Falling For Her Bad Boy Boss (Island Girls: 3 Sisters In Mauritius)

by Zee Monodee

But late in the evening, the idea of the scornful expression on the big blond man’s handsome face still taunted her, refusing to remain confined behind the lock she’d placed inside her brain. Somehow, this wrong perception would haunt her until she’d set the record straight and erased the disgusted smirk from his features.

  Once alone in the kitchen while the children watched TV in the adjoining room, she scrolled through her cell’s call logs for Griffin’s number.

  “Hi, it’s Neha,” she said as soon as he picked up. “So, he’s rejecting me because of some notion he has, not because of my capabilities?”

  Griffin didn’t answer right away. “You could say that.”

  She’d guessed Logan Warrington would be an inflexible man, but to push it this far?

  “This makes no sense, and you know it. Why would I do this? He needs to see the reasoning behind all this, Griff.”

  Griffin gave a small, sarcastic laugh. “I’m not sure reason and Logan are acquainted. Believe me, I tried to explain, but he would have none of it.”

  Just what she needed to hear. She would really need to spell out everything as it had taken place, and in person, face to face. No other way to ensure such a false idea did not remain clinging to her. “I need to speak to him, as earliest as possible.”

  “I’m not sure it’s to be advised. You’ll need guts to stand up to him. Not that I don’t think you have them,” he hastily said.

  “Can I come to your office tomorrow, to meet with him?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Griffin, please help me here.”

  After another long pause, he spoke. “He won’t be coming in tomorrow. He’ll be working from home through the office VPN connection.”

  “But I need to see him. What about Monday, then?” Neha had no trouble decoding his silence after a few seconds. “He’ll refuse to see me. Is that it?”

  “You could say so …”

  She fell in a slump on a nearby sofa in the corner of the room. “What have I done to him?”

  “Neha, it’s not your fault.”

  She snorted, allowing the unlady-like sound to escape her aloud and not bothering how it’d make her appear. “Just my luck, huh?”

  “Aw, come on,” Griffin said in a coaxing tone.

  She had no way out.

  Unless …

  Taking a deep breath to steel her resolve and fuel her courage, for the idea tickling her brain was senseless at best and totally crazy at worst, she spoke up. “Where does he live?”

  “Why would you ask this?”

  “Griff, I need to present my case. One chance. Then I promise I’ll give up.”

  The emotion thrummed heavy in her voice; Griffin must’ve heard it, too.

  “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I’m going to do it.” He paused. “I don’t really know the roads here, so I can’t give you precise directions to his house. But you can catch him early in the morning at the Flic en Flac beach, near the fish landing station. He goes for a swim every day, usually around eight on weekends.”

  She had her opportunity. “Thanks, Griff.”

  “Good luck, Neha,” he said and cut the call.

  ***

  When morning came after a restless night where a snickering, laughing face had haunted her erratic sleep, Neha reckoned she sat on the fence.

  Should she, or shouldn’t she, go meet Logan?

  They said night brought wise counsel when you slept on an issue. So far, she hadn’t found any counsel whatsoever, wise or stupid. The only thing she’d achieved were bags under eyes and kinks in her whole body for having tossed and turned so much.

  The clock on the mantel in the living room read quarter past seven.

  If she left right away to go to the Flic en Flac beach, she’d reach there in no less than forty-five minutes. Right at the time when Logan would be out at the seaside.

  Think about it, girl. He’s got the wrong idea about you.

  Why that mattered, she had no idea, but the mere thought of knowing someone thought her to be despicable, especially when the notion arose from skewed circumstances, proved enough to get her hackles rising. And when the someone happened to be Logan …

  With a deep inhale, she went into the kitchen, straight for the side table where she reached for the car keys with one hand and for the pen with another. She scribbled a note to the children: she was going out, and they needed to put their breakfast together. The kids were old enough to take care of themselves, and none of them would even surface from sleep before eleven. Good thing they were heavy sleepers.

  As she crossed the threshold of the kitchen to go out to the garage, a sight stopped her in her tracks.

  Her mother was strolling down the driveway.

  Neha groaned. Not her, and not now. She’d have to wing her way through an explanation as to why she was going out—her mother hadn’t been named the Inquisition Row for nothing.

  Thinking of the reason for her leaving, and how her time ticked down if she wanted to meet him at the beach, she took another deep breath and faced her mother. “If there’s something you want me to do, I can’t. I need to go out.”

  Her mother made a face. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

  There it should come, the deluge of questions.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “I need to meet someone.” The older woman needn’t know the whole truth, either.

  “Who?” The reply came accompanied by an equally dry stare.

  “Someone.”

  “What for?”

  Drat, she really had no escape, and the more she dallied around, the more time she’d lose. “It’s about a job.”

  Her mother gave a startled gasp as she reached out and clasped her arm. “What is it with you? Why a job? Lara mentioned this the other day, but I thought she was joking. Do you forget you have your children to look after? Who’ll take care of them if you’re at work? Is it because you’re suddenly free that all sorts of silly notions are going through your mind? I thought you were more sensible than this, Neha, not one to try and emulate what your sisters have been doing all along.”

