Нина Сингх – Tempted By Her Island Millionaire (страница 2)
“You’re welcome, Lizzie,” he answered simply, then disconnected.
The morning didn’t get any better after he’d checked in for his flight. With precision, he’d arrived with just enough time to answer any urgent emails and go over a new bid, then comfortably board without having to rush. The airline announced a delay before he’d even gotten a chance to pull his tablet out and log on to his company intranet.
Clint cursed under his breath. An hour, at least. As luck would have it, his private jet was being serviced. The timing was beyond inconvenient. Well, he wasn’t going to sit here in this loud, crowded gate area. He’d go kill the time at the private executive suite the airport provided for certain clientele. Maybe he’d even get a chance to read a paper in some peace and quiet.
He swiped his card to get past the secure glass door to the exclusive suite and realized quickly that peace and quiet were not in the equation this morning.
* * *
This was, without question, one of the most embarrassing experiences of her whole life. Rita wanted to sink into the ground as she stammered to answer the airport employee who was very politely and professionally interrogating her. Not only had the other three people in the suite started to stare, she noticed from the corner of her vision that someone else had just walked in—a tall dark man with a leather briefcase. Wonderful. Yet one more person to witness her abject humiliation.
“I’m terribly sorry, miss. But there’s no record of anyone sponsoring you to be in this room,” the well-heeled, highly polished attendant repeated. Sheila, according to the gold name tag on her uniform. “I’m afraid you’ll have to pay for your breakfast and then leave.”
“Oh, um... I don’t understand... I was told by my friend who’s a member that I’d be allowed to hang out here if I wanted, and the flight was delayed. I just thought—” Her words were an incoherent mess. She’d never been good under pressure. And this haughty woman was making her feel like a piece of mud she was trying to brush off her Louboutins.
The attendant remained silent. Rita couldn’t detect one iota of sympathy in her eyes.
Oh, what the hell. The mushroom omelet and mimosa weren’t worth the trouble. Though it had to be the most delicious breakfast she’d ever been served.
“Fine, what do I owe you for the breakfast?” She reached for her wallet.
“With the drink, it will be seventy-five dollars.”
She nearly dropped her purse when she heard the figure. “Seventy-five dollars?” How could that be? Had they personally flown in the mushrooms straight from Japan and had a master chef prepare the meal?
Sheila merely nodded in such a superior way that Rita knew she wasn’t imagining her satisfied smirk of a smile. Satisfaction at her discomfort.
Currently between jobs, Rita had been trying hard to maintain a certain budget. A tight one. The loss of that kind of money had tears springing into her eyes. With shaky fingers, she reached for her credit card, which was already perilously close to the limit as she was about to spend a week in Hawaii. Most of her expenses were taken care of by the wedding party, but she’d still need money for extra meals or souvenirs. Why had she ever walked in here?
Suddenly, a wall in the form of a navy-blue silk shirt appeared in her vision. Someone had stepped between her and the employee, his back to Rita. The newcomer who’d walked in about thirty seconds ago. “Excuse me to interrupt, here. But I’d like to sponsor the young lady as my guest. Please put her breakfast charges on my account.”
What?
Great. Now she was getting pity charity from strangers who wanted to pay for her breakfast. “That won’t be necessary,” she argued to the man’s back. Lord, he was broad shouldered. She could see his toned muscles outlined under the finely tailored shirt. It was difficult to get around him to address the attendant.
“I insist,” the stranger said to her over his shoulder.
“Certainly, sir. How nice to see you again,” the attendant said to him. Rita dared a peek over his shoulder to look at her. It appeared that now Sheila was the one who looked somewhat uncomfortable, she noted with no small degree of satisfaction herself.
Still, she couldn’t have random strangers pay for her breakfast. “I said that won’t be necessary.” She tried to step around him once more.
The man actually stretched his arm out to block her!
Of all the nerve. Granted, he was trying to do something incredibly nice for her but to actually stop her from having any say in the matter was a bit much. Nice or not, he had no right. It wasn’t like she really needed his help. The amount would cause a dent in her bank account but she did have the means to pay it.
But it was too late. Sheila flashed him a bright smile, the smirk entirely gone. “I’ll take care of it right away, Mr. Fallon.”
Mr. Fallon. He turned to her as the attendant walked away. Rita blinked and did a double take as his deep brown eyes met hers. Recognition dawned with a sinking sensation as she realized exactly who he was—the dark hair, the familiar coloring and features.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” he told her. “It’s just that I happened to have witnessed that particular employee’s pettiness before. I might have to initiate some sort of formal complaint about her with the airport actually.”
Oh, no. That wasn’t what she wanted at all. “Please don’t do that. I don’t want to think about someone losing their job because of me.”
He quirked an eyebrow in question. “No matter how badly they had it coming?”
She shook her head. “And it’s not that I feel insulted.”
“No?”
“No, not really.” She blew out a breath. “I’m just a bit embarrassed. I wish I’d never walked in here in the first place.”
His eyes narrowed on her. Rita couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. “I’m actually really glad you did.”
A small sensation tingled at the base of her spine. Was he trying to flirt with her now? Yep, definitely the most mortifying thing to ever happen to her. To make the whole thing so much worse, Clinton Fallon had no clue who she was. He didn’t even remember her.
* * *
Clint wanted to tell the young lady he could relate. It hadn’t been that long ago that people like Sheila had talked down to him in the same manner he’d just witnessed her being subjected to. Her embarrassed expression and obviously flustered state when he’d walked in had touched a nerve within him that he’d long since thought was dormant. Apparently, the universe decided he was due for a periodic reminder.
He was glad for it, as he’d just told her. He didn’t want to get too complacent or take anything for granted.
“I guess I owe you a thank-you,” she was saying.
Guessed? “Uh...you’re welcome.”
She reached for her carry-on. “I think I’ll leave.”
Clint stepped in front of her before she got far. Was she confused? He’d just taken care of the matter so that she could stay. “You no longer have to.”
Something flashed behind her eyes. It didn’t strike him as gratitude. Far from it. He had offended her. Well, what was he supposed to have done? Let her get tossed out on her behind?
“Nevertheless. I’m not sure I want to stay in here any longer.”
“You mentioned your flight was delayed. At least finish your breakfast.”
“I’m sure it’s cold now,” she muttered, then blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I’ve really been looking forward to this trip. And so far it hasn’t exactly started off on the most positive note.”
“I understand,” he told her, a feeling of empathy settling deep within his chest. He did understand. More than she knew.
* * *
Rita adjusted her collar and tried to quell the shaking in her stomach. Clinton Fallon was standing before her without any clue as to who she was. Apparently, she hadn’t made much of an impression on him all those years ago when she’d been at university with his sister. First, he’d witnessed her abject humiliation by the suite attendant. And now she was going to have to find a way to introduce herself.
Or reintroduce herself as the case may be. By contrast, she couldn’t count the number of times she’d thought about him over the years. As if she hadn’t felt silly enough about that small fact until this encounter.
She was trying to figure out a way to tell him exactly who she was when he extended his hand. “I’m Clinton—”
“I know who you are,” she blurted out without really thinking.
He blinked. “You do?”
A small lump of disappointment settled in her gut. He really had no inkling, no recollection whatsoever. Why was she surprised? Or even disappointed? People like him didn’t take much note of ladies like her.
And exactly what kind of lady was she now? How would she begin to describe herself? Perhaps she could use the term
“Here. Let’s give this a try.” She removed a hair band from her wrist and quickly tied her thick dark hair in a loose ponytail. Then she removed a pair of thick glasses from her pocket and perched them on her nose.
Clint’s only response was a completely blank look. Still nothing.