Chapter Three
Kingi
Sabrina sat in the same chair as Chessie just last week, and she also ate a quarter of a muffin by breaking it into tiny parts and feeding them to herself with her well-manicured fingers.
Chessie has a big bite out of hers, and ends up with a blob of soft chocolate on the end of her nose. She laughs and wipes it off with a serviette, then has another bite. It’s nice to see a girl eat something properly.
“What’s going on in your life at the moment?” I ask. “Are you still dating Tamati?” I saw a photo of her with the fly half from the local rugby team on social media a few months ago.
She shakes her head. “We broke up a week ago.”
“Oh? No chance of getting back with him?”
“He wants to,” she admits, studying her muffin. “He’s being rather a pain about it.”
“In what way?”
“Oh, you know… He won’t leave me alone. He sits outside my house, revving his car and annoying the neighbors.
He texts and calls me all the time.” As she says the words, her phone vibrates where she’s left it on the table.
She picks it up, puts it down, and gives me a look that says, Speak of the devil…
“Why don’t you block him?” I ask, puzzled by both the guy’s behavior and the fact that she’s allowing it.
“I will, if he doesn’t stop.”
“Are you thinking about getting back with him?”
“No.”
“Why did you break up? Did he cheat on you?”
“No, nothing like that. He was just so prickly, so intense and argumentative. I was tired of the accusations and arguments. I just want peace and quiet.” She smiles and has another bite of muffin.
I study her while she looks out at the gardens, no doubt checking what work needs to be done.
She looks like a nymph, like a tree deity dressed in green with her red hair tumbling past her shoulders.
She hated the color when she was young, always wearing it cropped short and even dying it occasionally, but now it’s gloriously red, a true Titian, glinting with golden highlights in the sun.
She was wearing a sweatshirt when she was digging, probably to keep the sun off her pale skin, and she won’t be wearing sun lotion after her shower, so I stand and put up the umbrella in the middle of the table, casting a shadow over the two of us so she doesn’t catch the glare of the New Zealand sun, which can be harsh even at this time of year.
“Thank you,” she says. “God knows I have enough freckles.”
“I love your freckles.” I sit and have another bite of my muffin. “I’ve always wondered if they’re all over your body.”
She coughs into her drink, throws me a look, then wipes her chin with a serviette.
“Sorry,” I add, “did I say that out loud?”
That makes her laugh. “You’re incorrigible. No wonder you get into such trouble.”
“Life’s too short to watch what you say.” I lean back, holding my cup, and sigh. “I hate polite society. Actually I don’t like people much at all. I’m happier when I’m off on my own in the wilderness and I don’t have to worry about talking or, you know, washing.”
She chuckles. “I wondered whether the current look reflected a recent excursion.” She gestures at my hair and beard.
“I cut it all off for a friend’s wedding back in February. Nobody recognized me. So I haven’t had it cut since.” I sip my coffee, feeling mischievous. “So, are they?”
“Are they what?”
“All over your body? Your freckles.”
She snorts. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I tip my head to the side. The skin on her face and arms is pale, so the rest of her body is going to be even paler. I bet she has freckles all over her breasts. Down her tummy. Up her soft thighs. Between her legs, on that sensitive, possibly hairless skin?
I lift my gaze back to hers. She’s blushing.
“Stop picturing me naked,” she scolds. “It’s weird.”
“Why is it weird?”
“You’re like my brother, for God’s sake.”
“I can safely say, Chessie Ross, I have never thought of you like a sister.”
It’s actually a lie. I used to think of her like that… until I kissed her.
She meets my gaze now, her green eyes wide, her expression clearly baffled.
“I’m sorry,” I relent, thinking about the Foundation and feeling suddenly guilty at my behavior. “I’m being inappropriate.”
Her lips curve up. “I don’t mind the teasing.
We’ve known each other long enough that I know you don’t mean it.
” She chuckles and looks away, sipping her coffee.
She honestly thinks I’m joking. She obviously has no idea how beautiful she is.
Tiny and perfectly proportioned. She’s not tall or stick thin like Sabrina; her muscles are toned from her physical job, and she’s pleasingly rounded. Definitely a C cup, maybe even a D.
I catch myself thinking about it and tear my gaze away.
What the fuck is wrong with me? See, Kingi, this is what Mikaere and Moana meant when they said you need to be more respectable.
You’re about to head a foundation that teaches young men how to—including other things—be respectful to women.
What kind of fucking role model are you going to be?
