by Shel Stone
“Young Cory,” said the older man with neatly combed silver hair. “The fish biting today?” Mr. Urquart enquired, knowing that many of the women buzzed around Cory. He’d been sitting at this bar for over a year, watching. Mr. Urquart knew exactly what was going on and Cory suspected he was part of the entertainment.
“No much today, Mr. Urquart. How are the investments?”
“They are doing well, lad. Perhaps a little too well, which makes one worried.” Mr. Urquart was always worried about the markets. Other than sitting at the Athletic Club pool bar, Mr. Urquart’s job was to manage his own investments, which, from what Cory heard, were substantial, while Mrs. Urquart liked hopping over to Monaco to gamble her husband’s hard-earned money away. “Where is Mrs. Urquart today?”
“Back in the UK. Some flower show or other.”
Cory smiled. The Urquarts were stinking rich, but they were lovely people, if somewhat incomprehensible.
A group came through the door from the interior of the club, girls, dressed in expensive bikinis with large bags on their shoulders. “I swear it is driving me insane,” one of the blondes said. Corry spotted Aggie who lifted her large sunglasses and smiled at him. Agatha Fellworth, known as Aggie to all her friends, continued to a group of sun loungers and put her bag down. The honourable Agatha Fellworth, like Mr. Urquart, was old money. She was also pretty cool. Cory liked the old money. They weren’t as up themselves as new money. Before coming here he’d never have made the distinction, but it was clear as day. Marbella was where they all co-existed, but never quite integrated—except maybe Aggie, who seemed to know everyone in town. She was completely assured in who she was and didn’t need to reinforce it by limiting herself to people of her own… He supposed class was the right word. Being an Aussie, even the term grated, but this was Europe. Stuff like that still mattered here—to some.
“I see the fillies have arrived,” Mr. Urquart stated. “Always brighten up the day.”
Aggie approached, in the lazy walk allowed by the silver, heelless sandals. She wore a gauzy beach wrap over her bikini and she lifted her sunglasses on top of her head. “An orange with soda, Pablo,” she said to the barman. “Actually, make it a pitcher.”
“Taking it easy today?” Mr. Urquart asked.
“It’s barely past noon,” Aggie said with a smile.
“Didn’t stop me in my younger days.”
“That was because you were notorious. Don’t think I haven’t heard of your antics, young man,” she said and Mr. Urquart clearly preened at the reference.
“And I’ve still lived to a ripe old age.”
“Hello, Cory,” she said, turning her gaze on him. He knew she wore makeup, but he couldn’t quite see it. Her eyes were large and she had good bone structure. A really attractive girl.
“Having a swim today?” Cory said. The girls didn’t normally swim so much as work on their tans. In Australia, everyone was paranoid with the sun, while here, tanning was still a preferred option for managing colour. Then again, the sun was different in Australia—too harsh for exposed skin.
“It’s so hot. I swear it gets hotter every year. I suppose with global warming, it actually is getting hotter every year. This is going to turn into Dubai before long.”
“I will bring it over,” Pablo said in his accented voice.
“Cheers,” Aggie said, giving Mr. Urquart a pat on the arm before turning and walking back to the girls. They all watched her, the gauzy wrap showing the outlines of her backside, with her slim tanned legs bare.
“Quite a filly,” Mr. Urquart said. While Cory would never use those words, he couldn’t argue with the sentiment. Aggie had the whole package. She was beautiful, hot and cool.
“Yep,” Cory agreed. “I love my job.” He slapped a rhythm on the bar surface and then walked out, back to his elevated lifeguard chair. The younger girls never slept with him, but they flirted outrageously—Aggie the worst. Out of all the girls, she was the one his eyes tended to settle on. She wasn’t the prettiest in her group, but she was definitely the leader—her confidence and wit elevated her to a position where the others looked to her. Single now, but she’d had a boyfriend he knew her parents had disapproved of, Quentin Cartright. Quentin wasn’t quite in the old network of the Fellworths and Urquarts, belonging to the flashier set, but she’d dated him for a while. They’d been the ‘It’ couple, but it hadn’t lasted. Since then, she hadn’t dated anyone as far as he knew.
