Marbella Twist
Book 5 Marbella Series
By Camille Oster
Copyright ©2017 Camille Oster
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Camille Oster – Author
www.camilleoster.com
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Camille-Oster/489718877729579
@Camille_Oster
[email protected]
Chapter 1
With an automatic smile, Roan Hancock accepted the glass of bourbon from the pretty stewardess in a short skirt and tight jacket. The woman smiled at him and graciously handed it over.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Hancock?” she asked, blinking with her large, blue eyes.
“No, this is fine.”
“A glass of champagne,” Cheyenne said, turning her attention away from the round window by her chair. They sat opposite each other in the large white, leather chairs, a brown marble table between them.
“Of course, Miss Terpa,” the stewardess said, her lush smile faltering slightly. The woman didn’t like Cheyenne, and Cheyenne did little to ingratiate herself. Then again, she didn’t have an audience that filled the internet with details of every encounter. Cheyenne had no public persona and she acted accordingly, and that did fascinate him. No, women didn’t like her—her with the long legs, perfect body, face of an angel and lush hair. She looked like an angel. To others, she was practically a different species, while he had to make an effort to be relatable.
It didn’t normally bother him. He never classified himself as a diva, but he did get tired of always having to be aware of his behaviour and even his safety outside of his tightly guarded villa. There was nothing quite as scary as an overexcited mob. Mostly he had people to prevent that from happening, but it still did, particularly with premieres of new movies, and this, the ninth in the Culver’s Revenge series had included all the fanfare—the endless press interviews, red carpets and TV appearances. Roan’s face hurt from all the posing for cameras.
Cheyenne had come with him to the premiere itself and her professionalism had shone through. Not only had she looked utterly stunning, she had done everything perfectly, too. The best thing about her was that she didn’t get giddy around fame and fortune. In a way, she was an old hand at this and didn’t need a great deal of management like other girlfriends had. She was easy, not to mention sexy as all hell, gorgeous, and intelligent.
They’d met around four months back at a party in the hills. A creature who had elegantly walked into the room and was introduced around, eventually getting to his group. The chemistry had been instantaneous, and it soon became clear that she was an extremely cool woman, more sophisticated than the rest. That had excited him. This woman had been around, was travelled and knew just about everyone. And she knew how to enjoy the good things in life.
Her knowledge about such things still surprised him and he wanted to explore some of what she knew for himself. In fact, she was much more worldly than he was—not that he’d readily admit it. As glamorous as people thought being a movie star was, the reality often fell short. In the last eight years, he’d barely stopped working and time off included two weeks in some exclusive resort in the Bahamas with some girl he barely knew, where he slept through most of it, hardly even leaving his hotel room.
It was time for a real break, time to experience something of the exclusive world he had access to but never the time to venture into. For being one of the most celebrated action stars in the world, and rich beyond his own belief, he spent most of his life in a trailer. Even his fantastic house in Santa Monica, right on the beach front, was cold and foreign to him because he spent so little time there.
LA was a wash at the moment. Due to the latest release in the Culver series and publicised bitterness of some ex-squeeze he’d been seeing for a couple of months, the paps were following him in droves everywhere he went. If he went to lunch, they covered the window closest to his table. This had resulted in him having to dine at the Beverly Hills Hotel if he had to meet someone, only for the sheer protection from desperate cameras. In fact, he’d moved in there because his house was being hounded as well, and now the fuckers all had drones too, so the walls were practically useless in giving him privacy.
So spending some time away was just what he needed. It wouldn’t be far off to say he was exhausted, and according to Cheyenne, Marbella was full of people who would give him some room to breathe. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but it would be nice to think that existed.
The lush coast of Spain came into view, green with dramatic mountains, and deep blue sea. The sun shone and he could even see the shadow of the plane across the mountain range below them. He’d hired the plane to take them across the Atlantic straight to Malaga airport. As an expense, it was worth the lack of hassle to swap planes somewhere with people staring at him all the time, reporting to the world his every movement.
“We will be landing shortly,” the stewardess said, coming over and crouching by his chair in her very short skirt and shiny nude stockings. She certainly was pretty, her makeup expertly done, but she was nowhere near the same league as Cheyenne. Which might be why he was extra cordial to her, recognising it must be confronting to know you simply couldn’t compete with the other person in that immediate space. Normally, she was probably considered quite attractive.
“Thank you,” he said, smiling again.
Once she had left, Cheyenne turned her attention back to him. “I am glad to be back,” she said. “In all the places I have been, Marbella has a special place in my heart. I don’t quite know why, but it does. I think you will love it, too.”
She had promised him that the fact that he was rich and famous was incidental here. Apparently most were one or the other—a veritable playground for the well-heeled, she had said.