I clear my throat. “So… how are you enjoying being in charge of the business? Do you like being the boss?”
She pulls a face. “God, no. I’m terrible at it. I struggle with the paperwork. And I’m no good at managing people. Luckily most of them know what they’re doing and they organize themselves.”
“What about Mark?” I know that her brother also works for their father’s business. “What’s he up to?”
She lowers her gaze to her coffee cup. “Let’s just say he’s not management material.” Her lips twist, but she doesn’t elaborate.
“Can’t you hire someone to do it for you?” I ask, puzzled.
She gives me a strange look, and I can see her debating whether to tell me something. She looks away again though, across to the gardens, and doesn’t say anything.
“You can talk to me.” I’m concerned. I don’t like to think of her struggling with the workload, as well as the emotional stress of her father’s illness.
She nibbles her bottom lip. Then she gives a little sigh, as if coming to a decision, and she looks back at me.
“There’s a financial issue,” she says softly.
I lean forward, my elbows on my knees. “With the business?”
She studies her coffee cup. Then she says, “Partly.”
So that’s why hiring someone to run it is out of the question.
“What do you mean by partly?”
She thinks again. I feel that she’s choosing her words carefully, as if picking out the best flowers for a vase. “Dad’s had trouble meeting the payments on his house. The bank is threatening repossession.”
My eyebrows lift. “You mean his income has slipped because he hasn’t been working?”
“Partly.”
Another partly.
I wait for her to go on.
She looks at me then, a slightly pleading glance. “If I tell you, you must promise not to say anything.”
I frown. “Of course.”
“Not to anyone, Kingi.”
“E hine, I wouldn’t.” It means ‘dear girl’.
“Mark has a gambling addiction,” she reveals. “It started in his teens, and it got out of hand in his early twenties. Dad bailed him out then, and we got him some therapy, and we thought it was better. But recently Dad discovered he’d gotten back into it. He’s in huge debt.”
“How huge is huge?” I ask.
“He’s maxed out several credit cards and taken out a personal loan. He got hooked on some online betting apps. And… he’s borrowed from some disreputable sources.”
Loan sharks. It doesn’t get much worse than that. “How much?” I ask again.
“Forty-five thousand dollars.”
I frown. It’s a significant amount. “So Joe bailed him out again?” I ask.
“Yes. He used all his savings.”
“And then fell sick?”
She nods.
I frown. “You said he’s having trouble meeting his mortgage payments. Won’t the bank give him a payment holiday?”
“Yes, they did… on the first mortgage.”
“He re-mortgaged the house?” I’m shocked.
“It’s the only way he could raise the extra funds, and the payment holiday doesn’t apply to that loan.
And he still has to pay rates, insurance, utilities, groceries…
One of our ride-on mowers blew up, and we don’t have the cash for repairs.
We’re late paying invoices, and a couple of our suppliers are demanding money.
I didn’t know all this until Dad went into hospital.
Mark’s useless at the business side of things and has let it all slide.
” Her voice is bitter—she’s torn between loyalty to her brother and absolute fury at him. “It’s all such a mess,” she confides.
I can already see the problem—no capital buffer, no debt restructuring, no forward forecasting.
The bank has happily lent them money with the house as home equity top-up, but all that’s done is threaten the family’s stability now they can’t meet the payments.
The compounding interest is only going to add to their problems, especially from the loan sharks. I doubt she’s even thought about that.
“I’m so sorry.” I lean forward to catch her eye. “You should have come to me sooner.”
She attempts a smile. “I appreciate that, but I’m not just going to knock on your door and tell you all my problems.”
“Well, I’d hope you would do that, considering our history, but that’s not what I meant. I mean in a financial and business sense. Forty-five thousand isn’t that much. I’m sure we can work something out.”
Her eyes widen. “It isn’t that much?” She glares at me. “It’s almost what Mark earns in a year.”
My mouth opens, but no words come out. Shit. I didn’t think. I’ve probably got forty-five thousand in my pocket.
“It might be a drop in the Pacific for someone like you,” she says, “but to most normal people it’s a huge amount of money.”
I clear my throat. “I apologize. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I just meant that I’ll happily bail you all out until Joe’s fit to work again.”
Her face falls even more, and her spine stiffens. Oh fuck, could I screw this up any more than I already am?
“I don’t need you to point out the vast gulf between our financial situations,” she snaps. “That is very clear to me.”
Fuck. “I didn’t mean—”