Chapter Nine
Kingi
“Where’s your chauffeur today?” Chessie asks as I drive the car off the ferry and head for the city center. “If he’d driven, you could have had a drink.”
“I don’t have a chauffeur,” I reply, pulling up at a traffic light. “I like driving.”
“Well, we could have taken a taxi.”
“Nah, I’m not bothered about alcohol.”
“You don’t drink?” Her eyes boggle. “I can’t imagine life without wine.”
“I do, and I enjoy a good wine or whiskey, but I don’t have to have one, plus Orson is going to have a field day with you there tonight, and I need to keep my wits about me.”
“What do you mean?” She looks alarmed. “Oh, now I’m nervous.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about. He’s on your side, and Scarlett’s lovely. They just think this whole arrangement is hysterical and want to make my life a misery.”
That makes her giggle. “Should be a fun evening, then.”
“You have no idea.” I drive along the waterfront slowly. Even though it’s a Tuesday, it’s busy here at this time of night. I turn into the car park just down from the restaurant, and I’m relieved to find a space not far from the exit.
“Neat bit of parking,” she says as I turn off the engine. “I hear we were fortunate to get a table. Ria says it’s usually impossible unless you book three months ahead.”
“Yeah. Luckily I know the owner.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen.
I chuckle and look at a text on my phone. “Come on. Orson’s already there.”
We get out, and I collect my jacket from the back seat and slip it on, lock the car, and take her hand. It feels tiny in my big paw, with fine bones. My fingers could easily close around her wrist.
That provokes a vision of me pinning them above her head while I thrust into her. Red hair spilled over the pillow. My brown hands against her pale, freckled skin. Once again, I wonder whether she has freckles all over…
I clear my throat and lead the way across the road toward the restaurant. I mustn’t think about her that way. Prohibited conduct, Kingi. For the first time, I thank Tane for his wisdom in including that clause.
We approach the restaurant, threading through the busy crowd outside.
There’s a queue of people out the front, hoping for a last-minute table cancellation, which they won’t get.
And I can see at least one photographer, lazily snapping the guests as they approach the door, hoping to capture a headline for the next day.
For the first time, Chessie’s step falters. “Oh God,” she mumbles.
I look down at her. “What?”
She stops walking, then looks down at herself. “I’m going to stand out like a sore thumb.”
My gaze skims down her. Her navy slacks are clearly well-worn, and I have a feeling her top might belong to one of her friends, because it’s not quite her style, and it’s a little tight across her breasts, although I don’t see that as a negative thing.
She isn’t wearing makeup, as far as I can tell, and she’s swept her hair up in a simple twist with a plain clip.
Her only jewelry is a pair of simple hoops that could pass for white-gold, although I suspect they’re silver.
She’s right in that the other women here are likely to have streaked hair, perfect makeup, expensive clothing, and diamond earrings. I should have taken her shopping first and bought her a few outfits so she wouldn’t feel out of place.
But oddly, there’s something about her fresh-faced, natural look that appeals to me. The word pretentious doesn’t exist in her vocabulary, and that’s refreshing coming from a world where appearances are often everything, and personality is low on the scale of what’s important.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her sincerely. “I’d rather have you on my arm than any of the women here.”
She rolls her eyes and brushes at her pants as if they’re dusty, although they’re spotless, so I think she liked the compliment.
“Come on,” I say softly. “Let’s go and find Orson and Scarlett. You’ll like her—she was in a similar position to you. She was brought up in the Kahukura commune.”
Her eyebrows rise as we cross the courtyard to the restaurant door. “Oh, I didn’t realize that.”
“Yeah, so she wasn’t used to the lifestyle either. She’s had to make a lot of adjustments. It’s why she suggested the two of them join us tonight. She thought it might make it easier for you.”
She doesn’t get a chance to reply, because we’re approaching the door. I lead her past the waiting queue of people to the guy in a suit standing at the front.
“Mr. Davis,” the head waiter says with a smile, “nice to see you again.”
“And you, Marc. I think Orson’s already here?”
“Yes, follow me please, sir.” He leads the way inside.
I glance at the photographer standing under the large oak tree that arches over the center of the courtyard. He’s lifted his camera and is watching us through the lens. Chessie hasn’t seen him, but I look straight at the lens and give a small smile, knowing he’ll have captured me holding her hand.
We enter the restaurant, and the head waiter leads the way through the tables, which are nearly all full.
I can already see Orson and Scarlett seated at one of the best tables, situated in the corner of the restaurant so it has views over both the courtyard and the waterfront.
