THE FLING

The Lake Bittersweet Series ~ 2

Chapter One

Six months ago

Conor Gault hadn’t taken a real vacation in roughly fifteen years, and he still wasn’t, even though he’d just stepped into the lobby of the White Sands Resort on the island of Maui. This was work. It was always work. Every lunch, every dinner party, every shot of bourbon in a private club, every workout at the gym…all work. It was also known as networking, but the word “work” was right there, sneaking in the way “work” always did. 

He crossed the open-air lobby, feeling the humidity heavy against his skin. The ceiling fans high overhead moved at a lazy pace and didn’t seem to have much effect that he could feel. A sweet honey fragrance followed him toward the reception desk. Right—someone had put a lei around his neck when he got off the plane. It had seemed rude to take it off, so he’d left it. Now he felt like an idiot in his business suit and flower garland. He should have bought one of those Hawaiian shirts at the airport gift shop so he wouldn’t look so out of place. 

“Conor Gault. I have a room booked,” he told the girl at the desk. She wore a gigantic hibiscus tucked over one ear and a blouse patterned with yet more flowers. He sensed a theme. 

“Yes, Mr. Gault, you’re all set. Welcome to the White Sands.” She launched into a spiel about all the activities and amenities the fortunate guests would be able to enjoy. The words “buffet” and “traditional pig roast” and “torches” flew past. A pile of meal and drink tickets began accumulating on the desk. The higher it got, the more his heart sank. 

“I’m not here on vacation,” he told her, passing the tickets back. “This is strictly business.” 

One of his biggest clients, Arnold Melchor, had requested a meeting during his obligatory midwinter family getaway. Arnold was also all about work—if you could call the gleeful accumulation of yet more billions “work.” For Arnold, as for many of Conor’s clients, it was more a reason for existing than actual work. 

And what is it for you? Some part of himself whispered. He’d been hearing these silent whispers more often of late. 

“We have many guests who like to conduct business here,” she answered with a sweet, patient smile. He wondered how often she had to cover up frustration with a welcoming smile, and he felt for her. He had to do the same thing, in his own way—though at least he didn’t have to wear a flower in his ear. 

She pushed the pile of tickets back his way. “Even business people have to eat, don’t they?” 

“I’ll be eating in my room unless I’m meeting with my client. You have room service, don’t you?” Back to her with the tickets. She stopped them halfway.

“Of course we do, but room service is extra. These are included.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. She blinked back at him innocently. “It’s a marketing thing, is that it? A few mai tai’s and the tips start flowing, is that the plan? Listen, I always tip big, especially for room service. You don’t have to get me drunk.” 

Firmly, he transferred the tickets back to her one last time, only to find them blocked by another hand. He glanced to his side to see a young woman wearing a straw hat, aviator sunglasses, and several leis. “I’ll take them if you really don’t want them.” 

“I’m sorry, that’s not the way this works,” said the receptionist. “Only certain guests are given—”

Conor cut her off. The phrase “certain guests” got his hackles up. “I guess I’ll take them after all. Thank you so much. Five stars to the White Sands.” 

He scooped up the tickets and handed them to the woman next to him. She gave him a wide smile as she accepted them. Her beach coverup left her shoulders bare, and he noticed that her skin was already pink from the sun. Before that, it had probably been as pale as a pina colada. Another Northerner, no doubt. He hoped she had some decent sunscreen. 

“Looks like you’re collecting leis along with drink tickets.” He unwound his from around his neck. “Want another one?” 

She accepted it eagerly. “Sure. I can’t believe people don’t want theirs. This scent is incredible. I’m going to soak all these petals in Everclear and make a tincture.” 

“That’s…uh…Everclear? You mean that nasty stuff people used to drink to get blotto?” He could remember a few frat house parties that involved Everclear…but only vaguely. 

“It’s a hundred and twenty proof. Great for things like tinctures, very bad for brain cells.” She draped the lei around her neck with the others. Then she gave him one more smile. “Thank you for the meal tickets. I won this trip in a raffle and don’t really have money to spend on extras. Can you believe the prices here? I don’t know how people afford it. Well, I guess I do know. They’re loaded.” She gave a little laugh. “And then they get the other kind of loaded with all those free drinks.” 