His restlessness grew and he felt like his joints were stiff from sitting too much. Getting down, he walked around the pool. A man was doing laps along the longest stretch, while two older women sat on a submerged platform on the far end, champagne flutes on the pool’s edge. He walked past the gurgling pump and kept going, circumnavigating the pool.
“How’s life been treating you, Cory?” Aggie asked when he got close to their sun-loungers, where she sat on a plush white and yellow striped towel, her legs looking bronzed and shiny. He hadn’t gone walking to approach them, he told himself, but he had. The other girls had gone quiet, watching him as they lay on their loungers, getting their trim and tight bodies browned by the sun.
“Can’t complain.”
“I imagine not,” she said, but didn’t explain. He wasn’t entirely sure what she meant, but he didn’t pick up any derision, which the guys sometimes tried on. Not all the guys liked him. For all their money and status, they couldn’t achieve what he had, youth and beauty. Two things money couldn’t buy, no matter what the plastic surgeons sold.
While he worked out, his physique came naturally, so he wasn’t as obsessed with it as some others were. It just felt part of his being, so he never really questioned it. He’d be sorry if he lost it, but it wasn’t everything.
“What you’ve been up to lately?” Justine asked. She was darker in complexion, with thin, sharp features and dark chocolate-coloured hair.
“Just hanging with the boys.”
“Still no girlfriend?” Justine smiled.
“Life’s too short for the drama.”
“You are such a ladies man,” Aggie said.
“I’m not,” Cory defended himself, but he didn’t complain when they dropped in his lap. “Just prefer hanging with my mates. There is all the time in the world for girlfriends, but right now, I’m in Marbella and life is busy enough.”
“Too much of a boys’ boy, aren’t you?”
It was a true accusation. He preferred relaxing with the boys, drinking beer, pulling girls, watching sports and talking shit. Girls were drama and aggravation, and he wasn’t rushing into that. “Fine, I might be slightly guilty as charged on that account.”
“We really should meet some of these mates of yours,” Aggie suggested, crossing her legs, which gave him a nice view of the back of her thighs. Her toenails were polished with clear gloss. Everything about her looked good. She was the ultimate catch and Cory wondered what was wrong with Quentin Cartright, letting her go.
“I think you’re right,” Justine purred. “I think we need some new blood.”
“I’m afraid not all of my mates are single.”
“So, they’re not all confirmed bachelors like you?”
Cory bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t always keep up with their comments and where the sarcasm lay. They were never disrespectful or derogatory, but there was often hidden meaning in what these girls said and he wasn’t sure he always caught it.
“Well, bring whoever. It would be nice to meet some new people. You get tired of the same old faces here on the coast, so it would be good to see some new blood. Why don’t you come to Blanca Beach with us? Bring your friends.”
Cory hid the grimace. The Blanca Beach resort was a party club for the well to do. It cost a fortune to get in and he wasn’t sure his mates would be happy to cover the seventy-five euro entrance. He, himself, wasn’t ecstatic about forking out seventy-five euros for nothing, then fifteen euro drinks. As far as he was concerned, that was just taking advantage. Although people wi
th money to burn didn’t care, and that was perhaps the point—girls like Aggie thought nothing of it. But still, he felt like a dick saying no to an invitation. Maybe it was worth it just for the experience, this once. “I’ll ask around,” he said. A couple of his mates might be up for it.
“I know the owner, so I can put you on the list,” Justine said.
That did make the evening more appealing, if they could go in on the list and forgo the entrance. I’ll let you know,” he said with a smile and continued walking, aware feminine eyes watched his progress. It might be nice to party with the rich girls—see how they kicked it. He also suspected that Aggie was into him, which was an interesting option.
