Tee'd Off

Chapter Two

As we neared the colonial mansion that housed most of the accommodation on the golf resort, Bailey slid her glasses on and ran her fingers through her long blonde curls. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered.

"Just don't think about it," I offered. "Oh, and by the way, there's something in the glove box that I forgot to give you earlier."

Bailey popped it open and then cautiously prodded the small blue box that nestled among my handgun collection. "Is this what I think it is? Do I need to shoot you"

I laughed, "Maybe. Look, my prospective client owns a huge chain of jewelry stores, so I can't have you running around without some ridiculous sized rock on your finger. It's just another prop, okay?"

She removed the box slowly, held it at arm's length and then cracked it open. "Oh my fucking God!"

"It's just a prop," I reiterated.

Bailey nodded. "It's just a prop, it's just a prop, it's just a bloody expensive prop. Are you mental, Ric?"

"Chill, babe."

She looked at me suspiciously, "This doesn't mean anything, and you're taking it back once this job is over, understand?"

Did I tell her the truth? That the alternating diamonds and black onyx that were set in the band of the 2.5 carat diamond ring were a custom addition to the standard Tiffany design, or did I just smile and nod? I am such a chicken at times. I smiled and nodded at the assassin seated next to me. "Sure."

"Okay… hang on, this fucks things up."

I raised an eyebrow.

"We met four years ago, we've been dating for five months and we've been engaged for how long?"

"Yeah…"

"Very smooth, Manoso," she chided. "Let's say a week; that way we might get to spend some time to ourselves – you know, newly engaged and all that shit."

"A week it is. In case Anderson's wife questions you, how did I propose?"

Bailey snorted. "How the bloody hell should I know?"

I shrugged. "Well I don't know either."

"Okay, how did you propose to Rachel?"

"Her father threatened to shoot me."

"Well that's a fat lot of good, Ric. Okay… Is Carlos Manoso, CEO of Rangeman LLC a romantic?"

I raised both eyebrows in response.

"Crap, umm… Okay, how about this: It was my birthday last Saturday and you…"

"Tied the ring to my cock with a ribbon?" I offered.

Bailey almost choked with laughter. "Hell no! Let's just go with you gave it to me as a birthday present. Simple, no need for witnesses who happened to be at the restaurant we were never at when you didn't propose etc. Yeah, you just gave it to me when I got to your apartment last Saturday. You got that?"

I nodded. "Yeah, but men don't talk about that sort of thing."

She let out another sigh and slid the ring on her finger. "I still can't believe I'm doing this for you."

I smiled as I eased the Turbo to a halt by the front door and squeezed her hand. "You'll survive."

"Only because you're good in the sack and you owe me a shit load of hot sex, Manoso."

I shelved my witty reply when the valet opened my door.

"Good evening, Sir," he said politely.

I nodded, slid from the car and handed over my keys, before going around and opening Bailey's door for her. She graciously accepted my assistance, and stepped from the car in a haze of expensive perfume, before adjusting her wrap and then settled her hand in the crook of my arm.

We walked up the steps to reception while our luggage was unloaded and I squeezed her hand again reassuringly. She dug her fingertips into the pressure point at my elbow, and I slammed my blank face into place to cover over the fact that what she was doing really hurt.

"Play nice," I hissed as we stepped up to the desk.

"Good evening, Sir, Madam; Welcome to the Ocean Edge," a perky young brunette, who's name tag read Tracey, announced as she smiled sweetly at me. "How may I help you?"

"Reservation for Manoso," I replied as smoothly as I could muster while trying to prize Bailey's fingers off my arm before she dropped me to the floor. She'd picked one of the few pressure points on the body that could, when pressed for long enough, fell a grown man. I curled Bailey's little finger down and back, and then pressed hard; two could play at that game. She let go of my elbow in an instant, pulled free from my grasp, folded her arms across her chest and took a subtle step away from me.