It’s a little quieter here, too, which I think Chessie will like.
Heads turn as we pass, and I nod at a couple of people I recognize, and stop briefly to greet a friend from a rival property development firm. I continue to hold Chessie’s hand while we exchange pleasantries, which I know that nobody at his table misses.
“Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” the woman next to him asks with a smile.
“Oh of course… Chess, this is Ricky Turner, his wife, Emma, Darren Cunningham, and his wife, Fiona. Guys, this is Francesca Ross.”
They all say hello. She smiles back, but oh God, she’s actually trembling. I hadn’t considered how nervous she’d be.
I slide an arm around her waist. This is the first test of how she’s going to react in social situations. If she goes to pieces, we might as well call it a day now.
“E ipo,” I say easily, “you remember me telling you about the Bay of Islands tour I took last year? That was on Ricky and Emma’s yacht.”
I wait for her to mumble, look embarrassed, or just not be able to think of anything to say at all.
But as my thumb strokes her waist, she turns and rests a hand on my chest in a familiar way and says to them, “Oh of course, I’ve heard so much about you. It’s so nice to finally put faces to the names.” She speaks clearly, without a waver in her voice, and the others smile. Good girl, I think.
“How’s the food?” I ask.
“Excellent,” Emma says. “You absolutely have to try the oysters, Francesca… the mignonette dressing is to die for.”
Chessie smiles. “I’ll have to trust you on recommendations. I’m more of a fish-and-chips girl myself.”
They chuckle, I excuse us, and we continue across the restaurant.
“I’m surprised you said that,” I murmur.
She shrugs. “You said it would make sense to others if you fell for a girl-next-door type. What was it you called me? Wholesome?” She gives me a wry look. “I’m happier just being me anyway.”
There’s no chance to reply because we’re approaching the table. Orson glances around, sees us, and stands.
“Hey,” he says, smiling. “Chessie! Long time no see.” He takes her outstretched hand in his, then moves forward and kisses her cheek before releasing her.
“Nice to see you again,” she says, her face flushing a little.
“Likewise. This is Scarlett.” He turns to the woman who has also risen to her feet.
“Hello.” Scarlett shakes her hand, “it’s lovely to meet you at last.”
“You too,” Chessie replies.
“Come and sit next to me.” Scarlett pats the chair beside her. “I remember how overwhelming it was the first time Orson brought me here. We can agonize over the menu together.”
Chessie laughs and slides into the chair beside her. “That sounds perfect.”
I exchange a smile with Orson and take the seat next to him.
“Would you like still or sparkling water?” the waiter asks.
“Sparkling, please,” I say, and the waiter nods and pours me a glass from the bottle on the table that Orson must have asked for. Chessie just nods, and he pours her a glass too. “Would you like to order a drink now?” he asks, gesturing at the wine menu.
“I’ve ordered a bottle of Sauvignon,” Orson says, meeting my eyes. It’s a safe option, something most women drink. I’m guessing he’s been through this with Scarlett, and he thought it might save a discussion that Chessie might not feel comfortable having.
“Is that okay with you?” I ask Chessie, “or would you prefer something else?”
“That’s fine,” she says, looking relieved.
He hands us all a menu, then leaves us to consider our choices. Another waiter comes over with a bottle of Cloudy Bay Te Koko Sauvignon Blanc, a classy Marlborough wine, and pours a glass for the three of them, while I cover my glass and say I’ll stick with the water.
Chessie has a sip. “Mmm, lovely,” she says. I know she’ll have no idea that it costs a hundred bucks a bottle.
“Marc recommended the platter to start,” Orson says. “Do you like seafood, Chessie?”
“Yes, I don’t mind a bit.” She opens the menu and stares at it for a moment. Then, although she doesn’t move her head, her gaze slowly rises to mine.
“What?” I ask, amused.
“Nothing.”
Scarlett glances at her and chuckles. “I have to admit, when Orson first told me they did a seafood platter here, I assumed he meant fish nuggets and scampi or something.”
“Yes,” Chessie says, relieved, “me too!” Her jaw sags as she looks back at the menu. “Oh my God.”
Along with the Kaipara oysters that Emma spoke of, the platter includes Bigeye tuna tataki with sesame, wasabi crème, and pickled daikon, seared scallops on cauliflower purée with pancetta crumble, and venison tartare with quail egg and sourdough crisps.
“If you’d rather have something else, please say,” I tell her.
“No, it looks amazing,” she assures me.