"I hate Tunisia."
"You hate Tunisia?"
"That's what I said."
"You hate all of Tunisia? The whole country."
"Yes"
"It is literally Paradise."
"If you can afford the air conditioning."
"Lucky for you Chatty, you can. Go get your dress ready for tonight." The blond man dropped an unwelcome kiss on her shoulder and walked off towards the bathroom.
She grimaced her face turned away from him. "Chatty"? One day she would finally find an alias these arse-pinching rugby types couldn't shorten to something ridiculous. She always picked what she considered stout English names when introducing herself hurriedly in cars and plane cabins to these hulking men she was escorting around the globe. She thought "Charlotte" might have been a reliable one, but since the car ride from the airport Mike had come up with "Charlie", "Char" and "Lotty", now "Chatty" could be added to the pantheon of horrible pet names. Her father called men like Mike 'blunt instruments'; the type to kill without thinking and take commands like a dog. He hired them for her safety she supposed, but they were just a nuisance.
She sighed as she set about digging through her luggage for her phone; she was stuck with Charlotte now so she might as well embrace it. She felt the reassuring weight of a blackberry tucked beneath her toiletries bag, she paused her hand other hand holding a pair of slacks ready to conceal her intention. The reassuring squeak and rush of a shower being turned on came from the bathroom and she safely retrieved her phone.
Her phone was blank, no messages or updates. It was a good sign that all would go well on this operation. It was an unusual one, not her father's usual trade. It had disturbed her when she had been given the details by his PA and received the folio. Since his health had begun failing five months ago the jobs had become more frequent and more varied. She knew he was frantically trying to amass as much fortune as possible before he died.
The shower stopped and she slipped her phone into the lining of her suitcase. She could hear Mike moving around in the background as she moved the ornate telephone by the bed. She lifted the receiver and listened patiently to the ringing of the front desk phone.
After speaking in hushed tones to the front desk Charlotte turned to see Mike leaning in the doorway, dripping wet with a powder blue hotel towel slung low on his waist. She didn't know whether to laugh or scream. Apparently her father's newest dog liked playing James Bond. She hated when they got pushy about it, they always sulked when she was forced to dislocate a shoulder or give them a firm beating with the furniture.
"It's so sexy to hear a nice English girl speak French." Mike gave her what she supposed was meant to be a sultry look.
"Who said I was nice." Charlotte smiled and picked her dress bag off the bed. She hung it on the back of the door, waiting to be sent for steaming. "My father has arranged for champagne to be sent up for the newlyweds."
"Such an accommodating chap." Mike walked towards her, blocking her exits so she was left with the option of letting him get in her space or clambering over the bed like a frightened maid. "Are you enjoying your honeymoon so far, Mrs. Brown?"
Before she could rebut there was a knock at the door.
"Perhaps you should pop on some pants before you unsettle the staff."
Mike smiles at her like a shark, but leaves to find his suitcase. Charlotte opened the door allowing a trolley into the room. A girl no more than 18 with lovely brown eyes pushed the champagne and roses into the room with an awkward smile. Charlotte, moving to allow the girl some space to set up, points nonchalantly to the dress bag.
"Back by six, please." The girl nods her head in charming way and takes the dress carefully over her arm. Charlotte presses a generous tip into her palm before she can leave and the girl blushes as she leaves the room.
Charlotte dropped her charmed, relaxed posture as soon as the door clicked shut. She pounced on the trolley opening the card on the flowers, overturning the vase, ice bucket and glasses, searching for a message from her contact.
She found it under the serving cloth pushed against the edge of trolley. The location of her next rendezvous was scrawled across it in an unfamiliar hand.
Mike emerged around the corner his linen shirt unbuttoned. Charlotte throws a tacky tourist backpack at him and tucks a Taser into the pocket of her blazer.
"Time to go, Mr. Brown."