The receptionist, who had completely missed our little power play for the position of top mercenary, frowned, clacked away rapidly on her keyboard and then frowned some more.

Bailey pushed her glasses down her nose, and stared coldly over the top of them at the woman. "Is there a problem?"

"It seems, well… I'm so very sorry, there seems to have been a mix up…"

"Explain," Bailey demanded.

"Mr. Manoso," Tracey replied, as she looked back to me and ignored my girlfriend. "There appears to be a problem, you don't seem to have a reservation with us for tonight."

Bailey snapped her fingers in front of the woman's face a couple of times. "Excuse me, I was talking to you."

Tracey jumped slightly and blinked "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Bailey maneuvered herself directly in front of me and drew herself up to her full height of 5'7" in her heels. "I asked you to explain what the problem is, not stare at my fiancé," she snapped tartly.

"I…"

"You were telling me why there is a problem with our room."

"I don't know what has happened, but your booking has been cancelled Miss…"

"Ms. It's Ms. Dawson. And I honestly don't care how or why your establishment has mistakenly cancelled our booking, but I suggest that you fix it. Now. Or do I need to speak to the manager?" Bailey announced haughtily, her English accent cold and clipped.

"We only have one room left," the young woman stated cautiously.

"And?" Bailey pressed.

"It's the honeymoon suite."

I coughed to stifle a laugh, and Bailey dug the point of her spiked heel into my foot for a split second. "And?" she said again. "If it was an inferior room to the one that we had booked then there would be a problem, but Mr. Manoso and I are happy to accept the free upgrade for the duration of our stay."

"It's not ready," the receptionist murmured.

"Well, then I suggest that you make it ready. I assume that you will provide the usual Champaign and other wedding accoutrements gratis to make up for the delay."

The brunette nodded swiftly.

Bailey turned back to me and held out her hand. "Your card, Carlos."

I handed over by black Amex, and Bailey passed it to Tracey.

She swiped my card and then returned it. "You'll need to fill in your details again, I'm afraid."

"No, you will need to find the ones that you lost," Bailey announced snootily as she slid my Amex into my jacket pocket. "My fiancé and I will be at the bar; I suggest you explain to them that our drinks are on the house while we are delayed by your appalling tardiness."

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry Ms. Dawson."

"Of course you are darling, you're paid to be sorry," Bailey stated coolly as she took my arm again and steered me towards the bar.

The barman was setting down the house phone as we approached. "Mr. Manoso and Ms. Dawson?" he asked hesitantly.

I nodded as I perused the selection behind the bar. "A Lagavulin for myself and…"

Bailey frowned and glanced over the collection of optics and chiller cabinets. "Chenin blanc; make sure it has been properly chilled. You can leave the bottle, and the Lagavulin too."

"Certainly ma'am. On behalf of the Ocean Edge, may I offer my apologies for the confusion surrounding your booking with us. Please accept these drinks as a small token of our appreciation for your understanding in this matter."

My girlfriend nodded. "Thank you. We will be seated by the window. Come along, Carlos."

I escorted her to a table in the corner, took her wrap and slid out her chair for her. "You are such a bitch."

Bailey smiled sweetly. "I know."

The poor waiter came over with our drinks and I passed him a couple of folded bills for his trouble. He nodded his thanks and retreated swiftly behind the bar.

I took a sip of the whisky and grinned. "I think I like Ms. Dawson the bitch."

Bailey raised an eyebrow and swirled her wine around in the glass. "Really?"

"Yeah, makes me wonder what she's like in the bedroom."

"Oh?"

I shook my head. "It's the voice; you sound like a strict governess and it's giving me goose bumps."

"I see. And I seem to recall that you have a slight penchant for strict women in your bedroom."

"Maybe."

"Well, if you are a very good boy then I might be persuaded to stay in character a little while longer."

I chinked my glass against hers. "You have a deal, Ms. Dawson."