9. Opposites Attract. Except When They Don’t…
9
Opposites Attract. Except When They Don’t…
Mac
Sitting in the cockpit, I pull out my first aid kit and tear open a pack with an alcohol wipe in it. The cut on my forehead stings when I clean it. Taking out some butterfly bandages, I close up the gash, then set to work collecting all of her makeup paraphernalia on the floor and under the seats. Good God, what a bunch of useless crap.
I close the case, then grab the Clive Cussler book I’ve got on the go and make my way to the first row of passenger seats. I sit and read for a few minutes, trying to ignore the trouble we’re in, but it’s no use. This is bad. So very fucking bad, I can’t even believe it. Not only is my plane toast, but the radio was fried before we landed, meaning there’s no signal to show a rescue crew where to find us. It could be weeks before someone spots us, which will mean weeks of Jack worrying about me. Weeks of his bill not being paid, and weeks for Violet to tell him the truth. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
I’m also stranded with literally the last person I’d ever want in this type of scenario—a very fragile, irritating, overly-emotional, completely irrational, and … and really beautiful woman.
I turn back and see her lying on her side, facing away from me. I hope she’s asleep and not just lying there crying. She turns onto her back and her face tilts in my direction. Yup, she’s sleeping. I watch her for a moment. Now, that’s a face I could get used to waking up with every morning. Okay, I seriously must have a concussionbecause I never let thoughts like that pop into my mind. I stare for another second, feeling a boulder of worry fill my gut, knowing I’m going to be the difference between life and death for her. Why did I turn around and go back for her? Why didn’t I just go home? If I had, she’d be safely in a hotel by now in San Felipe and I’d be at home.
But I didn’t do that. I went against my better judgment and now look where we are, stranded God knows where together. She was right when she called me Mr. Gambles-Both-Our-Lives because that’s exactly what I did. I took the risk, and all for a lousy eight hundred bucks, proving to myself once again that I am my father’s son. Irresponsible.
Shit. I’ve got to get us out of here. At least if I could get out and survey the damage to the plane, I’d have a better idea of what we’re facing. I glance out the window, trying to see if there’s a break in the clouds, but there isn’t one. There is literally nothing I can do about any of it.
The sound of the rain soon causes my eyelids to grow heavy. I close my eyes and let myself drift off to sleep, managing to get in that nap I wanted earlier. When I wake, the storm has passed, and the sun is shining again. It’s low in the sky, which means it must be close to dinner time. I sit up and rub my eyes a little. Paige stirs, then turns over and starts snoring. Wow, that’s a loud sound from such a small person .
Getting up, I try to be as quiet as possible as I open the door and step out onto the sand. I stand in the late-day heat and sigh as I get my first look at the damage to Tweety. The pontoons are totally shot. I knew as soon as we crashed, but I was holding out a shred of hope anyway. Son of a bitch.
I look around me—this side of the island is just a white sand beach that leads to a mountain covered in dense jungle. I’ve explored enough of these cays to know there won’t be any predatory animals here, only birds and insects. If we’re lucky, there will be a small lake and maybe a waterfall in case we run out of bottled water before we’re found.
Great fucking job, Mac. Getting yourself and some city slicker stranded out here . Sighing, I get my flare gun, my fishing gear, and my picnic pack out of the cargo hold, and set myself up on a big rock next to the sea. I cast out wide, keeping a look out for a plane or boat that won’t be coming. It takes me almost until sundown to catch a decent-sized snapper. By the time I build a fire and get it cooking, I hear a sound from inside Tweety. “Mr. Gamble?!”
I jump up and jog over to the plane. “I’m here.”
Paige looks down at me and lets out a relieved sigh. Her face is streaked with black makeup. “I thought maybe you left me.”
“No, just making a little dinner,” I say. “Come on out when you’re ready to eat.”
“I should change out of this dress. I just don’t want to get it dirty, in case…” Her voice trails off.
“In case they waited for you.” I feel a pang for what she’s missed out on, and I’m suddenly desperate to make things better for her somehow.
She stops and turns to me. “Stupid, right? ”
“No,” I say, giving her a small smile. “It’s always good to hold on to hope. I’ll get your luggage.”
I hurry to the cargo hold and get her suitcase, then heave it into the plane. “There you go, Ms. Low-Maintenance.”
My attempt at humor lands with a thud. She glares at me as she grabs the handle of her suitcase. “Ha. Ha.”
“Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Good one.”
“I’ll go check on dinner.” With that, I walk back over to the campfire, leaving her to scowl at my back.
