Avery

As we walked towards the main house, I suddenly heard myself say out loud: “Do you make all women uncomfortable because you’re handsome and you have a cool accent?”

He laughed. “Actually, the women in England are uncomfortable solely because I’m so handsome. They don’t even realize how cool my accent is.”

“I didn’t say you were ‘so’ handsome, geez. You aren’t nearly as handsome as I think you are,” I slurred. “I mean, you’re not One Direction, get over yourself.” He laughed. It was a pathetic, childish attempt to convey a lack of interest, on my part. When we’d boarded the yacht earlier that night, I’d almost tripped, and feeling his hands on my hips, hearing his buttery soft voice in my ear, without a phone or monitor between us, only his warm sweet breath, that was just about the death of me. And then—the torture continued throughout dinner. I could not help but notice how he ate his food—he was thorough and attentive and enjoyed every bite, always asking me if I was happy with it too. It bode well for how he’d behave in other situations…

We walked slowly as we approached the villa. I’d like to think it was because we both had been enjoying being alone together, but in truth I was just trying very very hard not to fall flat on my face. I was barefoot, carrying my sandals, and unused to having so much sugary cocktail in my bloodstream. The faint sound of the gentle waves lapping against the dock was rhythmic and hypnotic. He opened the sliding patio door for me, as we entered the living room area. That was when I decided to tell him I’d lied about having a boyfriend. I wasn’t an idiot—I knew my sister was right. This stupid lie I’d told him about Haruki Potter was just some kind of defense mechanism—another form of barrier between us—as if being on different continents wasn’t enough. But now that we were here, it was conceivably the only thing stopping Luke from pursuing me. And I wanted him to pursue me. I wanted every British centimeter of him. I was going to tell him.

But then some Victoria’s Secret model in a tight business suit walked into the fucking room. “Davis,” she said. “Look at you. Never seen you in a dress before. Not bad legs on you if I may say.”

It took me a moment to realize that this was Stephanie Sloan, the junior lawyer whose phone calls I had been avoiding. I saw Luke’s eyes travel down her body, ever so quickly, before he looked back at me with a twitchy smile.

“What are you doing here?” I said to Stephanie. I hadn’t meant to say it in such an aggressive way, but if she noticed, she certainly wasn’t intimidated by me.

“Well, I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d check in on my client, same as you.” Her eyes were trained on Luke. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“No. I mean—this is Luke Mason, transatlantic business consultant extraordinaire. Stephanie Sloan, one of Bucket’s lawyers from New York.”

She was a sexy she-beast. I literally heard porn music in my head when she walked towards him. She took his hand in both of hers and shook it firmly while looking him directly in the eyes. “Very glad to meet you, Luke Mason.”

“And you, Ms. Sloan.” He was careful not to appear to be flirting with her, which I certainly appreciated.

She looked back to me. “Did you honestly think it was in his best interest not to have a prenup?”

“What?”

“What kind of money manager are you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” For a second I was afraid that she meant Luke was getting married, and then I realized she was talking about Buck.

“You really don’t?” She looked over at Luke, then back to me. “He’s getting married here. Tomorrow.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways,” she said coyly. “I figured something was up when he cancelled his trip to New York and had you meet him here, so I called Samson and asked him who he’d picked up at the airport this week. I’ve had clients stay here before. Only on very special occasions. Get it?”

Now I understood. “You’re here to get him to sign a prenup.”

“Of course I am, and you need to help me convince him.”

I had to sit down and gather my wits.

Now I knew what Buck meant when he said he felt he could trust me and Luke.

“Stephanie Sloan. What a surprise,” came Bucket’s voice from another room, in a tone that indicated he was not surprised at all. He appeared, holding hands with a pretty woman in a white linen dress. She had light brown curly hair, and skin that was normally very fair but tinged pink from a day in the sun. I could tell immediately from her posture and the polite way she regarded each of us that she was British.

“Hello Buck,” said Stephanie. “And you must be the bride-to-be,” Stephanie stepped forward towards the woman, her hand outstretched. “I’m Stephanie Sloan, from New York, congratulations.”

