Take a Chance on Me (18 page)

It had worked out – so far, thank God.

But deep down inside, something was niggling Sadie, and she just hoped she could work out what it was by the time they reached Hawaii.

‘Smooth take off, Mac, man,' BJ said, sleepily, rubbing his face. ‘Ah didn't even notice we'd got airborne.'

‘Well, your snoring changed pitch.'

‘Maybe that was when mah dream reached a juicy part. Want to know what happened?'

‘I'm sure I can guess,' replied Mac, mid-email on his smartphone.

‘Yes, but this time there were
three
of them. All dressed in—'

‘Mr Anderson, there's a call for your guest.' The red-lipped stewardess stood brandishing the plane phone. ‘I'm wondering if you'd like me to wake her. It sounded urgent.'

‘No, don't worry. I'll go,' Mac said, and before he could stop himself he was up out of his seat, phone in hand, making his way back along the aisle towards a sleeping Sadie. Just taking a break from BJ –
anything to take a break from BJ
.

Even Simon had had enough of the brash Texan – choosing to travel to Hawaii separately
.
‘One's conviviality can only stretch so far
,
' the charming English gent had told Mac, before ‘bidding him adieu' and setting off to ‘rendezvous with some women friends, and do some last minute business in Monaco' – which Mac suspected was Simon's euphemism for a trip to the casino.

Women friends
, thought Mac – hmm.

Women.

Friends.

All his life they'd been mutually exclusive. So far. Well, there's a first time for everything, he thought – and he'd try his hardest to be
this
woman's friend. God knows she needed one right now. Much more than she needed him as a lover.
Ooops, where did that come from?

He stopped when he reached her seat, his face softening as he gazed upon the sleeping beauty before him. Her golden locks were gently cocooning her face, peaceful in slumber. She looked like an angel, with slightly running mascara, barely-there lipstick, and a tiny blot of balsamic cutely sitting on her chin. The remains of her tuna salad had been cast aside, and her mouth was slightly open. He looked intensely at her lips. The lips he'd been kissing so passionately last night. The lips that had delivered a very competent presentation in a high-pressure boardroom situation. For a moment he just watched her. The sound of her deep breathing told him she'd obviously gone off to dreamland.

‘Sadie …'

No response. Lifting her headphones gently, Mac whispered her name again, but he was competing with the hypnotic tones of the meditation channel seeping from the plush, noise-cancelling headset. Mac raised the telephone to his ear, turned and walked a few paces away.

‘Hello, may I take a message for Ms Turner?'

‘Hello, oh, yes, I guess you can. Can you tell her that her mother called back?'

‘Er, yes, Mrs Turner, certainly. Is there a message? Anything urgent?'

‘It's Mrs Parker, not Turner. Turner's her married name. And if you don't mind, can you ask if she got the earlier message that … well, that she should ring her mother please, when she can. Are you the steward? Is it a big plane?'

‘Er, no, I'm not, and yes, it is quite a big one. She'll be able to call you when she wakes up. I'll pass on the message.'

‘Thanks so much. And do give my thanks to the billionaire chappie for looking after her so well. I'm sure she's loving it – we all like a bit of luxury and no mistake! The girls and I are very jealous.'

Mac frowned and ticked himself off for interfering – he should have let the stewardess deliver the message. Serve him right. And now for his trouble, her mother had given him that acid feeling in the pit of his stomach again.
Is the universe trying to tell me something?
If you can make your own good luck, you can also create bad.

‘Mrs Parker, before you go, I'm … Michael, part of the development team. You said “the girls” are jealous? Of going on a big plane?'

‘Yes – Georgia more than Abi – but they'd both love to see how the other half live! Does it have its own jacuzzi too? I do like a good bubble bath!'

‘No, no jacuzzi, just the gym.' Mac could feel himself bristling.

‘A gym. How decadent. Bet that billionaire chappie sorts his six-pack out that way! Anyway nice to talk to you – better go – the girls are here helping me and they're busy telling a little old lady how to avoid cancer by eating Brussels sprouts. Serves me right for resorting to child labour. Oh, don't tell Sadie I said that! Bye!'

