Chapter 22 Harrison
HARRISON
It takes time to work out what to say and how to spin it. I do not like it. Not one bit. In saying that, I’m in a corner. A very weird corner.
I ask Samantha for a short walk along the side of the Southampton airport and under the trees. It’s a quiet area, and thankfully, no private jets are now taking off.
It is the last pitch in the world I want to make, but it is what it is.
I’ve pitched to movie stars, media banks, Hollywood cinema chains, directors, producers, foreign banks, and global brands my entire working life. It is what I did and what, at times, I still do.
In retrospect, that feels easy.
But here and now, this requires all kinds of suspect and complex layers. Deceit and romance being key. Those I do not like. Especially together.
After three very long and complex sentences, I finish my pitch and look into her big eyes. Sam puts her hands on her sexy leather-clad hips. “No way in hell.”
“It’s only a week, tops,” I plead. “Anyway, it’s in your contract.”
“The fuck it is!”
“Okay, it’s not really,” I admit.
“I’m paid to cook, not act as your wife.”
“Fiancée!”
“Whatever!”
“Look, I’m desperate,” I say, embarrassed to plead.
“No shit!”
We stare each other out, and I cross my arms to match her defensive, angry-looking, hands on sexy hips. She looks furious, and I had no idea a white lie is a complete no go to her.
“What’s the deal worth?”
“What?”
“What is the deal worth?”
“Overall?” I ask. “Maybe thirty billion. In a decade, with expansion, a hundred.”
“No, to you, your upside.”
“A billion over a year. Likely more in the long term. A fucking lot.”
It looks like she is remembering something, then she says fast, “Okay, a hundred and twenty grand.”
Sam then extends a hand, and it shoots out fast. Before we really think it through or talk details, we shake hands.
“To being engaged,” I say.
“That’s fake engaged, Mister. And I’m not a fan of lies.”
“Right!” I confirm, still holding her hand and still shaking.
“And for how long?” she asks, brow up.
“Good question,” I say. “Let’s say, a month. Just in case the deal drags, and we need to—”
“So, not a week, like you first noted?”
Before I can answer, she shakes her head.
“Okay!” I agree, in desperation.
“And then?”
“You’re a free woman, I guess.”
“You guess? It sounds like slavery when you say the word 'free.'”
“You will never be a slave to me,” I say slowly.
“Not even in your sex fantasy library, okay?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Okay, forget that bit,” Samantha says, looking weird.
“A deal?” I ask.
“Right! And good!” she huffs.
“Very good,” I say, now feeling weirded out.
We let our hands go, and we both appear on edge.
I know I am.
“Well,” I say. “Wife to be. Let’s, ummm, get aboard, and head off.”
As I walk back to my jet, Sam follows, muttering away like some mad woman. I then realize I need flight plans and the likes.
I also realize that the rest of the trip is going to be complex.
Firstly, we need the situation and agreement to be confidential. Highly confidential. And that will likely mean no jet crew on the long flights to Japan and back.
Just us.
Holy shit!
Once inside, I call our aviation expert. He is my usual captain, but he also handles the jet details, flight plans, lodging them, fueling stops, and all kinds of things, like crew booking.
I explain my urgent request to fly to Tokyo.
Next, I tell him I need him to not act as pilot.
I can tell he thinks I’m weird, but I explain we need to leave within the hour.
I ask him to lodge the flight plan and to give us the ability to take off ASAP.
To also book the fueling stops, and all other flight details.
As we wrap the call up, I lift the jet’s steps.
I then walk past my scowling fiancée, who is now seated in the co-pilot’s seat.
We share a strange look, as if we are both still trying to work out what the fuck is happening. She blows on a strong coffee and then hands it to me.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m sipping it. I suddenly realize it’s hers, and I freeze. “Sorry,” I say, handing it back.
“Mistake one,” she says calmly. “Couples share drinks. If you expect them to buy this ruse, you need to plan better.”
I eye her over the coffee, and I wonder how the heck I ended up in such a corner.
After passing her half-drunk coffee back, I focus and begin pre-flight. The radio chirps, noting my jet tail number, and we can takeoff in three minutes. I breathe, confirm our planned takeoff, and click my neck.
“You think we’ll make it all the way?” Samantha asks, kicking her feet up.
“What? And not crash?” I ask, looking over.
“Yeah.”
I make a quick calculation, and I’m frazzled. “In my current state, I’d say fifty-fifty.”
Samantha whacks me, and hard. “You fucking dick. If I die, I’ll come haunt you.” She pauses. “But not that come.”
“Why? Because that would be weird?” I ask.
The jet moves forwards, and I shake my head to clear it. As the radio chirps, I slam the column forwards, and the engines whine.
We suddenly shoot forwards, and I say low, “Seatbelt, wifey.”
“Thanks,” she says, placing it between her perfect breasts, “but that’s fiancée. You are not buying the entire package.”
“I understand,” I say, trying not to get distracted while flying my thirty-million-dollar craft.
“Good!”
“Good!” I agree, lifting us off and inhaling to center myself.
“Honey?”
“Yes,” I say slowly, trying to contain the distraction.
