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“Swim shorts, yeah, there’s a heated pool and the weather’s supposed to be good. So bring a bikini.” I cup her face with a hand. “Please?”
She sucks her bottom lip. Then she says, “I’ll think about it.”
I sigh. “Good girl.”
That earns me a wry look. She glances at the others, who are still hovering, no doubt waiting to grill her when I’ve gone. Then she says, “Thank you for a lovely evening. I had a great time.”
“Me too. I’ll pick you up at six forty-five on Saturday, okay? The party starts at seven.”
“I haven’t agreed—”
“And bring your toothbrush. I’d like you to stay the night in my suite.”
“That’s presumptuous on so many levels.”
“Hopeful, more like.” I bend my head and let my breath fan over her cheek. “I want to taste you again,” I murmur.
“Orson!” Her cheek warms beneath my lips. “You’re a wicked man.”
“I try.” I touch my lips lightly to hers. Then, conscious of the others still watching us, I move back reluctantly. “I’d better go. Firstly though, I’ve got something for you.”
“Oh?”
I go over to the car, open it and reach into the glove box, and bring it back to her. It’s a brand-new iPhone. I’ve taken it out of the packaging, started it up, put in a SIM card for her, and programmed the number into my phone.
She stares at it. “I don’t need one.”
“You don’t have to go on social media or anything. But I’d like to be able to talk to you and message you if I want to. And you can message me at any time.” I’m determined to remain in this girl’s thoughts as often as I can.
“No thank you,” she says.
“Scarlett…”
“You shouldn’t try to change me,” she says fiercely. “Just because the way I live is different from you.”
“I’m not trying to change you.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I just want to be able to talk to you while we’re not together. Come on, it’s just a phone, not a loyalty card for the capitalist machine.” I pick up her hand, turn it over, and lay the phone in it.
She glares at it.
I push away a flicker of unease at the thought of the different worlds we inhabit. “I’ve programmed my number into the contacts, so we’re all ready to go. All right, I’d better shoot off. Speak to you later.” I wave to the others, get in and start the Aston, and fill the air with its throaty purr as I pull away.
*
The rest of my day is super busy. I take the ferry back to the city, where I have back-to-back meetings until late. I do manage to catch up with Kingi at one point, though, and I ask him if he’ll draft up the documentation for the sale of the Waiora, and sketch out an idea for the stewardship. I also tell him that the commune has agreed to an audit of their financial documents. He checks his calendar and says he can start next Wednesday.
A month ago, we attended the wedding of one of our good friends, Lincoln Green, in Wellington. Kingi and I were both groomsmen, and Kingi’s affection for Linc was evident in the fact that he shaved off his beard for the occasion. He looked weird without it, so I was somewhat relieved he’s growing it back again. Bearing in mind he’s six-four and has long wavy hair, he could easily double for Jason Momoa.
“By the way,” I tell him, “I’m bringing someone to your party on Saturday.”
“You’ve got a new dog?” he asks.
I give him a wry look. “No.”
His bushy eyebrows shoot up. “Scarlett?”