Chapter Twenty-Four
Dominic
“We’re sorry, but your rooms aren’t ready yet.” A clerk in a Hawaiian shirt and khakis half smiles, half cringes. A shiny golden nametag on his chest reads Don. “If you don’t mind, we can offer you complimentary drinks while you wait.”
Before I can speak, Elizabeth says, “How long is it going to take?”
Don’s gaze flicks to the computer screen, his index finger twitching on the spacebar. “Maybe an hour or so?”
I scowl. Didn’t Brian tell the hotel what time we were arriving? He knows how much I hate waiting.
Elizabeth places a hand on my wrist. The touch surprises me, but it lessens my annoyance, reminding me I’m not alone and she too is being inconvenienced.
She checks her watch, a piece as slim and elegant as she is. “We can’t wait that long, especially if you can’t guarantee they’ll be ready in an hour. Give us a temporary room to change and hold our bags. We’ll check in later.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The man gives her a relieved smile then leads us to two separate rooms on the first level with the master key card.
“See you in the lobby?” she says, propping her door open with a hand.
I nod.
“It’s a beach party, so dress accordingly,” she says. “Brian should’ve packed everything you need.”
She slips into her room with her carry-on, and I go into mine.
It’s one of the most depressing spaces I’ve ever seen, and I saw some doozies growing up. The walls are the color of dried dog poo, the carpet threadbare. The curtains started out thick but are worn in a few places and look more tired than a hooker at dawn. No wonder the hotel uses it as a changing area for guests. I wouldn’t pay a penny to stay here.
After tossing my carry-on on the bed, I unzip it and find everything I need for the party. I change, stuffing my travel clothes in the bag. A light blue shirt reads I left my heart in Hawaii in a funky white font. A yellow sticky note has Kristen’s neat handwriting.
I had to get it for you for the trip. Enjoy. And think about what I said re: Liza Elizabeth!
Shaking my head, I toss the memo in the trash. My sister tries too hard to see the best in people, not realizing some are beyond redemption.
So Elizabeth is irredeemable now?
I scowl a bit. I’m not getting into that because that’s exactly what Kristen wants, and my mind’s been made up for years now.
Shoving everything out of my head, I finish changing and slather some sunblock on my exposed skin. After dropping off my bag with the front desk, I go to the sitting area in the lobby to catch up on emails. I didn’t get done as much as I expected during the flight for one very obvious reason—Elizabeth.
I scroll down my inbox and rub my lower lip. Still no update from Antoine on Julian. What’s taking so long?
Patience. Julian has tons of business deals and interests, and Antoine believes in being thorough. I appreciate that, because it’s saved my ass a few times. I just wish speed came with the thoroughness.
Suddenly my nerve endings tingle, and I can sense—rather than see—Elizabeth. I swivel around and—
The air clogs my throat like a physical lump, my blood running hotter and faster as my heart pumps harder. She’s pulled her hair back in a high ponytail, the golden, silky mane swaying with every step. Some kind of aquamarine wrap dress is draped around her, but the fabric is virtually sheer, displaying her gorgeous body, from her slender shoulders to plump breasts, the tiny waist and the sexy curves of her hips.
Her bikini is hot pink accented with plum. And although it isn’t that tiny, it seems to reveal too much of her flesh anyway—flesh I used to kiss and stroke to climax. An absurd urge to hide her away so no asshole can ogle her floods my mind. I bite back a curse.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Putting away my phone, I get up. “You look nice.”
As soon as the word leaves my mouth, I regret it. Nice is an idiot word, something you choose when you can’t think of anything because your brain isn’t working well. The weather is nice. Vodka is nice.
Elizabeth is beyond nice. She’s perfect.
“Thank you. So do you.” She puts on sunglasses with light umber lenses. “Ready?” I nod, placing a pair of shades on my face.
Beige tote bag slung over her shoulder, Elizabeth takes me out to the beach. The weather is just right for a party—the sky high and blue with a few white clouds on the horizon over a brilliant ocean. The sand is warm from the sun.
A huge section is cordoned off, and music blares from speakers. Asian men in black suits and earpieces stand around, their eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.
“Don’t mind the men,” Elizabeth says. “Bao Ming Ming’s big on peace of mind. And I’m sure her head of security believes there’s going to be a pipe bomb or something at the party.”
I raise an eyebrow. I might take what Elizabeth said seriously if it weren’t for a small smile on her lips. “Is the man prone to theatrics?”
She shakes her head. “No. But he’s paid to be paranoid. And”—she lets out an exasperated sigh—“he got a call earlier.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but she keeps walking. After a few yards, I realize she’s not going to explain.
She approaches one of the men in black. He doesn’t smile, but he nods in recognition. “Ms. Pryce-Reed,” he says in heavily accented English.
“Hello, Mr. Chu. It’s good to see you again.”
“An honor.” I can feel his gaze sliding over to me. “And this is…?”
She gives him a reassuring smile. “My date—Dominic King. I told Ming Ming I was going to bring him.”
He pulls out his phone and checks a few things. “Ah, yes. I see.” He waves us in, placing an index finger on the earpiece and speaking in Chinese.
“Let’s grab something to drink and see if we can find Ming Ming,” she says.
“Is this Ming Ming the birthday girl?” I hate flying blind. I wasn’t able to look anybody up since Elizabeth was tight-lipped about the party—who was hosting it, who was coming, what was it for.
