No Ordinary Bloke (2 page)

Nicki gave me a playful slap on the back as she hugged me. “Do me a favor. Can you skip the flight attendants and look for a good woman?”

“I’ll think about it,” I said without a bit of sincerity.

Adam gave me a punch in the arm. “Visit us in Scotland. We’ll be back from D.C. in a couple of weeks.”

“Will do.” I leaned around to see Veronica as she rested her head on Adam’s shoulder. Her brilliant blue eyes were agog as she stared at the bright lights and happily gnawed on her fist. I kissed her forehead. “Goodbye V. I’ll miss you, little one. Be good for your parents.”

She gurgled and gave me a toothless grin before returning her fist to her mouth. I smiled back the lump in my throat. God, why did she affect me so?

As they left me at the bar, I ordered another pint and dealt with a few work emails and texts on my phone. After a while, I stretched and surveyed the lounge area when a flash of red hair caught my eye. It was my redhead, sitting on a sofa not far away.

She hadn’t boarded Nicki and Adam’s flight, so where was she going? New York? Paris? She seemed too chic to be American, but her hands were too manicured to be French. The hair was too red to be German. Where was she from? I studied her again and had a hunch.

After downing the rest of my beer, I walked over to my redhead. I casually jingled the few pence in my trouser pocket as I made my way toward her. I eyed her as I walked, noticing she had her legs crossed, but slanted to one side. They were in a dark stockings, but very shapely. My eyes moved on, though, to the important place—her hand. Would there be a ring on it to ruin my day? When I was close enough to see both hands, I smiled.
Nary a ring to be had.

Her head was down as she stared at her phone, reading something I couldn’t see. The free chair beside her looked welcoming enough, so I took the seat next to her. She flinched as the movement disrupted her concentration, and after a glance at me, she gave me the quickest of half smiles and went back to her phone.

“Hello,” I said.

She raised her head again and gave me a barely audible “Hi.”

It was the sort of bland greeting that would make some men retreat. Not me. I didn’t back down with women or in business without a damn good reason, so I responded to her just like she’d batted her eyelashes and given me a cheery hello. I grinned. “So I was wondering what county you’re from.”

She squinted in confusion. “County?”

“With that beautiful red hair, I assume you’re Irish.”

“I am,” she said, a smile slowly forming.

“So where are you from?” She’d said so little I couldn’t yet detect an accent to place her.

“Chickasaw County.”

Either she’d mumbled, or she had the strangest Irish accent from a part of Ireland I’d never heard of. “Pardon?”

Her green eyes twinkled a bit, and she enunciated her words. “Chickasaw County. It’s in Iowa.”

Now her American accent was impossible to miss, especially if you were expecting her to sound like a Dubliner. I nodded and smiled. “Iowa?” I knew nothing about Iowa, except that it was farm country and most likely called a “fly-over” state by my New York friends. I thought better than to mention it, though, because I’d once called Texas a fly-over state to Nicki, and she slugged me in the arm.

My redhead smiled. “I’m American.”

“Now, you told me you were Irish. Why did you tell me a fib?”

“I’m Irish-American. Why didn’t you recognize my lack of an Irish accent?”

“You’d barely said three words to me.” I chuckled. “But now that I hear you, I would never guess you were Irish.”

“And what do you think of my accent?” She lifted her eyes to me.

“I work with Americans every day. I’d say it was pretty non-descript, though your voice is lovely.”

“Thanks,” she said under her breath.

Not wanting our conversation to end, I pointed to the line of giant planes out the window. “So where are you headed today?”

“Singapore.”

Thank you, Jesus
. The Good Lord probably wasn’t looking out for my sex life, but a stroke of luck like this deserved some recognition. Though I began to envision steamy nights at a posh hotel in Singapore, my response was matter-of-fact. “So am I. What’s taking you there?”

“Work.” She gave me a sly look. “And you?”

“The same.” Things were going smoothly so far, so I extended my hand. “My name is David Bates.”

She eyed my waiting hand warily, but soon offered her own, albeit with a circumspect voice. “Hello. I’m Allison Wright.”

Her hand was soft, warm, and small in my own. It made me think the rest of her would feel the same way. But I never let a handshake linger like a pervy salesman so I withdrew my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Allison.”

I was just about to ask what line of work she was in, but she nodded toward the window. “I thought I saw you earlier with a baby. Does your family travel with you?”

So
that
was why she was so cautious. She thought I was married with a kid. I appreciated her hesitancy. Marital status didn’t seem to matter to many folks any more, but it did to me. I didn’t have a problem breaking in on a boyfriend/girlfriend situation, but I wouldn’t touch a married woman. There were plenty of fish in the sea—no need to bust up a family or risk the wrath of God for a shag. I couldn’t have her thinking that of me. “My family? Well, I was with my family, although not immediate family and not family traveling with me. I was holding my niece.”

A wrinkle of confusion appeared on the otherwise smooth skin of her forehead. “So the baby wasn’t yours?”

“No, I don’t have any kids. She’s my cousin’s daughter.” And just to make things perfectly clear, I added, “I’m not married.”

“Oh.” She was quiet for a second like she was wondering whether or not to believe me. I gave her my earnest puppy eyes, which seemed to work. She smiled and said, “Your cousin’s daughter? Then she’s really not your niece.”

