by Jean Oram
“Yeah, but it’s not exactly executive fare.”
“Good point. I could help if you want?”
“It’s okay. You’re busy, too.” Maya scooted in next to her mother as her sisters, Simone and Tigger began trying to put together the gift. Finding they needed an Allen key, the bickering sisters headed off to see if they could convince the maintenance man to come help. Having decided it would increase their chances of success if they all went, they filed out, leaving Maya behind to keep the birthday girl company.
Catherine placed a cool hand over hers. “How are you, Maya?”
Maya angled her head so it was resting on her mom’s shoulder. “Okay.”
“Just okay?”
“I don’t think Connor MacKenzie is going to be my ticket into the business world.”
“Of course he isn’t.” Catherine gazed down at her, and if Maya closed her right eye, she blocked out the side that had been affected by the stroke and could see only the side that still looked like her mom, not a frail old woman who was close to completing her circle of life. Maya’s heart constricted, and her mother squeezed her hand.
“Only you can be your own ticket.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean do this on your own. Go and make connections.”
“But I am. I have the grades, and the guts and the instinct and the drive.”
“But are you connecting with people?”
“Mom, it’s the twenty-first century. The internet is popular for a reason—so we don’t have to connect. We can just go out and get the job done.”
“And are they getting the job done with strangers? Or are connections and networks still vital, my dear?”
Maya pushed away from her mother. Catherine was usually uncannily perceptive, but to tell her to go network and connect? That seemed a tad old-fashioned for what she had in mind.
“Go take someone out for a round of golf?” she kidded.
“I’m serious, Maya.” Catherine smiled, the damaged side of her mouth going along for the ride. She tipped her chin. “Try it. And report back.”
While there weren’t many people Maya listened to, she listened to her mother. “Do I have to?” she whined.
Her mom reached over and gave her ear a playful tug. “Yes.”
“I suppose golf would be more fun than sitting around in a boring old cottage with sketchy internet.” And it sure beat trying to write business articles for money.
“My Maya.” Her mother shook her head and looked to the ceiling.
“Fine. Fine. I’ll try it.” Maybe.
* * *
Maya paced outside the bedroom where Connor was sleeping. He’d been asleep when she’d got back from her mom’s party, his door closed. And it was still shut.
She’d read an entire business book last night while waiting for him to wake up from what she thought was an early evening nap. She wanted to pick his brain about counteroffers, as well as the ideas she’d read been reading about. Enough down time, it was work time.
Was he still here? Maybe he’d figured out how to get a water taxi, and had left.
Or, oh no, what if he’d tried swimming around the island? He was obviously in no condition to do so. She should have followed her instinct to take him to see a doctor. Now his death by drowning would be all her fault. There weren’t any riptides or scary currents, but in places the rocky shore dipped straight down into deep water, leaving no easy exit from the unrelenting waves unless you somehow made it around to the quieter side, where there was a sandy, shallow area near the boathouse.
Maya hadn’t gone for her own swim yet and debated doing so now, to see if she could find Connor. But then a shuffling sound on the other side of the door made her step back. Connor opened it and stood in the doorway staring blankly at her, his hair an adorable mess, his eyes bleary.
He was hot when he was sleepy.
“What?” he asked.
She gave a shrug, her movements too quick to pass off innocence.
Remembering herself, she pushed a cup of lukewarm coffee into his hand. “Glad to see you didn’t drown.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Good morning. Would you like to play golf?”
Connor closed his bedroom door.
“Jerk much?” she muttered.
“I heard that.”
“Yeah, the soundproofing is bar none.”
“You snore.”
“It’s the mice. I’m going for a swim.”
The door opened again, and he was without a shirt. His skin was soft, pale. He needed to get outside for some vitamin D. He had broad shoulders like someone who used to work out or be active, but time behind a desk had done something…. He needed her to feed him and build him up again.
“You’re too skinny,” she said. “You need a big breakfast.”
“How’s the water?”
“Cold.” She wanted to bond with the guy, not swim with him. Swimming was for her. Alone. She didn’t need to worry about him drowning.
“Cold just like you.”
“Yes, but the water warms up in the sun.” She spun on her heel, then, unable to resist, turned and stuck out her tongue.
“You plan to use that tongue?” he asked, stepping forward with a swagger.
Her jaw dropped. But pushing her shock aside, she strutted back to him, exaggerating her hip sway in a way she knew he noticed.
That’s right. Eat up what you can’t have, honey.
She leaned close and he licked his lips, his chest expanding. She whispered, “I do, but I promise you won’t be so lucky to find it used on you.”
He laughed, a rich, deep sound that reverberated through her, making her want to hear it again and again.
“Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep,” he said, lightly touching her shoulder.
She ignored the shivers and the way her body tightened at his touch. “Then I’ll assume you are going to find a way to up your charm.” She flicked a look over her shoulder as she waltzed away. “Considerably.”
Again, that laugh.
“I’ll do my best, Maya.” He leaned against the doorjamb, sipping his coffee.