When Paige finally comes out, she’s dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt. She’s still got that orange hue going and her black eyeliner is smudged all over her face, and yet … she’s still cute.
She sits on the driftwood log next to me and clears her throat. “You have plates and cups?”
“I make it a habit to fly with everything I need.” I hand her a plate with a pile of flaky, white fish on it. “I hope you’re not a vegan because we’re going to be eating a lot of fish.”
“I’m not. This looks delicious, thank you, Mr. Gamble.” She picks up a piece with her fingers before I have a chance to hand her a fork. “Shit! That’s hot.”
I hold a fork up to her, and she takes it, her cheeks coloring a bit, bringing out her green eyes. “Oh, I thought we were going full Survivor .”
Chuckling, I hand her a bottle of water. “I try to keep things civilized, even when I’m stranded.”
“Stranded.” Her voice wavers.
Oh, crap. Now she’s going to start crying again. “Not stranded. Just … staying here for a little while. Wherever this is … we’ll be found soon. Don’t worry.”
“How do you know that?”
“Come on, a girl like you? You must have a dozen men who’ll scour the earth for you.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffs. “I’m every man’s dream.”
Her words come back to me about how she’s never been in love before or had toe-curling sex. I stare at her for a second, finding it hard to believe she doesn’t have to fight the men off with a stick. If this were a date, I’d definitely be telling her how wrong she is about herself. But it isn’t, so I can’t. “What about your mom? She knows you were on the way. I’m sure she’s sent out the Coast Guard by now.”
She shakes her head, staring down at her plate. “No, she won’t.”
“Sure she will.”
Avoiding my gaze, Paige says, “She’ll assume I was lying.”
I cock my head to the side. “Why would she assume that?”
“Because I always seem to run into trouble like this. After a while, it’s natural for people to assume you’re just making stuff up.” She picks at the fish with her fork. “Not like this situation specifically, but there’s always something. My boss is what you’d call demanding, so occasionally when I try to make it home for family stuff, I end up missing it.” She sighs, and her shoulders drop a little further. “More than occasionally, actually. I almost never make it home.”
“Must be one hell of a great job if you’re willing to miss out on your entire life for it.”
“Not really,” she says, glancing up at me. “I’m an executive assistant at one of the biggest ad agencies in the world. To be honest, my boss is quite possibly a psychopath who only cares about money. But…” she says, raising one finger, “eventually, it’ll pay off.”
“Hmph. How eventually?”
“I have a five-year plan,” Paige says, lifting her chin. “I should have my own corner office by the time I’m thirty-three.”
Yup, that seems about right. For whatever reason, I’m only attracted to women like her —the ‘knows exactly what she wants, makes five-year plans and will leave you the second your bank account dips too low’ type. “Well, there you go.”
Paige narrows her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I say, putting both hands up in surrender. “You gotta have a plan, right?”
Raising one eyebrow, she says, “And let me guess, you’re a ‘go with the flow, Type B to the max, never gets his feathers ruffled’ kind of guy.”
“Pretty much, but try not to hold it against me,” I answer with a half grin.
“You might as well just say it.”
“Say what?”
Paige tilts her head. “What you actually think about people who have goals and plans for their lives.”
Well, she asked… “It just seems to me that a lot of people let their entire lives pass by while they’re frantically working on their five-year plans.”
“Right, and you’re some all-knowing Zen master who has the secret to happiness.”
Glancing out at the water, I watch as the last bit of the sun disappears on the horizon. “I don’t know about the secret to happiness for anyone else, but I know what makes my life worth living.”
“Well, so do I. ”
“Money?” I ask, taking another bite of fish.
She glares at me. “Just because I’m ambitious doesn’t mean I don’t know what life is all about, thank you very much.”
“Hey, you’re the one who said your goal is to spend your life in some corner office somewhere.”
“Not just anywhere. In one of the world’s biggest and most respected ad agencies. And it’s not just about money. It’s about being creative and helping people.”
“And who exactly are you helping by getting people to buy a bunch of crap they don’t need?”
Paige gives me a cold stare while she chews, then says, “We help a lot of people. People are the ones who come up with new innovations. People with dreams. And without us, no one would find out about new medications that could save their lives or products that will help a senior citizen age in place, like a bathtub with a door so you don’t have to climb over the side.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. You should call up the Pope. See if he’ll canonize you.”
“Obviously I know I’m not a saint. I’m just saying that my work is about a hell of a lot more than money,” she says in a haughty tone. “And even if it was all about money, what’s wrong with that? I don’t see you flying people around out of the goodness of your heart. In fact, you charged me an awfully steep price for twenty minutes of time.”