“Ah, you caught me. Adam’s like a brother to me, so I think of Veronica as my niece. She knows me as Uncle David.”

“Uncle David? But really, you and Veronica are cousins—first cousins, once removed to be exact.”

“Is that so?” I looked again at the fine leather bag at her side. She must’ve been born into some money. “Not the sort of thing a commoner like me keeps up with.”

She laughed at that. “Well, I’m an American. I think by definition that makes me a commoner.”

My eyes rested on her Cartier watch. “Are you now? I think I’ll be the judge of that. What do your dad and mum do for work?”

“Farmers.”

“Really? But farms come in all sizes. You could be one of those Americans who own a ranch the size of Scotland.”

“Well, the Wright farms are small.” She laughed. “I come from a long line of Irish farmers, just scraping by—first in the north of Ireland and then Iowa. We’re a big family, so that’s why I know what a first cousin once removed is.”

I focused on her for a moment. With that tidbit of information, I could ignore the fancy clothes and fine jewelry and instead see a farm girl. Her eyes were green like a fresh field with her hair as bright as the sun. “Is that so? But you’ve moved off the farm.”

“I did…a while ago.” Her eyes narrowed. “And what exactly is common about you? Except for your voice maybe.”

“Me accent is a dead giveaway, ain’t it?” I said, hamming up the cockney that my voice still carried from my youth. I’d learned at university to turn it on and off depending on the situation, but my natural speaking voice remained in my East London roots.

“I think. I’m not an expert on English accents, but you don’t sound like Prince Charles.”

“Thank fuck for that. He’s a tosser.”

Her mouth dropped open before she erupted with the most adorable giggle. I smiled in appreciation because she wasn’t one of those American girls who blanched every time a man swore. Don’t get me wrong—that didn’t stop me from making a move, but girls became more attractive if you could be yourself around them. When she stopped laughing, she asked, “So what kind of work is your family in?”

I tapped my armrest two times—the only sign that showed though I’d asked the same question of her, I didn’t like being asked it myself. I dispensed with it quickly. “Carpentry, but me mum was a teacher.”

She glanced at my suit, cut by my tailor on Savile Row. “But you’ve done well for yourself? What is it that you do?”

“International finance at Barclays.” No need to add my title. “And you?”

“Really? I’m in human resources at Greystone.”

I raised a brow. Depending on the deal, Greystone was often a competitor or partner. I knew a great many people there, though no one with an internal job like personnel. “How is it that you got into employee relations?”

“It seemed like a good use of a psychology degree.”

“I had a friend who worked in HR. You have the best tales to tell.”

“We’re not supposed to tell tales.”

“She didn’t really…” For a few years, I’d carried on with a pretty little thing formerly in our HR department. After we’d go after it like two randy dogs in heat, she’d tell me funny stories about other employees—no names of course, but I always figured them out. I smiled. “I’m sure she’s taking them to her grave.”

“That’s the best place for most of them.”

After she spoke, she casually tugged at her earring, a sign I needed to retreat for a bit. My key to nabbing a bird was to understand her signals and the surroundings. Sitting in a bloody airport lounge talking about work was not the time to push a situation. She might’ve been mildly interested in the conversation, but she seemed restless. I’d complimented her a few times. She knew I had an interest in her, but if I continued chatting her up she might think I was a pest. Walking away was the next move because it turned the tables on her. Ninety-nine percent of the time the girl thought I’d lost interest in her, so when I returned later on, she was more receptive. In this case, it was better to retreat and make a play on the plane when she would be more relaxed and hopefully more welcoming. Besides, I needed to hit the loo and call into the office before we boarded, but she didn’t need to know that.

“I should make a few calls before the flight,” I said, slowly standing up. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Allison.”

I got the reaction I hoped for. She double-blinked, clearly not expecting the change from being pursued to being abandoned. The half-smile from the start of our conversation returned to her lips. “It was nice meeting you, too.”

W
ithout another word, I found a private spot to call my assistant and second mum, Elinor. With white hair, a quick wit, and sharp tongue, she made my work life happen, keeping me on schedule and acting as a gatekeeper. I only had to put up with the occasional commentary on my private life, which amused her to no end.

“Hello, David,” she said. “About to board your flight?”

“Yes. Very soon. How are you doing this afternoon?”

“I’m well, thank you. I’m hoping to leave early whilst my boss is away.”

“So the mouse will play?” I asked with a laugh.

“This mouse just wants to go shopping for supper.”

“Then you should leave now.”

“Yes, but before I leave, I should tell you about some changes to your schedule. I’ve already put them on your calendar, but let me explain.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Wednesday night you now have an early dinner with Gregory. I’m sorry. It was the only time he was available.”

“Dinner with Gregory? Dear God.” I imagined sitting through two hours of painful conversation while Gregory droned on about metrics and outputs. He loved data in a way that I just couldn’t embrace. I was all about the bottom-line. You were either in the black or you weren’t. I didn’t give a flying fuck about the number of deals you made if they never came to profit. “Do me a favor. Tell his assistant I want some local food like a noodle house—not a restaurant.”

“Trying to further reduce our time with Gregory, are we?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me, because I know you. On a brighter note, the following day, I’ve had to reschedule a lunch with Mr. Chan and his co-workers to a dinner that same night. I hope you don’t mind.”