She paused, half turning. “Do you like your coffee black?” She hadn’t ever asked him, just brought it out the way she took hers.
He gave a shrug. “I’m easy.”
“I’ll remember that.” She shot him a wink and went to her room to rifle through her bathing suits. Discarding the bikinis as trying too hard, she went for the less obvious, a knock-out red suit cut high on her hips and low over her breasts. She might have to stop swimming a few times to slip the straps up her shoulders again, but that would be worth it, seeing as today was her last shot at convincing Connor to stay, before he went back to Toronto and quite possibly didn’t return.
Towel draped over her shoulder, she grabbed the coffeepot from the kitchen, topping up Connor’s cup as she walked past him on her way out of the cottage. She paused as she poured, ensuring she inhaled mightily, letting her chest expand and rise, her suit dipping down as she matched the inhalation with a slight back-arching stretch.
Connor’s attention strayed to her cleavage.
“There’s sun on the end of the dock. It’s a quiet place to chill out if you get bored up here.”
If she could get him to chill out, stay awake and relax, she could pump him for business advice while sunbathing after her swim. Maybe even find a way to use him as a job reference—even though he’d yet to give her any work to do.
Not waiting for him to reply, she added a wiggle to her hips and made her way down to the water, knowing that if he decided to navigate the path, she was going to get what she’d come for.
* * *
That woman was trouble.
Connor loved a challenge more than anything, but he was too tired. Too old. That hot little red bathing suit had stirred something inside, but still…he was too broken, and way too tired.
He sat on the edge of his bed and sipped the coffee
. Black coffee wasn’t bad. It was something he’d moved to about six months ago, when the fatigue had started sneaking in. Cut out sugar. Get that caffeine straight into the system.
It hadn’t helped. And he missed the warm, sweet creaminess of a double-double.
He set the cup aside. He needed to do something. He couldn’t go on this way—barely living. Even if Dr. Tiang said he could go back to work tomorrow, how long would he last before he was running into door frames again?
The push of gravity was strong, and Connor lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind blank. He rolled over, reaching for his bag beside the bed. He rummaged through his things, wondering what he should do. No laptop. No BlackBerry.
He was free. But free to do what, exactly?
Finding an envelope addressed to him, he tugged it out and hauled himself into the living room, where he collapsed on a chair near a crammed bookcase. He ripped open the envelope and felt a heavy sadness as he fingered the thick vellum. Rubbing his nose, Connor sighed and read the invitation. He’d already told his kid brother, Curtis, that he’d come to his wedding in Tahiti, but how had he not opened the invitation, when the wedding was only two weeks away? No wonder his brother had called and emailed a few times, to make sure he was still coming to act as his best man.
But how was Connor going to find time to go—assuming Stella or Em had organized tickets for him? Two extended weekends so close together was an insane idea, and familiar anxiety took root and flourished within him. He placed the invitation on the side table and reminded himself that at least it wasn’t another ex-girlfriend inviting him to a christening. He sagged further into the armchair.
Real life was moving along without him. He had no wife. No kids. No pets. Nothing to go home to. No one to miss him. Nothing to give him balance, as the doctor had suggested.
Balance. Connor was the CEO of his own company. You didn’t get there by balancing your world like a Zen master.
He didn’t even know what balance looked like. Was it a week off once a year? Someone to cuddle with? Skipping the high-fat salad dressing?
He snatched up his brother’s wedding invitation and stared at the empty box waiting for a checkmark beside the words with guest. His eyes burned. It felt like a dig.
Connor knew how his evening would go. He’d sit alone, feeling tired and wishing he was at work. He’d probably resent the time away from solving problems that kept popping up and that only he could solve.
His heart rate increased and he pushed out of the chair, grabbing the first book that came to hand. The Fall: Tales from the Apocalypse. Perfect. Something dark and brooding that wouldn’t remind him about his failure to get a real life. A life with meaning, people, love and commitment. A life where someone would have his back even through the tough times. Someone who didn’t want anything other than his love and company.
Yeah, that’s probably what a real life and balance looked like. Pretty much everything he didn’t have.
He stood on the veranda for a moment, clutching the book. If he went down to the dock, he’d have to come back up. He berated his old-fogey thinking and made his way down to the water. No sign of his spitfire Maya, just the old boathouse that was trying to yoga-move its way back down into nature. He tugged one of the Muskoka chairs farther into the sun and sat back, letting the rays dig into his skin. It felt good. Warm. Bright. How long had it been since he’d let the sun bake him, make him feel whole and real again? Happy.
Wait... Happy?
When had he stopped being happy?
Too much thinking. He was supposed to be filling his head with healthy thoughts so he could merge back into the rat race as though this pit stop had never happened.
He inhaled slowly, and thought back to the staff retreat they’d had a few years ago. What had that guru dude chanted? Empty thoughts? Clear mind? Something like that.
Think nothing. Think nothing. Think nothing.
But he was thinking something. He was thinking about not thinking.
This was dumb.