I narrow my eyes, pretending to be annoyed even though I’m happy to be sparring with her. It’s so much better to have her annoyed than upset. “Are you kidding? I gave you a deal out of the goodness of my heart. And it would’ve been forty minutes of work because I had to fly back too.”
“Eight hundred dollars for forty whole minutes ? Now who’s the one who should be up for sainthood?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “And speaking of the money, I want a refund.”
“You want a refund?”
She sniffs a little and lifts her chin at me. “It’s only fair. I paid you to get me to Azure Island. You failed to do that, so you should give me a refund.”
I stare at her for a second, then let out a laugh as the absurdness of the situation hits me.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, it’s just…” I shake my head and chuckle a little more. “Sure, if we’re ever somewhere where money matters again, I’ll give you a refund.”
Her jaw drops and her eyes grow wide. “If?”
Crap . I should not have said that. “Not if. When. When we get back to civilization, I’ll give you your money back for the flight.”
“Thank you.”
I take a bite of the snapper, then swallow it. “I will have to charge you for the food though.”
“What?”
“Yup. Don’t worry. I’ll keep a tally. Why don’t we say three dollars for the protein bar, a dollar for the bottle of water. I buy them in bulk so I get a good deal. Fresh snapper from the sea, now that’s pricey. That’ll run you a good thirty dollars for your half.”
“Thirty dollars?”
“I’m going with fair market value. Those fish hooks aren’t free, you know.”
“You’re insane,” she says.
“I wasn’t when I woke up this morning.”
Her nostrils flare with rage. “What is that supposed to mean? ”
I give her a little smirk. “Nothing, it’s just been a long day with … interesting company.”
“Excuse me? Are you actually implying that I’m the difficult one here? If anyone is driving anyone crazy on this island, it’s you doing it to me .”
Taking a pull on my water, I say, “I don’t think so. I’d say it’s the other way around.”
She blinks quickly, her expression suggesting her head is about to explode. Then after a second, she smiles. “Oh, I get it.”
There’s something about that smile that I don’t particularly like. “You get what?”
“Nothing. Doesn’t matter,” she answers, scooping up another bite of fish.
“I think it does matter.”
Shrugging, she says, “It’s nothing. Just that you’re one of those men who doesn’t know how to be around women.”
I snort laugh, then say, “Believe me, New York, I know my way around a woman.”
“Oooh, is that your way of trying to tell me you’re good in bed?”
“You said it, not me.”
“No, you implied it, Mr. Big Mac. I’m just calling you out on it so you can hear it for yourself,” Paige says.
“I was merely correcting your wrong assumption,” I say, some distant part of my brain telling me to calm down. Well, I’m not listening to him. “I’ve been with a lot of women. I know how to be around them. I just don’t like them all.”
“Let me guess. Your perfect match is demure and tiny with no opinions.”
Leaning toward her a little, I say, “Nope. I like strong, curvy, and smart. Just not unreasonable or high-maintenance.”
Her cheeks turn pink and she turns her gaze to the fire. “Yeah, well … whatever. It doesn’t matter what you like anyway. I want my money back and I’ll … catch my own fish rather than pay you another dime.”
“And … we’re back to money.”
“In the real world, money’s pretty damn important,” she says, sounding defensive.
“Agreed,” I say, lifting my water bottle to my lips. I hold it there while I add, “But it’s not the only thing that matters.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet. “It’s not the money that matters. It’s what it gets you—respect, recognition, knowing you made it.”
“Okay, I’ll play along,” I say, setting my bottle on the sand next to my foot. “Let’s say five years from now, you’re sitting in your corner office, and ten years from then, you’re richer than you ever thought possible. There’s nothing you can’t buy. Then what?”
“What do you mean, then what?” she asks, wrinkling up her face in disgust. “Then I’ll have made it .”
“Yeah, so, then what?”
“Then I’ll enjoy the fruits of my hard work. I’ll live the good life, knowing I built it all myself.”
“Ah, the good life ,” I say with a nod. “You know, when you thought you were about to die, it wasn’t money you were screaming about.”
She holds up one hand, her face flushing. “Yeah, whatever I said at that … moment was just utter nonsense.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, shaking my head. “You were talking about your biggest regrets, which is exactly what people do when they think they’re going to die. ”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “So, you actually believe my biggest regret in life is not having a man?”
Shrugging, I say, “You said what you said.”