He smiled politely, ready to return to the check-in process, but she kept talking. 

“Funny how the free tickets get handed out to the people who don’t actually need them. Have you noticed that?” 

Of course he had. He was used to it, since his mother came from old family money—the Thornes of Greenwich, Park Avenue, and East Hampton Village. His father, on the other hand, was one step from a revolutionary—rock star rebel-style—and pointed out the unfairness at every opportunity. Not that there were many, since his parents had split after three weeks of marriage and Conor had mostly grown up with his mother. 

He couldn’t read the woman’s expression behind her sepia-toned sunglasses. Was she just making an observation or delivering a critique? 

“Well, I just gave these tickets to you, and you said you don’t have money, so how do you explain that one?” 

“I guess I’m just a sad-emoji charity case.” She pulled a comical face, and pushed her sunglasses back into position. “And you must be one of the good ones. I’m pretty darn lucky I ran into you. First the raffle, now this.” She waved the tickets at him, then tucked them into her colorful striped tote bag.

Wow, was she making fun of him now? He was pretty sure she was. It gave him a strange feeling. Women generally either flirted with him, fawned over him, or occasionally threw things at him. They didn’t usually mock him. 

The clerk cleared her throat. “How about you finish checking in, Mr. Gault?” 

He turned back to the reception desk, first darting a surreptitious glance at the lei-draped young woman to see if she reacted to the name “Gault.” His father’s most famous days were in the past, but many people still knew Steve Gault and the Freaks. 

But she didn’t seem to have registered the name at all—possibly she hadn’t even heard, because her phone had buzzed at exactly that moment. She was already turning away, phone to her ear. He heard her say, “Hi Mom. Yeah, I’m here. I know, can you believe I forgot my sunscreen? It’s okay, like three people have already offered me theirs. I think they’re worried about secondhand skin cancer.” Her voice trailed away as she wandered away from the desk.  

Smiling to himself, he finished the check-in process. His mood was definitely lighter than when he’d first stepped up to the desk. He could probably thank the stranger in the leis for that. He wondered what she looked like without the straw hat and sunglasses, and if he’d run into her again. Would he even recognize her if he did? He’d probably recognize her voice, which was both husky and direct, as if she didn’t deal in bullshit. 

Her hair had been tucked under her hat, so he wasn’t even sure what color it was. Some shade of brown, he thought.  

Didn’t matter. This wasn’t a vacation. He wasn’t here to meet new people, especially if they couldn’t even afford the buffet. Harsh, but true. He was here to deal with his billionaire client, and possibly to make other connections that would lead to more clients down the line. That was it. 

As he turned away from the desk, key card in hand, he pulled out his phone and texted Arnold Melchor. All checked in. When are you free to meet? 

Get settled in first. Shower, nap, relax, massage, whatever you need. I’m with the grandkids for a while.

Conor set his teeth. He didn’t want any of that shit. He wanted to take care of business and get back to New York. No need. I’m ready when you are.

Ok then. Pool in half an hour. By the waterfall. You can meet the grandkids.

Great. Grandkids. Conor turned over the thought of those kids as if from behind a thick wall of smoked glass. The concept of grandkids seemed so very far away. For there to be grandkids, first there would have to be kids. Before that, a wife was required, or at least a willing life partner. The closest he’d come was the odd proposal he’d once gotten from a close lesbian friend. 

“You’ve obviously got the best genes in the freaking galaxy. Look at you—the looks, the smarts, the charm. I wouldn’t mind passing on a little of that genetic magic. Ever thought about making a baby? I’d take it from there, I promise. You wouldn’t need to do a thing.” 

Once she’d convinced him she was serious, he’d stalled until she’d fallen in love and found another way to make a family. The idea of his genes wandering out there without his participation didn’t sit right. Being a Gault was tough. Being a Thorne was complicated. If he reproduced, he’d want to be around to help his offspring figure it all out. 

Of course, he had to figure it all out himself first, and he didn’t have time for that. He was too busy working.