  She cringed under the tirade. There it was again, that eternal reminder she wasn’t like her sisters ... That, perhaps, she hadn’t been cut out of the same cloth as them and wouldn’t be able to do anything other than be a mum and housewife.

  If her smouldering anger had needed anything to be revived, this comment would’ve done the trick.

  Neha grimaced then bit the inside of her lower lip. She should’ve been expecting such an outburst from her mother, who loved nothing more than to ramble on about propriety and etiquette and social conventions to her daughters. Frankly, her mother should have been a parent in the Regency era, when such notions about her daughters would’ve still been valid and good.

  She’d never won any argument with anger, though—her tactics had always been diplomacy. Even if her mother did not deserve that half of the time.

  Gently, she extricated her arm from the iron grip. “Mum, let’s not argue, okay? I don’t have time for this.”

  “You don’t have time for this? Just like you won’t have time for your family once you get a job?”

  Her mother placed a heavy stress on the last three words, and Neha wished she could throw caution to the wind and tell her mother to can it. But she couldn’t do that, so she opted for another approach. “Mum, money doesn’t grow on trees, you know. I need to start providing for my family.”

  “Then get yourself a husband.”

  She threw her hands up. “You really believe it’s so simple? And my husband ain’t officially dead yet, either.”

  “Don’t say ‘ain’t’, Neha. It’s bad grammar,” her mother said in a scolding voice. “And what nonsense about needing money. We’re all here. Ask, and your father and sisters will provide for everything you need.”

  Strike the Pause button. Close your eyes. Count to three. Breathe. The drill Lara and Diya always spoke about when the
ir mother got on their case. She could, for the first time, empathize with them with perfect clarity.

  “Mum, I’m not a charity case.”

  “Of course you aren’t. Why would you be, when you still have us, your family, to look after you?”

  This conversation wouldn’t get them anywhere, and she didn’t want an argument. How would she convince her mother? She’d never understand. “Mum, please. Grant me this, okay? A few hours is all I’m asking for.”

  “Fine.” Her mother huffed. “But let me assure you this is far from over.”

  When is it ever over with you?

  The thought brushed her mind with such sudden insight, she almost reeled.

  “Who are you meeting?”

  She didn’t want to keep at this, but the sooner she answered, the easier she could get away. “Someone from a radio and TV station.”

  Her mother shook her head. “You’re setting yourself up for a bad life, Neha. Think of the children. What will people say when they’ll know you left them to go work in the media?”

  I know, Mum—dealing drugs isn’t as bad as a career in the hedonistic media. That’s the way everyone of her mother’s generation thought. She however remained silent, letting the chastising comments drone on.

  “Tread carefully. You’re an easy target for men to exploit now, Neha. Look where you’re stepping.”

  “I will, Mum.”

  Breathe.

  The other woman then made a move towards the house. “Thank goodness I’m here should the children wake up ...”

  Neha tuned out the rest of her comments as she slid behind the wheel of her Citroën monospace, pressing her back to the seat to heave for breath. She wouldn’t let her mother get to her. Her sisters always managed with their overbearing parent, didn’t they? No reason why she wouldn’t, either. Blast it, why had anger made her come out of her bubble? Her mother had been water on a duck’s back before. And damn Logan Warrington! Because of him, nothing fitted into her locked brain corner anymore.

  Focus, she told herself. You have some tough times ahead of you, worse than Mum.

  As she eased into traffic and headed towards the west of the island, a smile grew on her face while she steered the car along and away from the madness of her life with her mother around.

  The roads stretched empty at this time of the morning, and she reached the tourist village a little over forty minutes later. Slowing down as she entered the area, she searched for an indication of the location of the fish landing station. She had no idea where it could be, and toured the whole stretch of the as yet deserted public beach with no success.

  She found a police officer and asked him for directions to the fish landing station. Following his explanations, she headed towards the entry of the village and one of the first access routes to the beach. As she started down the path, she understood why she hadn’t seen it, right next to a restaurant. The lane was very narrow and rocky, easily mistaken for a residential cul-de-sac.

  She ambled the car over a speed-breaking hump and allowed the vehicle to emerge onto an asphalted area. The sea appeared within arm’s reach, boats and fishermen’s dinghies swaying to the rhythm of the gentle wind and waves. In the distance, about two hundred yards from the beach, lay the deep sea, its big waves crashing onto the coral reefs sheltering the lagoon. To the far right, a break of about fifty yards in the corals allowed boats to pass across into the high sea.

  Neha spotted a steep incline at the end of the asphalted parking bay, leading to the grassy-area bordering the beach. She stopped her gaze on Logan’s matte black BMW X6, the one she’d seen in the parking of the cyber tower in the space reserved for their office’s director.

  Easing her car until she reached the massive SUV, she cut the engine and stepped out, her sandal-clad feet landing with a muffled thump onto the humid sand.

  The overwhelming, iodine-tang of sea salt assaulted her nostrils, along with the heavier, denser smell of dead corals and algae. She sneezed a few times, her eyes blurring with tears. A sharp wind picked up, blowing her loose hair into her face.