‘Bye.' Mac's face was stony.
Okay universe – I get the message
and he took himself off to the gym double quick, to take it out on the treadmill.

Hours later, Sadie awoke to an ‘ohmmmmm' sound. Opening one eye, she gradually realised where she was, smacked her dry lips and lifted up the headphones. The plane noise rushed in, replacing the ethereal chanting in her ears. It might be an executive jet but it still roars. Pushing aside the blanket someone had placed over her, she drank down a full glass of water, and looked up and down the aisle. A stewardess was at her side instantly with a warm washcloth, which Sadie gratefully smoothed over her face, followed by an expensive looking face spritz.

Smiling, the stewardess indicated under the eye, and Sadie looked quizzically into the mirror on the built-in vanity right next to her first-class seat unit.

Ooops – panda eyes.

Mouthing ‘thank you' to the cabin girl, who nodded back, Sadie then picked out the most expensive looking tea-bag she'd ever used –
was that really muslin?
– from a wooden box being held under her nose. She sat back and opened a manila envelope someone had placed on her side table.

One refreshing Earl Grey later, plus a phone call home, Sadie pondered her gung-ho approach. Was it wise to have given urgent permission for yet another expensive school trip? She hoped Mr Rosebery wouldn't find out. But what do they say?
If you build it they will come …
Or something. It's all in the intention, apparently. According to Wayne Dyer, on the meditation channel, what you believe will be true for you. So Sadie
had to
cling on to the belief that everything was going to work out. So it was sorted – permission given.

But a pang of ‘bad motherhood' still snagged in her solar plexus. Yes, the trip was another thing she'd forgotten to sort out in the rush to get away. And now her mother would have to forge her signature on the permission form.
Going from bad to worse with the whole ‘honesty' thing, Sadie,
she chastised herself. But anything was better than having to suffer the indignation of begging the girls' father to sign it. In any case Stuart and Mum were not on very good speaking terms at the moment. Sadie sighed and got up out of her seat and stretched her arms a little.

Let's focus on something positive.

She stared in wonderment at the plush interior of the jet and began listing things to be grateful for – being on a private jet for one. Going back to Hawaii for the second time in a fortnight, for another. Truly jet-setting –
that's what I'm doing
she thought as she ran her hand along the edge of the expensively upholstered seat next to hers, which someone had left in a reclining position. Sadie was amazed – she'd never flown horizontal before, but she was sure as hell going to give it a try.

After a bathroom break.

She stretched, slipped her shoes back on,
ouch,
then immediately took them off again. Remembering she'd unfastened her skirt, she tried, and failed, to do the button back up, so she gave up and just untucked her blouse and grabbed the thin, expensive cashmere blanket from a packet on the seat, and pulled it round her shoulders.

Walking forwards up the aisle to the front of the plane, she passed several luxury seats filled with sleeping aides – some she recognised, and some she didn't, people she assumed worked for either Mac or BJ McKowski. One seat held a sleeping Alexis, who looked like a princess waiting for her prince.

Sadie rolled her eyes and continued on past the first ladies room, which was engaged, on to the one nearer the front of the plane. One bathroom break later, she emerged to the sound of male voices. She took a right turn, and saw where it was coming from. Leaning against the lavishly equipped bar, with their backs to her, Mac and BJ were mid-conversation.

‘It's absolutely out of the question, BJ,' Mac was saying. ‘There's no way I'd ever date Sadie. Now give it a rest please, big guy.'

Sadie's heart immediately began to drum up a tattoo on her ribcage.

‘Well, I know she's not your usual type, but you shouldn't hold a few extra pounds against a gal,' BJ exclaimed.

Shit,
thought Sadie, and tried to reverse before she was seen. She bumped straight into a steward.

‘Ow!' he said and dropped a tray.

‘I told you before, I … Sadie!' said Mac, catching the commotion in the reflection in the mirrored glass and swivelling round. Mac looked aghast. But not as aghast as Sadie. Flushing right down to her toes, she backed away apologetically, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her.

