Читать книгу All Night Long - Melissa MacNeal - Страница 9

“This is Clive Kingsley, our concierge,” Rio said as he escorted Lola behind a counter and into a small, colorful office.

The man at the glossy walnut desk, stood up with a debonair grin. “So pleased to be of service! And how may I assist you, Miss—”

“Miss Wright has just discovered that her purse, cell phone, and cruise documents are gone,” the security agent filled him in. “Not to mention her passport. And we suspect her fiancé—”

“Ex-fiancé,” Lola muttered.

“—Dennis Fletcher, has taken them ashore and not returned to the ship,” DeSilva finished pointedly.

“Well, isn’t that nasty?” Kingsley exclaimed with a horrified expression.

His face softened when he looked at her, and the way he’d said nah-sty, with a British accent that flowed like hot fudge, would’ve sounded utterly delicious if she weren’t in such a pinch.

“But rest assured, Ms. Wright, we will get to the bottom of this! Mr. DeSilva here is the best security man sailing today, and the Aphrodite is equipped with cutting-edge technology.”

“Perhaps you could file the report and notify the credit card offices of this theft,” the agent went on, “while I check out a few other details.”

“Most certainly,” Kingsley said with a crisp nod. “Put out my sign as you leave, please, so we’ll have no interruptions. This is far more important than passengers wanting to book shore excursions or sign up for ballroom dance lessons. Shall we?”

The concierge, so dapper in his navy blue suit, gestured toward a doorway behind her. Feeling indecently underdressed, Lola preceded him into a cozy little sanctum decorated in brilliant jewel tones, where a flat-screen computer hummed quietly.

“Now, sit yourself down, my dear, and we’ll get you squared away so quickly you’ll still catch the captain’s champagne reception before dinner. Just let me bring up your account…and you’re in which stateroom again, please?”

“7010. Promenade deck.” She tried not to slump dejectedly, but the sleek wooden chair was so slick her silk robe gave her no traction. Gripping the edges of the seat, she thought about how ready she’d been to attend that gala reception—before this thing with Dennis came up, that is.

“And you would be Miss Lola Wright of Portland, Oregon, sharing the stateroom with Mr. Dennis Fletcher—”

Kingsley clicked through some screens and then glanced at her. “And you don’t have a single shred of identification, darling?”

Lola swallowed hard. Here again, under different circumstances she’d find Clive Kingsley’s baritone voice and dark, curly hair most alluring. His blue eyes glimmered with sympathy and perhaps even…interest.

“Not a shred,” she echoed. “The best I can figure, Dennis came up from—supposedly—the ship’s casino while I was in the shower. Stole my purse, my phone, my passport—”

“We’ll get him for that!”

“—and left me a note about finding his true soul mate, if you can believe that! Some woman with a seaside villa on Aruba!” she continued, fueled by her anger. “And this on the evening before we were to get married tomorrow, at sea!”

“Oh, and the ceremony is lovely!” Clive cut in, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “Our chef, Alphonse, outdoes himself on the ten-tiered cake—and the champagne punch cascades as a waterfall into an ice sculpture of a couple frolicking nude in a jacuzzi. This is an adult cruise, and we make every opportunity to keep our guests in the mood—”

Kingsley squinted slightly, and then slipped on a trendy little pair of reading glasses that hung around his neck. “Oh, my. My, my, my.”

Lola stiffened, straining to see the computer screen. But the concierge, whether to reduce the glare or protect her from what he saw, tilted the screen with a flick of his finger.

“What?”

Kingsley sighed and sat back. “I’ve brought up the various charges to the credit card with which you booked your cruise, dear. The account is in your name, correct?”

She nodded, getting that sick feeling again. “And?”

“It seems numerous charges have already been made to the ship’s bars and boutiques on Mr. Fletcher’s SeaKey—”

Lola cringed. They’d only been aboard for a day and a half! And she certainly hadn’t received any gifts from the fabulous shops here! What the hell had he bought? And what had he done with all that stuff?

“—so I’m wondering, since you mentioned he was in the casino—”

“How hard did he hit the ATM before he ditched me?”

Clive Kingsley’s face was a study in utter dejection. “I don’t show that information here, but I’d better find out. Excuse me while I make a call.”

Nodding, Lola pretended to study the array of appliquéd fabric montages depicting Caribbean street scenes. The vivid colors and textures played with her eyes, and she wished she were in the mood to appreciate such unique artwork. But who could possibly enjoy a vacation that had turned into the cruise from hell when her fiancé filched her plastic?

God, but I need a smoke!

Lola scootched back upright in the slick chair, while trying to keep her legs together and her boobs from falling out of her robe. A nicotine fit would be the pièce de résistance, far as impressing this courtly concierge. He was probably working so urgently just so he could get her out of his office.

Indeed, Mr. Kingsley’s low grunts into the phone, and the way he scribbled figures on a miniature legal pad, appeared anything but encouraging. Lola blinked rapidly and looked away, trying not to embarrass herself further.

Kingsley hung up. Did the math with quick, efficient strokes of his gold-plated fountain pen before focusing doleful blue eyes on her. “If it’s any consolation, dear girl, you’re better off without this—”

“What? Just tell me, already!”