Chapter 12
THE WATER PELTED HIS shoulders as Quentin stepped into the shower. He’d fucked Megan that morning, feeling like he kind of owed her. It was rude bringing her on this trip and then not touch her the entire time. And truthfully, he did feel a bit pent up and annoyed. That damned stewardess had turned him down. Rejection wasn’t something he was used to. Women worshiped his cock like it was some kind of god. Alright, that might be a bit of an over-exaggeration, but it wasn’t far off. They dropped their knickers if he so much as clicked his fingers. Wherever he went, girls’ eyes followed him, hoping to catch his eye. He could pretty much order girls like they were on a menu.
But last night, the damned stewardess had pushed him away, twice. Admittedly, he’d been pissed out of his nut, but that rarely diminished the honour of being his for the night.
He’d tried the girlfriend thing for a while. He hadn’t been strictly monogamous, but he’d kept those activities on the quiet. While it had been kind of nice to have a go-to person—someone to talk to—particularly someone who understood his life and what he was about. Aggie was cool; she always had been, but they’d also fought a lot and it required so much energy to keep her sweet. At times, he missed her, though, but they were better off as friends, and it was a friendship he valued, which was rare because girls were for one thing as far as he could see, but Aggie had been different.
Sex with Aggie had been distinct. It was different with a girlfriend—not just some random hot body he could pump into. A kiss was something else when there was meaning behind it—more than the ‘I want some of that’ smorgasbord. Obviously, he hadn’t appreciated that at the time, seeing their break-up as being set free, released to chase and fuck anything he wanted.
It was too confusing to think about, but there was something there. Not enough to actually justify people committing themselves to one person for the rest of their lives. That was just incomprehensible.
And then there was the stewardess, spurning him. Turned down by the hired help. Was he losing his touch? Her trim, strong body was admirable, but it wasn’t like she could do better. Maybe she was just an idiot.
Getting out, he dressed and ran some product through his hair. He looked good. His body was in great shape, his face handsome, with just the right amount of stubble. They were heading back to port and the weekend would soon be over, and he was looking forward to some privacy. There was absolutely none to be had on a boat.
Megan sat on the bed and smiled when he came out of the bathroom. “You ready? I’m starving.”
He was surprised how much she ate considering how skinny she was. “Sure,” he said. He wondered if he should fuck her again before they arrived home. He wasn’t, after all, going to see her again, but dismissed the idea. It had been a spur of the moment decision to bring her and he wasn’t feeling particularly sentimental about it.
The fucking stewardess was there, holding a pitcher of orange juice when he got back. He froze her, pretended she wasn’t even there when she offered to pour him a juice. Who the hell did she think she was?
She returned with a plate with a full English breakfast, and placed it in front of him.
“Who the hell ordered this?” he said, staring daggers at her.
“I did,” Alexi cut in. “I ordered, but if you don’t like it, you have something else. Chef can cook whatever you want.”
He hadn’t meant to disparage the host; he’d just reacted to an opportunity to rip into her, but it had backfired. “It’s fine. I just react badly to tomatoes.” There was a grilled tomato on the plate. His allergic reaction to tomatoes wasn’t that bad, but it was a good excuse.
Alexi waved with his arm towards the girl and she retrieved the plate without looking at him. “They will bring you another with no tomatoes,” Alexi said. A British host would apologise now, but Russians, as a rule, never apologised; they just fixed.
“Such a lovely morning,” Megan said, trying to break any residual tension. They weren’t moving yet, just sat in the middle of the sea, the water gently lapping against the hull. The stewardess returned and he could see the remains of moisture in her hair. She’d had a swim that morning as she’d had the previous day. He’d been much nicer to her then as he’d been fully appreciating her figure, but now, she was just below regard and he fully intended on her knowing that.
After breakfast, when the sun was starting to heat up, they retreated to the lounge. “So, you reckon Indonesia is the market to be in?” he said, taking a seat in the lounge facing Alexi.
“If you are interested in infrastructure, there are opportunities. Brazil, too. But for you, the only option is to set up a consortia. You are not big enough to secure development funding on your own.”