“That is ridiculous. I just said the first thing that popped into my mind. It meant nothing.”
“So you’ve been in love then? With some guy who you had toe-curling sex with?”
She narrows her eyes. “That is none of your business.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Her head snaps back at the word no, and I know I’ve crossed a line. I should back off, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “When’s the last time you enjoyed yourself? Or are you so busy you can’t remember?”
“You know what?” she says, her face all defiant. “That’s none of your damn business either. You don’t know me, so don’t sit there pretending you do.” She stabs at the fish with her fork and pops some into her mouth, chewing furiously.
“You’re wrong. I do know you,” I say, locking eyes with her. “You grew up thinking you weren’t good enough, so you’ve spent your entire adult life with something to prove. Nothing’s going to stand in the way of success—not your family, not friends, and certainly not love. You wake up each day with every minute already accounted for, and the last thing you think about when you go to sleep is your to-do list for tomorrow. You know why you’ve never had great sex? It’s because you don’t make the time for it. Hell, you probably haven’t even looked up at the night sky since you were a kid.”
She stares at me defiantly. “I’ll have plenty of time to look up at the stars from my penthouse suite, thank you very much.”
“No, you won’t,” I say, shaking my head. “Once you’ve made it, you’ll set the bar higher and keep going on your success treadmill until you die alone.”
“That is not true.” She tilts her head up to the sky. “See? I’m doing it now , oooohhh, stars. Wow .” What starts out as sarcasm shifts to sincerity as she whispers, “Look at all of them.”
I stare at her for a moment, thinking she may not be a lost cause after all. Or is that just wishful thinking? “Incredible, isn’t it?”
After a moment, she lets out a heavy sigh. “It makes me feel small.”
Something about the way she says it causes me to feel sorry for her. Here she is, trying so hard to be tough, when really, she’s just wildly insecure. “When I look up at the stars, it reminds me that my problems are small.”
Paige looks at me. “Even tonight, when your plane is dead and you’re stuck out here with me?”
The thought of our reality is a real gut punch, but I smile at her anyway, hoping to make her feel a little better than I do. “There are worse people I could be stuck with.”
“Such as?”
“Your boss sounds like an asshole, so I doubt I’d last too long with him…”
Paige lets out a big belly laugh, the sweet sound filling the air. “He really is awful.”
“How soon in your plan will you be rid of him?”
“Never. Not if I stay in New York, anyway,” she says, rolling her eyes. Then her face shifts back to her false confidence. “But it’ll all be worth it.”
Nope. Lost cause. I say nothing, knowing there’s no point with someone like her.
She looks back up at the sky for a long time, then says, “They sure are amazing though.”
A gust of wind moves the flames until they’re sideways, and a few of them blow out. I look out to the ocean and see a huge dark cloud moving our way. I collect the plates and silverware, and deposit them in the plastic storage bin.
“Can I wash them up? It’s only fair since you cooked.”
“It can wait for tomorrow.” Standing up, I hold my hand out to her. “Time for bed.”
Her mouth drops open. “What? Just because you might have been right about the stars doesn’t mean I’m going to have sex with you.” Before I can answer, she adds, “And that’s a little bit cocky, if you ask me. Assuming you’re so good in bed that you can make any random woman’s toes curl.”
I resist the urge to lean in and tell her I don’t want to make any woman’s toes curl—just hers. Instead, I say, “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s going to rain again. We should get inside.”
“Oh, well in that case…” She takes my hand, and I help her up, trying hard to ignore the current running through me from her touch. Her palm is so soft against mine that it makes me want to touch the rest of her just so I can see what she feels like. I stare down at her in the inky moonlight and feel a surge of desire as the wind whips her hair into her face. She brushes it away and tucks it behind her ear while I watch, dumbfounded. I want to kiss her like I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone before. I want to kiss every inch of her, all night long until the sun comes back up . Nope! She is the last woman you should be kissing.
She lets go of my hand before I’m ready, then walks ahead, her curves shifting as she trudges through the sand. I follow her, trying to collect my thoughts. She’s my client. Nothing more.
As soon as we get inside, the rain starts up again, pattering on the metal roof. I rummage around in one of the compartments in the cockpit until I find a flashlight and turn it on, only to see her standing staring at me.
Before I think it through, I say, “So, how do we do this? There’s only one bed, and it’s definitely not big enough for two of us.” Crap. That sounds as if I expect her to sleep with me. Now she’s going to think I’m a creep. “Not that we’d share a bed if it were bigger. That’s not what I meant,” I add, tripping over my words. “Obviously I … we wouldn’t be … nope.” Smooth. So smooth.