Not knowing the place, or any of the people here, it was the chance to relax that perhaps attracted him more than anything, even to play. Of late, he’d done precious little of it—too focused on his career. It had probably been the reason why his relationships all failed in quick order—the fact that he hadn’t had any time for them, or the inclination to subdue his career to make time.
The girls never quite were what they seemed, portraying themselves as worldly or cool, but as soon as he wasn’t stroking their egos, they fell apart and quickly grew bitter. Cheyenne had been different. Nothing ruffled her. If he left, she said ‘See ya’ and planned her day. She didn’t compromise, and he liked that—a woman who knew what she wanted.
Chapter 2
Perhaps Esme would go so far as to say she was excited about her first day at the business school. Obviously, she was concerned that she would struggle getting into studying when used to doing whatever she wished with her time—mostly catch up with her friends. Things had changed now that Felix was a corporate man. Primarily, he’d moved out, and he and Shania now shared an apartment.
It meant the house was mostly empty and quiet. It felt like everyone had moved on except her, who was floating around with precious little to do. Hence, she was cautiously excited about starting the new term at the Marbella Business School. The idea that she would have the skills and knowledge to do something after was equally exciting. At no point had she ever wanted to fall onto the family business, but there was so much other stuff to do, like Megan and her beachwear line.
Driving down the motorway, she turned off at the exit closest to the business school and made her way to a carpark next to the building. The place wasn’t big like a proper u
niversity, but it looked lively enough. There were smartly dressed people chatting around the entrance of the building.
A box of stationary lay on the backseat of her car. She hadn’t known what she needed so ended up getting anything she could potentially need. Felix had been very little help, as per usual. Now that she was here, she didn’t want to carry in a large box of stationary. Looking around, she saw that few others had more than little backpacks or computer bags. She didn’t want to be the one who stood out by not understanding that you didn’t bring the contents of your desk with you.
Maybe after today, she would have a better idea. Surely it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she didn’t have what she needed on the first day.
Luckily, her Mac fit nicely into her Hermes bag. Hermes were good that way—practical when needed. She lifted the dark pink bag and placed it in the crook of her elbow. Honey blond locks bouncing as she walked in the crème skirt suit she’d bought for the first day. Businessy, but not slave to corporate attire. The kind of businessy that showed you had taste and wore whatever you wanted—like the boss. What was the point of being in business if you weren’t the boss?
The main hall was large inside, with high ceilings and an internal garden. It was a nice place. They had spent some money on design. And a few of the students looked like they knew how to dress, too. With a smile, she reaffirmed the good choice in coming here instead of returning to England and swotting up at one of the Oxford unis—stuck in drafty, old buildings surrounded by people exclusively wearing hoodies and scarves, trying to escape the damp cold. She shuddered at the thought.
There had, of course, been the possibility of going further afield, but this was where her friends were and what was the point of starting anew somewhere?
Pulling out her phone, she checked the schedule that had been sent her and saw which room she needed. There were signs, but the complex actually sprawled quite a bit and she had to go through a garden to one of the other buildings, where after some searching, she found her room. It was a slanted theatre with rows of benches and chairs that folded down.
The whole room smelled new and Esme took a seat along one of the empty rows. There were people in there, talking between themselves. Did everyone know each other here? They looked so confident, as if they all knew what was going on. She, on the other hand, had no idea what would happen in a few minutes’ time. Would she be singled out and quizzed on something, have to reveal that she knew very little and hadn’t read any of the bound books that had been sent to her, or the textbooks that still sat unopened on her bed. Should she have brought them? Were they going to spend the whole two hours reading out of one and she didn’t have a copy? Why hadn’t she brought them?
Her nerves were getting the better of her and she forced herself to calm down. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to sit in the centre of the row, where she couldn’t sneak away if things didn’t work out. Although she couldn’t imagine having to go back and explain to Dominic, her father, that she had thrown in the towel within the first five minutes.
The two doors in the back were constantly opening now as people poured in. Some of them looked utterly studentish with jumpers and jeans. Others looked somewhat smarter. There were even a couple of guys in suits. A few of the people taking seats were old. Quite a few Spanish, but also an assorted collection kids from every nationality. There was the paleness of Scandinavians, what looked like some hearty Germans, and even a couple of French girls.
A familiar face walked in, wearing a checked skirt, vest and chino pants. Innocent Whiting-Cross, Aggie Fellworth’s less than friendly cousin. As always, he looked out of place. It had been a while since Esme had seen him. Aggie had stopped dragging him around and Esme didn’t know where he spent his time these days. It wasn’t with them.
Sitting himself down, he smoothed his short cut, wheat blond hair and pulled out his laptop. Also, as per usual, he had a constant frown, like he was being imposed upon. Aggie had said he didn’t want to be here, had messed up his chances of getting into any of the worthy schools back home and was stuck here doing a makeup year until his transcript looked decent enough that he could be forgiven.
