brett Grant. Yes, of course.” Britt regained his composure and when David’s back was turned, mopped his brow in mock fashion. “Introductions, then. You know this is my wife, Victoria.”