“How do you do,” the woman said, with her English accent.

“Everyone, this is Ingrid Sheffield. My beautiful fiancée. She’s just returned from touring some of the neighboring islands all day. Stephanie is one of my lawyers, and this is Avery Davis and Luke Mason, who are here about the merger and were invited.” He smiled as he said it, so Stephanie wouldn’t feel awkward, although I don’t think Stephanie Sloan has ever felt awkward in her life. To her, it made perfect sense that she’d show up uninvited at the villa her client was renting on a tropical island in order to bully him into signing a prenuptial agreement.

I decided to hug Ingrid, because I was determined to be the good cop. “Ingrid, I’m so happy for you both. What a wonderful surprise. I had no idea Bucket was so discreet. How did you two meet?”

“Oh, I work at a little tea shop in Notting Hill and this scruffy fellow kept showing up for Earl Grey and scones.”

“She’s being modest,” Bucket said, patting her hand. “She owns and runs an amazing tea shop that her grandparents opened fifty years ago. It isn’t flowery and floofy, it’s super classy and hip at the same time—organic artisanal everything, but not in an annoying way.”

“Not the Bergamot Tea Room?” asked Luke, his eyes lighting up.

“Yes, have you been?”

“Well no, but my mother goes whenever she’s in the city. She absolutely loves it.”

“I’m glad, that’s nice to hear.”

Bucket rubbed Ingrid’s back, beaming at her. There was no doubt that man was head over heals in love with her.

Ingrid was a lovely, classy, down-to-earth woman. I liked her immediately. I could certainly see why he wanted to marry her, but never in a million years would I have guessed that Bucket Reynolds would have ended up with an English tea shopkeeper and not some surf Betty/Sports Illustrated model named Lexi or Maui.

“I know why you’re here, Steph. I was trying to keep this a secret from my lawyers and business managers.” Bucket looked directly at me. “Please don’t tell Howard, I know he’ll want me to do a prenup too—”

“Because everyone has a prenup,” interrupted Stephanie, as she pulled a file folder out of her Tory Burch tote. “We wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t make you sign one, right Avery?”

Absolutely. She’s totally right. All I could think about were the visa and income tax complications and how much money he’d lose if he got divorced—prenups get such a bad rap, like if you have one you’re not really in love, but they’re meant to protect both parties. It’s a signed agreement between two people while they’re in love and optimistic so that they don’t have to resort to the soul-crushing, bank account depleting, attorney-fueled hate fest that is divorce when things don’t work out they way they’d hoped. But I looked at him and Ingrid, at the way they were looking at each other, and touching each other, and I knew there was no talking him into signing anything but a marriage certificate. On the other hand—why shouldn’t it be that simple?

“I think that these two people obviously both have a great head for business, and the decision to get married and how to get married is a very personal one. All we can do is advise our clients. It’s their lives.” I glanced over at Luke, who was subtly nodding and smiling at me, approving.

“Exactly,” said Bucket. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Ingrid, “But in case you’re wondering, I’d be fine with signing a prenup. Bucket and I will look over it tonight, and I’ll give you the information for my solicitors, Stephanie, if you wouldn’t mind cc’ing them on the paperwork so they can look it over too.”

“But—”

“Let’s not make a big deal out of it, my love, we’ll look it over before bed, we won’t let our representatives bicker beyond tomorrow morning, and then Saturday night we’ll be married.”

“Saturday night?!” I may have yelled it. I didn’t mean to yell. “You’re getting legally married this Saturday night?!” That would be the night after tomorrow.

“Yes, we’re having a little ceremony on the beach here, at sunset. You are all invited. Don’t worry, Ave, we’ll still have time to talk business, I won’t let you down.” He winked at me. I heard Luke stifle a laugh.

“It will be a very small affair, since it’s so last-minute. Very casual, no gifts. We’ll be having a more formal symbolic ceremony in London in the spring. For family, and you know. But this one will be very special.”

Holy shit I have no idea what the consequences of that will be legally and financially. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you arrange things.” I am dying to call my boss about this shit shit shit.