“Mr. Fletcher’s casino ATM withdrawals total more than ten thousand—”

“Holy shit! My credit limit’s only—”

“Yes, I’m afraid we’ve got a problem there, too.” He handed her the little legal pad and a sleek black pen promoting the Aphrodite. “You’d best list all the credit cards you were carrying, while I call their hotlines, so you can report them as stolen.”

Dazed, Lola jotted down all the Visas and Discovers and American Expresses she could recall, ready to kick herself because some of them were accounts for Well Suited. Ordinarily she left those cards at home as a security precaution, but she’d hoped to do some buying on this trip—find novel Caribbean accessories and clothing designs her upper-crust clients would pay top dollar for.

If Dennis had accessed those accounts—

But dammit, as her financial advisor, he didn’t even need her plastic to do that! He had her account numbers. Knew her business inside out, as far as her finances went. Including her credit limits.

“Thank you,” she wheezed when Kingsley handed her the phone.

He was genteel enough to leave the office and shut the door, but his gesture didn’t save much of her dignity. There was damn little of it left.

The lady rep was courteous and efficient, but it was still the conversation from hell. When she hung up, Lola felt so numb she couldn’t move from the chair. Might as well die right here, because now she couldn’t afford to be buried anywhere else. A simple wrapping of her body…it would slide down the board for a burial at sea, just like in the old movies….

Her thoughts were spiraling downward from there, and she sat gripping the lapels of her robe when Kingsley poked his head in. Knuckles white with her fury, she began to shake all over. More than revenge against Dennis Fletcher, what she really needed right now was that pack of Camels.

“As bad as we expected?” came his genteel British inquiry.

She nodded, staring blankly at the top of his desk. “Not only my personal accounts, but my business ones, too. Fletch cleaned them out, systematically—like the thorough financial manager he is. The day before we left home.”

Mr. Kingsley’s brows puckered as he let out a sympathetic gasp. “I’m rather surprised you weren’t notified about such large withdrawals—”

“Oh, the rep said she’d been trying to call me about all this unusual account activity, but I wasn’t at home or at the office—and Fletch conveniently stole my cell phone today, before I could check for messages.” Lola rolled her eyes in disgust and desperation. “I made a point of turning that damn phone off for this romantic vacation! Obviously a huge mistake!

“Which means,” she wheezed, wishing her humiliation would just swallow her whole and get it over with, “that he planned this whole thing before we ever left. Had that floozy from Aruba all lined up—one of his brokerage contacts, no doubt. Had that seaside villa reserved because—because—he never intended to marry me! I booked the cruise, but it seems Dennis Fletcher took me for the ride.”

Kingsley’s sigh filled the little sanctum. “I’ll do my very best to rectify this, Miss Wright. You have my word on it. Please feel free to remain here until you’ve composed yourself, my dear. I’ll be right outside, and your wish is my command. Tea, sympathy—a good stiff drink. You name it.”

A pack of Camel Turkish Jades and a Bic to flick, she almost blurted.

And why didn’t she? It was a simple request, even if she’d have to stay on the starboard side of the decks, which were designated for smoking, or in the bars where they still allowed pariahs like her to puff.

Picked a helluva time to quit, didn’t you? And you did it for Fletch, no less. Because he challenged you to, and you loved him!

Lola smacked her palm with her fist, disgusted with the way this whole thing was coming down. Here she sat in the concierge’s office, having a meltdown nicotine fit, when her entire world was coming unstuffed like a feather pillow Fletch had stabbed again and again…much like he’d played slasher with her heart and mind and soul. Why had she ignored the signs? And the remarks her friends had made about how fast and loose Fletch liked to play?

Which was one of the things you adored about him. A risk-taker, just like you, babe!

But she couldn’t sit here all night, beating herself up.

And, as Lola thought about it, the credit card rep had said she’d get right on it: stop payment on those charges, to keep her credit rating from going down the toilet with the whoosh of a cruise ship flush button. It would take some time, considering the amount of damage Dennis had done, but everyone was on her side. They weren’t blaming her for all those bills, or holding her accountable for her poor choice of financial managers.

She was a free woman.

Well, she’d been left in a very expensive predicament, but her problem was gone now, wasn’t he? And his funds had been cut off. Dennis Fletcher could sponge off that floozy from Aruba now: sweet talk her with the same pretty lines he’d used while they planned this cruise.

I’m free—unattached! And I kept my trophy diamond!

The sparkle of the rock on her left hand made Lola smile. She wouldn’t be the only patsy. She wasn’t the only fool who’d fallen for the illusion of love or for a shyster’s lies. Someday that vixen with the villa would be in a world of hurt, too.

She let out the breath she’d been holding. Automatically reached down to where she would’ve set her purse, and then rolled her eyes at this habitual gesture.

Habits! Who needed them? Maybe it was time to break a few—and pick up some new ones while she was on this trip. After all, it was paid for before they left home. It was her trip, and by God she might as well enjoy what was left of it!

After all, I’m free now! A single woman on an adults-only cruise!

Lola’s pulse picked up and she stood—tummy tucked, shoulders back, head held high! If she couldn’t enjoy a fantasy situation like this, well, she did have a problem. And it had nothing to do with money.