“Yes. She’s a socialite from Hong Kong. I met her in Europe when we were twelve. Since then we’ve been very close friends.”
“More than just close friends. Best friends.”
Elizabeth and I turn around and see a petite Asian woman with a wide smile. She’s in a bright lime-colored bikini with gold hoops, which doesn’t do a thing to flatter her. Although she doesn’t have the muscle tone of a gym rat, her body doesn’t have an ounce of fat—or breasts, or hips. Her skin’s exceptionally milky—a shade paler than Elizabeth’s—and her face is doll-like with large black eyes I can see over the sunglasses, a tiny nose and bee-stung mouth tinted crimson.
“Ming Ming!” Elizabeth embraces her.
“Hey, best friend.” Ming Ming hugs her back, exchanging air kisses.
The gesture is a little jarring coming from a Chinese national, but then they both spent time in Europe.
Pulling back from Elizabeth, Ming Ming runs her gaze over me thoroughly, like I’m an item for sale. “Who is this hottie?”
“Dominic. Meet my best friend Ming Ming,” Elizabeth says, her voice light.
I suddenly realize her attitude is nothing like how she was with Marcella outside La Mer. Her smile is easy, and there’s the sort of genuine warmth that you reserve for the people dearest to you.
It’s the same warmth that used to brighten her eyes every time she looked at me ten years ago.
Realizing what we lost is suddenly tragic. I knew it vanished ten years ago, but accepting something intellectually and feeling it in person are two very different experiences.
“Lovely to meet you,” Ming Ming purrs.
“The pleasure’s mine.” I shake hands with her, not interested in flirting. She isn’t my type. Even if she were the most stunning woman on Earth, I still wouldn’t, not while I’m here as Elizabeth’s date.
“So how did you two meet? You look like a refined sort. Are you planning on building her a gallery?” Ming Ming says.
“Gallery?”
Elizabeth shakes her head. “Stop.”
Ming Ming ignores her. “Oh sure. Haven’t you seen Elizabeth’s drawings?”
“I have,” I say.
“I knew it!” She snaps her fingers. “Not only is she my best friend, she’s also a genius. But for some reason, she doesn’t seem to want to showcase her work…although I’m certain she still does her art secretly.” Ming Ming lowers her voice. “I thought maybe you’d be the man to force the issue. I still have a pencil sketch she did of me and my dog way back when. One day it’s going to worth a lot of money.”
Elizabeth flushes, tucking a nonexistent tendril behind her ear. She looks a little embarrassed and sad, and she lowers her lashes quickly and pastes on a practiced smile. The sight causes a slight twinge in my heart, and I have an inane urge to put a comforting arm around her shoulders. She used to dream of becoming an artist like her grandfather—or so she told me. It wasn’t just talk, either. She had tons of sketches and paintings, many of them experiments with different techniques.
Yet here she is…Ms. Corporate, leading the Pryce Family Foundation. The work is far from meaningless…and she’s done an admirable job. Everyone agrees on that point, praising her for making the world better her lifelong aspiration…
Then it suddenly hits me. No matter what people say and no matter how dedicated she is to the foundation, that was never her dream.
Then why is she leading it? She doesn’t have to be in charge. If she feels guilty about pursuing art, she could take on a purely supervisory role to make sure everything’s fine.
“I want her to do my nude portrait when I turn thirty,” Ming Ming says. “Is that too much to ask?”
Elizabeth’s gaze darts around, then suddenly she perks up. “Oh look, there’s your uncle!”
Ming Ming turns, her smile wide. “Uncle Zhao!”
A slightly balding Asian man in his early fifties comes over, his loose Hawaiian shirt doing nothing to hide a body that hasn’t seen exercise in a while. Water drips from the hem of his black trunks down a pair of thick, hairy calves and sandy bare feet. He seems familiar, but I can’t quite place him.
He hugs Ming Ming tightly.
Finally I recognize him. This is Zhao Xia, one of the high-ranking officials in the Chinese government I need to have on my side for my ventures. It’s been impossible to arrange a meeting with the man. He’s always busy and elusive. The joke is that not even his wife can see him more than once a month.
I can open certain doors for you.
I look at Elizabeth. She smiles.
He finally lets go of Ming Ming and turns to Elizabeth. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming,” he says in slightly accented English.
“How can I not, Uncle Zhao? It’s Ming Ming’s birthday.” Her eyes sparkle. “It’s so good to see you again. How have you been?”
“Very well. You?”
“Always well, thanks to you.” She gestures at me. “Have you met my date, Dominic King?”
Zhao studies me. “I don’t believe I have.”
Elizabeth quickly handles the introductions, her demeanor all warmth and high-society gloss. “Dominic is a brilliant businessman,” she adds. “He’s built a huge empire on his own in ten years.”
Zhao looks at me over his sunglasses, his gaze speculative.
“Excuse me, but I see one of the major supporters of the foundation.” Elizabeth puts a hand on Zhao’s forearm. “I really should go and say hello. I’ve been meaning to thank him in person for months.”
“Of course,” Zhao says. “You come see me before the party’s over. I owe you a drink.”
“Of course.” She leaves, taking Ming Ming with her.
I’m grateful for the privacy. Although a beach party isn’t where I expected to meet a Chinese government official, I’m not about to let the opportunity go.
“So, Mr. King,” Zhao says, “what is your industry?”