“Already taken care of, thank you so much for offering, Avery.” Ingrid was so calm for someone who was about to get married, it didn’t make any sense to me. “We really want to keep the evening low key, but don’t worry—we’ve both looked into the legal and financial implications of what we’re doing and we’re going into it with hearts and eyes wide open.”

Oh my God you’re amazing I think I want to marry you. “Okay. I’m here for you, for anything.” How are you this calm? If you’re taking some kind of anti-anxiety medication please tell me what it is because I want some.

Bucket and Ingrid each took copies of the prenuptial agreement that Stephanie handed them, triumphantly. “I would love to attend, but I have to be back in Manhattan for a ten o’clock meeting tomorrow. Avery, I’ll email you the contract so you can look it over.”

“Great, so you’re leaving now?” Again, I may have yelled that. I didn’t mean to.

“You’re welcome to stay here tonight, Steph.”

“Thanks, I think I will.”

“See you guys in the morning, then.” Bucket and Ingrid disappeared to their honeymoon tent or whatever Samson had called it.

“Congratulations, good night,” Luke called out. He took a step closer to me and gently nudged me with his elbow. “I like how you handled that,” he said quietly.

“Well, I’m pretty good at handling things when I have to,” I said. I tried to look at him flirtatiously, but it felt like I’d gone cross-eyed. I had to sit down again. I was definitely tipsy.

Stephanie pulled her long hair up into a bun and sighed. “All in a day’s work.” She started to unbutton her blouse. “I think I’ll go for a dip in the pool.” She walked out to the patio. “Anyone care to join me?” she cooed, without looking back.

Luke started coughing, and didn’t answer.

She had such a slammin’ body, I heard porno music in my head when she walked. I could only hope that when she took her clothes off I’d spy a smattering of cellulite, but…Nope! Although it was dark, I could tell there was nothing shaking on that lady except her fabulous knockers.

Luke’s back was to the wall of patio doors that provided my view of Sloan’s obnoxious wet body, and to his credit, he kept his back to the door for the entire brief time that she was out there. Did she fly here wearing a bikini under her business suit? We sat there, looking at our phones and flipping through the magazines that were on the coffee table. We cleared our throats. He asked if I wanted a refreshment, I declined, he stayed put.

When Stephanie returned, she was wrapped in a towel, the wispy ends of her hair a little wet, her gaze fixed on Luke. She leaned over him—not like a stripper, more like a flight attendant—and spoke as if she were discussing business. Which she was.

“Hi. Luke, is it? I’m going to retire to a suite to make some calls and respond to some emails, but I find you very attractive and I’d like to get to know you a little better. If you’d like to join me in my room, in an hour, for sex, there will be no strings attached, no complications. I’ll be leaving in the morning and I certainly won’t require you to cuddle afterwards.”

Who talks like that?!

His first response was: “Wow.” Then he blushed, his eyes flicked towards me and then back to Stephanie and he said politely: “I’m flattered, Stephanie, thank you for the offer. But I’m beyond exhausted. I should really just go to bed. To sleep. By myself. In my own room. Thanks, though…Have a good night.”

Stephanie nodded. “Understood. Well, I’m off to shower. The pool is divine, you should try it. Both of you.” She headed out. “Enjoy, Davis.” And with her, she took all of the sound and air from the room.

I couldn’t look at him. I felt ridiculous. I felt like a little girl who’d been pretending to be a woman. Compared to Stephanie’s sexy directness, how on earth could he tolerate the likes of me? I was suddenly sure that all other women on earth were like that with him and I couldn’t believe I actually thought I stood a chance. We were just business flirting. What did I expect? After what felt like an eternity, I finally managed to push myself up from the chair and found my voice—or at least a squeaky voice that somewhat resembled my own. “I better go read over that contract. See you in the morning?”

“Absolutely,” he said, standing up. I think he started to move towards me, perhaps for a friendly hug, but I was walking too fast and I didn’t want a polite hug. “I will see you in the morning. Good night, Avery.”

Not good night darling. I get it.