He drew in a deep breath and held it for thirty seconds, then let it explode out his mouth. Maybe he should swim. That walk down the path hadn’t been so bad; this retreat was already making him feel better. But he’d have to walk back up the hill to get his trunks, then down again, then back up after his swim. Too much work, and the sun felt too good.
Two ducks eyed him as they swam around the corner of the dock, vanishing under the boathouse door. Within a few moments they leisurely paddled out again, tilting their heads at him before heading across to the seemingly vacant cottages across the strait.
Tomorrow he’d have to bring down bread. Tomorrow? What was he thinking? Tomorrow he was getting back on that boat and heading to Toronto, his R&R complete, not feeding ducks.
A bulldozer started up across the water, the sound carrying to him as though it was right next door. Great. He came all the way down here to chill out—okay, and to see Maya wet and dripping in her Baywatch suit—and they had to ruin the ambience with a ’dozer?
He turned away, hoping to have a catnap, not wanting to allow himself to get intrigued by whatever project was happening across the water. He was on vacation. Relaxing.
Breathing.
Not thinking about what new project was under way.
Breathing.
Listening to purposeful splashing come closer with each stroke.
Maya.
He pried an eye open and watched her come nearer, until her hand tapped the dock like an Olympic racer. He half expected her to do a flip and push off, to go around the island again in the opposite direction. Instead, she hauled herself up out of the lake, ignoring the ladder.
He should have worn his shades, so he could drink her in. She was hot. Maybe even hotter because he knew what she looked like under that red Lycra. Knew exactly where the streaming rivulets of water were heading as they glided down her chin, raced over her collarbone and vanished into the valley between her breasts.
Thank goodness he was so exhausted, or he’d have an erection so big she’d slap him hard across the face for being a testosterone-crazed member of the male species. Even so, he found he had to drape a hand casually across his crotch to hide his partial.
“Wow, look at you, all awake.” Maya scrubbed at her hair with the towel, pausing to tip her head to let water drain out of her ears.
“Restorative powers of Muskoka.” He glanced to his crotch. Only not quite restorative enough.
“I haven’t heard anyone talk about them since the 1800s,” she said with a laugh.
“You’ve aged well, then.”
She smiled, with a welcoming friendliness that made him want to hold her, feel her heartbeat against his chest, her head nuzzled under his chin. That, and peel the suit off her wet skin.
He was lonely. That’s what that feeling was. Huh. He’d never thought that would happen, but somehow it had pounced, lingering like a sorry state of neglected affairs.
Maya wrapped the towel around herself and pulled up a chair beside his. “Plans for the day?” she asked. “A little work? Maybe some golf?”
“Not golf.”
“Tennis?”
“Too much effort. It’s going to be hot. The tree frogs are already singing.”
She let out a small, defeated-sounding sigh. “Reading then?”
“Maybe.” He flipped over the book, staring at the blurb on the back. Earlier in the week he hadn’t been able to follow new project layouts. What were the chances he’d be able to focus on a collection of short stories? He set the book aside. What was he going to do when he went back to work, if his brain refused to engage?
“You okay?” Her cool fingers landed on his arm, and he flinched.
“You’re cold.”
“Cold bitch, I believe, if I string all your compliments together.”
“My apologies. Put like that, I sound like a regular ass.”
“Well, it’s probably true. My mom told me to make connections with people. Net
work the old-fashioned way, because I’m…you know…a cold and determined bitch. You understand how it is. Fine for a man, but not for a woman.”
Her mouth turned down, and he felt for her, but her mother was right. Most new grads thought good grades made it a given that they would start at a six-figure salary, with three weeks paid holidays. And most of all, that they would be worth it. But they had no connections, were often a liability in their eagerness, and yes, women such as Maya were often dubbed a bitch. Yet she had the guts and strength to really go far if she didn’t let the double standard get under her skin and make her resentful.
“Your mother is right,” he said. “Make connections and network, get as much experience as possible and work your ass off. Literally. You’ll make it.”
Maya chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, looking uncomfortable.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.
“Green.”
“Mine, too.”
How did he get stuck on an island with a woman like Maya? She probably had a more detailed five-year plan than he did, but was still lacking the basics that five minutes in the business world would teach her. “Are you trying to…connect with me?” he asked. She had to be kidding.
“Am I that bad?”
“Try being less obvious. You know, authentic. Genuine.”
“Right. Arlene Dickinson, the entrepreneur millionaire from Dragons’ Den, said that in her book Persuasion.”
Connor refrained from rolling his eyes. Maya was so green it almost hurt to even sit here and listen to her.
She nodded as though coming to a conclusion. “Why didn’t you finish your business degree?”
“Cutting to the chase now, are you?”
“Why not? Time is money.”
“Not at the moment, it isn’t.”
Her feet had begun twitching and he chuckled. Chitchat was killing her. “Do you know how to sit still?”
“No. Do you know how to talk about things that aren’t business?”
“Of course.”
“Then start a topic.”
“I dropped out of business school because I made more during my third-year project than most graduates did in a year. Wouldn’t you quit and follow the trail of money?”