Chapter 3
The class was full of deplorable people. Brightly coloured clothes created a sea of colour around him and he even saw gaudy and expensive handbags. Everything about the school was bright and clean as well. It looked positively sterile.
The lecturer seemed alright though—British guy by the name of Professor Paul Willis. By the look of him, he seemed a befitting guy—seemed to know what he was talking about, which was encouraging. Better than Inns had expected. In fact, he’d dreaded this day. There wasn’t a day in Marbella that he didn’t honestly cringe at. This place was not for him. There was nothing here that appealed to him—the heat, the sun, the gaudiness of it all.
The sooner he could get out of here the better. He rarely left the room at his aunt’s house unless he had to. In the beginning, they’d insisted on showing him around, taking him to every over-designed claptrap they knew of. He’d worn the imposition with as much grace as he could muster, but mercifully they had stopped.
It was imperative to do well in this course, to get the marks needed to return to England. Who would have thought he’d ever be put in this position where he had to perform like a seal in order to return home. It was inordinately harsh, no one giving him any leeway for something that was blown completely out of proportion. Fine, he’d been a bit cocky, but everyone was at some point. It was deeply unfair that he had been singled out and treated like this.
So here he was in this backwater shithole, doing penance, stuck with people who had money, but absolutely no sense, taste or decorum. Everyone back home was, no doubt, excitedly settling into their new dorm rooms at either Oxford or Cambridge, and he was stuck here with a room full of hopeless dreamers.
Professor Wallis was talking about the things they were going to cover that term. Strategy, the art of making decisions. This shouldn’t be so bad. He might not be the best student in his year, but they had quite a high bar compared to wherever these people had spent their formative years.
The girl with the expensive handbag looked familiar and now that he looked at her, he knew she was one of Aggie’s friends. Completely vacant from what he remembered. Never had anything interesting to say other than what she flashed her daddy’s credit card at. She was dressed in a suit, as if trying to convey that she was a natural business woman. Nothing could be further from the truth, when all she really would amount to was to marry one of these rich, poncy boys around here, and create a whole bunch of sprogs in their image.
Turning her head, she seemed to notice him and stayed looking at him for a second before raising her hand and giving a limp wave. God, please don’t, he thought. Then she turned back to the computer in front of her and typed in absolutely everything the professor said.
“So, I will see you all here on Wednesday,” the professor said at the end of class. “And don’t be late. I’d hate to have to start locking the doors, but I am not beyond it. If there is anything you wish to discuss, you can see me during my office hours.”
The girl, Esme, put her hand up.
“Yes,” Professor Paul said.
“When are those exactly?”
“Ten to eleven, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. But my email works perfectly well and can also be used to ask questions, or turn in assignments when the time comes. The assignments are detailed in your coursework. I would read through them now so you can take some time to mull over what you want to do. Now, that will be all for today.”
The professor started gathering his things and everyone followed suit, rising and streaming out the doors in the back.
A shadow descended on him as he packed his notebook away. Looking up, he saw Esme.
“Inns,” she said. “I remember Aggie saying you were starting this term. Me, too,” she said excitedly.
“Yay,” Inns said without mustering an ounce of enthusiasm.
“We can help each other.”
“I like to do my own work. I find working with others just slows things down.”
“Oh,” she said. What had she expected, that because they knew each other, they would instantly be friends? “Have you got anymore classes today? I have another in the afternoon, but it’s hours away. Thought I’d get some lunch.”
“I might stick here and find the library,” Inns stated. Over his dead body was he going to lunch with her, stuck hearing her chatter on about the emptiness of her head for a good hour and a half. It wasn’t as if the girls here did quick lunches. No, they were professionals at it and stretched it out to a good two hours, if not more.
“That’s a good idea. Anyway, I’ll go get something to eat. I’ll see you later.”
He smiled tightly. It was more of a grimace actually, but she didn’t seem to notice. Why was it that annoying people never understood that they were annoying?
The professor was walking out and Inns made his way over.
“Hi, I am Inns Whiting-Cross. Just joining the class. Thought I would introduce myself.”
“Hello, Inns” the professor said and shifted his briefcase to his left hand so he could shake with the right. “I’m happy to have you here with us and hope you enjoy the course.”
“I’m sure I will,” Inns said. It would do him good to have a cordial relationship with this man and he was the one who would provide that all-important mark that Inns needed to get back to his real life. “I’m finding the subject fascinating already. I used to study a bit of military history.”
“Then I think you have a unique advantage. Some say there are parallels. You have read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War?”
“I have,” Inns said with some degree of pride.
“Excellent. I look forward to reading your work when the time comes. Must dash,” the professor said and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
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