“Is this our first argument?”
As I bank us over the Hamptons, I sigh and relax. “Baby, I don’t argue.”
“But if you don’t ever argue, how do you have angry, hot, make-up sex?”
I look over to see if she is messing with my head. “Eyes on the road. Eyes on the road!” I shake my head as she laughs. She really is a danger.
A danger to my sanity.
I point us towards home and the chateau. After a short trip to get our passports, it’s the West Coast for us. Then Asia.
I breathe, and my mind starts to churn again. “So, what’s the spanking rule in marriages?” I ask flatly. I look over, and she is now looking at me.
“I think it’s okay, as long as panties are pulled down.” She bites her lip without realizing it, and I growl.
This is a bad fucking idea.
As we fly towards Tokyo over the calm, blue Pacific, the coffee does its thing, and we talk. We decide we may get jet lag, so we force ourselves to hydrate.
We discuss life, we discuss hobbies, and we work out what we both dislike. We then realize we have things in common, and maybe too many things.
We discuss countries we’d like to visit one day alone, and again, we both click with a few.
I pull off my suit in the hot sun, and Samantha gives me a hard time. Long flights need to be comfortable, and when flying alone, I fly in shorts.
After informing her the captain calls the shots and that comfort is important to us making it there in one piece, she keeps her mouth closed.
That is, until she gasps, “Oh, hell!”
“What?” I ask, looking over in my Ray-Bans.
“We have a problem, well, you do.”
“How so?”
“They’ll see straight through you, or us.”
I look over, my eyes narrowing and my stomach tightening. “Speak,” I command.
Samantha stands, pacing in the small, sleek cabin. “Okay, I understand very little about Japanese culture. But… from a few articles on Japan, and from some weird doc I saw once, we know the Japanese are all about customs. Also, slow deals and careful deals.”
“Wow, really?” I ask, as sarcastic as possible.
She ignores the jibe and continues. “And their way of deal making is this, from what I remember.”
She paces in the small cabin, and I want to command her to get to the point.
“They will want endless discussions and chit-chat. But nothing about the deal. That is... until, say, the last half-day.”
“What is your point?” I growl, knowing exactly what she is talking about.
“They will be with us, you and I, and together, for days.”
“You’re killing me,” I say with a sigh.
“They will see right through it, and they will see right through us!”
“Shit,” I say, realizing she is onto something.
“Yes,” she says, sitting. “You know nothing about me. Nor I, you, Private Boy.”
I do not like the way this is going. Not one bit.
I also do not like sharing anything.
I never have. Good, bad or ugly, I am as private as it gets. I need my walls, and they keep me this… Safe.
Samantha flicks her legs back up, and her fine, now shoeless feet are distracting.
“Unless I’m wrong, and based on what you have said, we have around thirty hours before your first meeting in Tokyo.”
“Accurate,” I growl.
“And on the way is Hawaii.”
“Get to the point.”
“Do you want to stop and in a controlled environment, with zero chance of being found out, i.e. not in a Tokyo hotel, do a speed ‘get to know each other’ workshop, or whatever?”
I look over, and I hate to admit it. The woman is right. It will be more secure and far more suitable to do it in a location with privacy.
I flip several switches and check the jet’s complex mapping system.
Adjusting our course for Hawaii, I make a timing calculation. After adjusting the autopilot, I stand. I then find the ultra-private and safe cell. Sam starts to give me wife-like lecture eyes, and I don’t like it.
“Do not judge me, woman, I have a lot on.”
“Obviously, hubby.”
“That’s hubby to be actually! Try to keep up!” I say.
My fiancée smiles as the call connects.
“Change of plans, I need clearance to land in Honolulu, and fast. Like now. You can track our flight path with your cell, correct? Good, arrange landing. Then departure tomorrow and say midday for Tokyo arrival.”
I listen, ring off, then grab my normal cell.
After keying in numbers, I hit call.
“Richard, I need your place tonight. The one in Hawaii.” I wait and then sigh. “Great. Thanks, I owe you. I’ll send arrival details in ten.”
I drop the second cell onto the pilot’s leather seat, and I pace. I then smile at her.
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” she asks.
I give her a look.
“Now, take the trash out, hubby.”
I’m back in a good mood, and I feel unstoppable. I leap behind her and tickle the hell out of her.
She squeals, writhes around, and she leaps on top of me. We wrestle down, ending up on the carpet behind the seats.
She tries to tickle me, but being stronger, I finally get the better of her. I climb on top of her and hold her down by her wrists.
I am now between her legs, as we pant, laugh, and suddenly stop fighting.
We look into each other’s eyes, and the energy starts to feel sexual. Our hips are against each other, and I want to be inside her. Only I can’t. Not fucking now.
Suddenly, I stand up and help her. “Sorry… dear.”
“That’s okay… dear. It’s just, you know, typical engagement stuff.”
“Really?” I ask, unsure.
“You don’t get out much, do you?”
I mock-chase her, and she squeals and runs down the back of my jet fast. I stop and watch her run away. Deep down, I want to chase her. And deep down, I want to take her.
In every way possible.