All Night Long. Melissa MacNeal
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