Quentin instinctively reacted to being accused of not being big enough, but the statement was fair. He was nobody. Well, he had family connections that he would have to utilise to put something together, but what he really needed was Alexi’s backing financially. That would give him immediate credibility. “I will bring you something,” he said, knowing this was the point where he was given the tentative ruling on a possible deal. He would have to find something in fucking Indonesia, like building a dam or something. Property was another option, which would use his father’s business, but he wanted something different. He didn’t want this to be a Cartright Corp deal; he wanted this to be a Quentin Cartright deal.
Alexi had his finger up at his temple, considering him. His fingertips stroked down the side. “Fine,” he said after a while. “Bring something for me to look at.”
Quentin wanted to exhale with relief, but kept himself calm. It wouldn’t do to reveal how big a deal this was. Quentin had just been handed an opportunity to actually do this—pull a deal together, from which he would make obscene amounts of money. This was the break he’d been looking for. Now he just had to find a deal. Problem was: he’d never done this before and didn’t really know where to start. Ideally, he needed a mentor, but didn’t also want to admit how green he was at this. Maybe the mentor could come in as a partner, but it was hard to sell a deal when you admitted how badly you were floundering around. Shit. He just had to fake it until he made it.
He wanted a drink and clicked his fingers to the useless cow standing in the corner. “A gin and tonic,” he said sharply without looking at her. If she would have been nice to him, he’d take her away to celebrate when they were back in port, but she hadn’t, so that fun will flow to someone else.
Part of him wanted to talk to Aggie, but they weren’t that close anymore. This was the kind of thing he wanted to share with someone, but there really wasn’t anyone. His mother wouldn’t get it. His friends … well, he had an image to protect, so he couldn’t exactly gush about how big a deal this was. Again, he resented the girl for being bothersome. She would have been a perfect weekend partner, but she was obviously under the misplaced illusion that she was too good for it.
Chapter 13
“HEY, GIRLIES,” ADELAIDE called when she stepped into Trish and Chrissy’ house. Alexi had given her a bonus, so she took a cab there, forgoing the time-consuming bus ride. It was late in the afternoon and they were all outside in the shaded backyard, trying to avoid the heat that had built up in the house during the day. Trish and Amber were lying on the daybed, while Hannah and Chrissy sat in chairs, ho
lding their ice-filled drinks.
“You’re back,” Trish said. “We didn’t know how long you’d be gone.”
“You all working tonight?”
“I’m not,” Hannah said, who worked during the day. “Stay for dinner. It’s just you and me.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“How are the rich people?” Chrissy asked, crossing her legs.
“Insane. They’re all insane. There is no other way to describe it. And they’re so boring. Just sit around thinking how fabulous they are. One of the British ‘It’ boys was there.”
“Oooh, was he hot?”
“Hot and cold. One minute really nice, then total douchebag. And the girls, all they do is look pretty. Manicured within an inch of their lives, unable to do anything unless it ruins something. I just want to forget the whole weekend. But that’s the job: smile brilliantly at all their antics, then weep with joy when you’re rid of them.”
“Alexi’s alright, though, isn’t he?”
“He’s okay,” Adelaide conceded. Alexi had always been alright. “Never nice, and never really cordial, but fair, I guess. He’s gone back to Moscow. But his girlfriend’s just a horror show; one hundred percent possessive, practically growling at anyone who so much as looks at him. I don’t know what he sees in her. She’s only interested in the money. Surely he must know that.” She was ranting and she knew it. Days of pent up frustration was finally flowing out. She’d just bottle all this up over the weekend and smiled and smiled and smiled. “But thank God the weekend is over. So, what’s been happening here?”
“Nothing,” Trish stated.
“Trish hooked up with an Aussie guy,” Chrissy stated. “A friend of Nathan’s.”
“Oh really?” Adelaide said. Trish wasn’t one to spread it around, so she really must like this guy.
“He’s so hot,” Amber said. “Coriiieee’s his name.”