‘I'm sorry – I should have … knocked. Only,' waving her hands in the air pathetically, ‘there's no door.' Sadie was embarrassed, suddenly very conscious of her gaping skirt buttons and reached round the back to fasten them, then stopped to grab the blanket which began a slow, elegant slide from her shoulders.

Was Mac really that shallow? Was last night all just an act? Is that what her niggly feeling was?
Perhaps he had simply taken her for a complete ride just to get in her pants?

‘Anyway, you're obviously in the middle of something.'

‘No, we're not. Not at all. BJ's just leaving –
that right
, BJ?'

‘Ha-ha – yeah, sure!'

Shuffling off, and touching his hat, BJ headed in the direction of Alexis, leaving Mac and Sadie alone for the first time since the confrontation in the ladies' room.

‘Join me, Sadie,' he said. Ordering drinks, Mac looked sheepish, but when he sat down, he didn't even attempt to correct what she'd overheard.

Sadie's heart sank. Her body echoed the feeling and she slunk into a luxurious leather lounge chair opposite Mac. She sat awkwardly, smoothing herself down as best she could, shrouding the blanket around her shoulders. She picked up the mint and ice-crystal bedecked glass of mineral water, which had a ‘work of art' straw-and-cherries creation dangling out of it. Sadie gave up chasing it around the glass with her tongue when she realised Mac was watching her and just sipped it awkwardly out of the side of the glass, ignoring the straw poking her in the temple.

She shifted slightly in her seat – the leather was cold against the backs of her bare thighs as her pencil skirt rode up. Mac watched, then stopped ogling and tore his eyes away. More apologetic glances.
Awkward, awkward.

Then he found his voice.

‘Did you … did you speak to your mother okay? Everything all right?'

‘Oh, yes, it was just one of my … my daughters,' she said, swallowing hard. Dodgy subject.
Too late.

‘Ah, yes, your daughters.' He winced. ‘I had a very interesting little chat with your mother and she mentioned them. You, however, didn't.'

‘Not last night, no, the same way
you
didn't mention a lot of things.'

‘I wouldn't say a
lot
of things, Sadie. I'd say
you
“didn't mention” a lot more things than I didn't.' Mac made a face, seeming to realise as soon as he said it how juvenile that sounded. ‘I mean, I was just surprised, that's all. I mean, I asked you if there was anything else I needed to know. And you said “
no
”. “
No
”, you said. “
There's nothing else
”, you said. That's what you said.'

‘But there
wasn't
anything left out of the presentation. It was all in the pack, didn't you read it?' Sadie got that sinking feeling again and realised finally what the gnawing feeling was.

He never read the details, did he? This was a man whose ‘team' did all that for him. He was still looking at her open-mouthed. This man who didn't like business and pleasure obviously also didn't like business and children.

Mac could not believe that an hour's pounding in the gym had done nothing. The angst all came back as soon as she spoke about her kids.

‘Yes, but what you said was that there was nothing else to tell me. Nothing else I needed to know,' he said.

‘I thought you meant about the deal. Anything that wasn't already in the business proposal.'

He was silent. Staring ahead, rigid. He couldn't think straight. What was it about this woman that made him unable to think straight?

‘Truly, what difference does it make?' she demanded.

He took a deep breath. She'd blindsided him again. Not only was she not Samantha, she also had kids and now she was trying to act like it was no big deal. Worse still, he knew he didn't have a self-righteous leg to stand on when it came to the topic of working mothers.

‘But you said you didn't need a poop-deck,' he whispered.

‘And I don't. They're teenagers not toddlers, Mac. Well, one's nearly a teenager and the other is fourteen going on twenty-four. They don't get in the way and they fully support me. And their father is—'

‘Their father? Oh, yes, you're married as well. Yes, your mum told me she's got a different surname.'

‘Their father is a completely useless knob-head, hence my giving up on men, hence my “one night only”. If you thought you were
Mister
cynical, meet Missus.'

‘Ms,' he corrected.

Impasse.