  As she pulled the strands back and blinked to clear the tears from her eyes, she caught sight of a man swimming towards the shore. The visual rooted her to her spot.

  With his arms tense and bulging with muscles, Logan sliced through the water with almost impertinent ease. As he approached the beach, he pulled himself up to a standing position, the seawater running down his hard and fit body like beads of sparkling crystals. They rolled over his broad chest and taut abdomen, losing themselves in his dark swimming trunks, to find a path back to earth over his powerful, thickly muscled thighs and calves.

  She gulped back. He had an arresting body, as captivating as his roughly virile face. Every pore of his breath-taking tanned skin oozed sensuality and a promise he burnt with an even hotter fire inside. A fire that could scorch a woman and consume her spirit and soul when he made love to her.

  A darker area of his body caught her attention, a complex tattoo covering the upper part of his right arm. Neha exhaled a soft puff of air. The intricate weaving of thick lines were etched in what seemed to her to be a tribal design, all the way from his elbow to the dip of his collarbone.

  He is tattooed! She ran the tip of her tongue out to moisten her dry lips. Drat, she could picture herself running her hands over the beautiful design, to trace its curves and sinews with the pads of her fingers.

  She didn’t realize she’d started in his direction until the distance between them disappeared like ice melted under a hot, searing sun. Every step she took drew her to him like an invisible tug of a rope binding her to his presence. Within seconds, she stood in front of him.

  Being up close gave her a magnified view of how the beads of water lingered on the sprinkling of dark blond hair on his chest. She trailed her riveted gaze over him, to peer into his face.

  The tautness of his jaw curled a whisper of fear in her stomach, and like the first time she’d seen him, his intense eyes bored into hers, hard and fiery.

  Her mouth went dry under his penetrating scrutiny.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, softly.

  Too softly.

  “I … I had to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  Blast it, he could be so intimidating. Everything around them melted, Neha caught in another world where only she and this man existed.

  Never in her life had she experienced anything as arresting. Uncertainty and unrest battled inside her, rendering all coherent thought incoherent in her brain.

  I wanted to see you again.

  The notion flitted in her head, and she shook out of it. What could be wrong with her? What spell had Logan woven on her?

  Then, she remembered how his face had haunted her conscious and subconscious mind since the fateful call from Griffin. “It’s … about the job. Why did you deny me a chance?”

  He clenched his jaw. How could he appear even more severe?

  “I gave you a chance. The interview.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing. I didn’t think I could appoint you. End of the matter.” He stepped away and brushed past her on the way to his car.

  Neha tried to catch up with his long strides as she followed. “But Griffin says you thought I had the capabilities for it.”

  He stopped and turned to face her. “You spoke with Griff?”

  His voice hummed low, a chilling growl.

  She gulped back, afraid to answer him.

  After a few seconds, he shook his head and gave a chuckle. “You’re even more resourceful than I thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He crossed the distance between them with one step, to stand right in front of her. “You really don’t know what I mean? Come on, I gave you a lot more credit than that.”

  It dawned on her then what he was implying with his words. “I never asked for a favour.”

  “Okay. And why should I believe you?”

  Neha got s
ucked into his gaze again. He wreaked havoc on her senses, played dangerous catch with her rationality.

  “You’re not giving me a fair chance,” she whispered.

  “Really?”

  She nodded.

  He grinned, a slow, lazy tug of his lips. A shiver ran down her back.

  “You come from an upper class family, don’t you?” he asked.

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Everything. I don’t bow to privilege. It’s a matter of principle.”

  Stunned, she remained frozen while he reached his BMW and climbed onto the towel-draped seat. The door closed with a slam, and he eased out of his parking space in a swift reverse, leaving the beach in a cloud of sand.

  How could he presume so much about her? He’d been abrupt and rude, treating her as if she were the lowliest form of life, unworthy of even his contempt.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she quelled them back. Blast it, she didn’t cry easily. Why would she shed tears for a monster like him? Men like Logan were smart and ruthless. They didn’t become businessmen for nothing—only sharks survived in their world.

  How could she have thought she’d set the record straight? Skewed meant twisted forever in the books of men like Logan. He had formed a picture about her, and nothing she did or said would change it.

  Why should she bother? She had nothing to lose or gain through his acceptance or contempt of her.

  With a resolute step, Neha walked back to her car and got in.

  To hell with Logan Warrington. That’s where he could burn to meaningless ashes in fires consuming him whole, like the heat searing her whenever she approached him.

  Don’t think of him. She mentally slapped herself. Don’t even dare to imagine the warmth emanating off him like a hypnotic spell. Or his mind-blowing tattoo …

  Starting the engine and pressing her foot on the accelerator after shifting into reverse, she encountered a solid rock behind one of the back tyres as she tried to move the vehicle out of the parking. Finally pulling over it after flooring the pedal, she swerved out onto the road and headed back towards her home and sanctuary.

  ***

  The gall of her. She’d dared to come face him. With Griffin’s help. Who else but Griffin would tell her where to find him so early on a Saturday?