Paige blushes a little, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. She clears her throat before answering. “Don’t worry. I didn’t think you thought that.”
“Good,” I say rubbing the back of my neck. “Anyway, you take the bed. I’ll sleep in a chair.”
“No, that wouldn’t be fair. I can’t just take it because I’m a woman.”
I swallow hard, trying not to imagine curling up next to her on the bed. “Look, I’m not sexist, but I am a man, and there’s no way I’m going to take the bed and make you sleep on a chair.”
Paige purses her lips, then says, “That is literally a sexist basis for a decision.”
“I prefer the word chivalrous.” I give her a little grin. “Now, either you take the bed or we both sleep on chairs. It’s your call.”
She smirks at me, then says, “Since you’re going to be a stubborn ass about it, I’ll take the bed.”
“At least we can agree on something,” I tell her, grabbing a blanket out of one of the compartments near the back of the plane.
“That you’re a stubborn ass? I’m surprised you can admit that.”
I chuckle a little. “Walked into that one, didn’t I?”
“It was way too easy. ”
“I’m off my game tonight.”
She glances at my cut. “Must be that bump on the head.”
I stare at her for a second before answering, my mind completely scrambled by how beautiful she looks. “Must be.”
We lock eyes and something shifts in the air. A possibility hangs in the air between us. Then I clear my throat and say, “Well, we should get some sleep.”
“Yup. Good idea,” she says, turning away and getting into bed.
Without undressing, I settle myself on a chair, then shut off the flashlight. Instantly, any hint of light is sucked out of the plane, and we’re left in complete darkness as the rain patters away outside. I lay my head back against the seat, knowing I’m going to be sore by morning. But at least we’re alive.
Paige’s voice cuts through the black air. “Good night, Mac.”
“Good night, New York.”
I close my eyes and give myself a good lecture on the importance of keeping things professional. Just when I’ve convinced myself, she says, “Mac?”
My heart pounds at her voice, and I open my eyes, hoping for something I know I shouldn’t be wanting. “Yeah?”
“Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?”
For a second, I think this might be her way of finding out if I’m single, but then she adds, “Someone who’ll send out the Coast Guard?”
A wave of disappointment comes over me, but I push it away because the last thing I should be is disappointed. “I have a gecko who lives on my porch. His name is Steve, but I don’t think he knows how to use the phone. ”
“Oh,” she says, and there’s something sad about the way she says it.
“And don’t go feeling sorry for me. My life is exactly the way I want it.”
“I’m not sad. I just want to be rescued.”
“Oh, right. Okay,” I answer, feeling a little sheepish about my reaction. “I’ve also got my grandpa, Jack. I usually go see him a few times a week. I bring whatever I caught that day and we eat supper and watch sports.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It is.”
“Will he assume something is wrong if you don’t show up?”
“It’ll take a while because he’s used to me taking off without telling him. But yeah, after a week or so, he’ll start to wonder.”
“A week? Will he go looking for you then?”
“Nah, he’ll just wonder for a good long time. But eventually…”
“And he’s the only person? What about a neighbor or a sibling or your parents?”
“I don’t have any neighbors that live nearby, I’m an only child, and my parents are dead.”
“So, no then.”
“Yup. It’s a no. I’m sorry you didn’t crash with someone with a bigger social circle.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. I’m just giving you a hard time. Don’t worry about it.” Silence fills the air, then I add, “Someone will find us.”
“For sure,” she says, even though I can tell she doesn’t believe it. We’re both quiet for a second, then when she speaks again, her words are quiet. “Do you think they went ahead with the wedding without me? ”
Urgh. “No. I’m sure they dropped everything when you didn’t arrive and got straight to work trying to find you.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” There is nothing convincing about the way she says it, and the thought makes my heart hurt for her. “They’ll find us.”
“Absolutely. I bet they’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
“Yeah, they will.”
I stay perfectly still for a minute, listening for the sound of her breathing, my mind going over every moment of the day with her, from the second I saw her running along the dock, dragging that huge suitcase of hers, to the crash, to eating dinner by the fire, to a few seconds ago. We’ve been through more together in one day than most people go through in a year of dating. Not that we’re dating. But this is an insanely intense situation, and I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse. I’m in deep trouble here, because, after only a day, I’m feeling all kinds of things that I shouldn’t be about exactly the wrong kind of woman. If we’re stuck out here together for much longer, I’ll be done in by the time we get off this island.