Here it comes, Sasha thought. Conversations with her mother were always strained. They always turned to Sasha’s career and how she worked too hard or how she made bad decisions in her personal life. Sasha wished her mother would be proud of her accomplishments, but instead she diminished them. Sasha wanted so badly for her mother to be proud of her.
“I enjoy my job, Mother.”
Charlotte Winters looked for something else to complain about. “What is this I hear about you leaving after the wedding?”
“My office is having a retreat in Savannah. I need to be there.”
“Your sister is getting married. You need to be here.”
“I am here, Mother.”
“I mean for the entire event. Not just the nuptials. There was a lot of effort put into planning this weekend, and it seems that you’re blowing it off.”
“I’m not blowing it off. I’ll be here for the most important part—the vows,” explained Sasha.
“You’re taking this career of yours way too seriously. You’re just like your father. Never know when to quit.” Charlotte took a sip of her wine.
Sasha had taken a sip of her own wine, and she enjoyed the ambiance for a while. The last thing she wanted to do was get into it with her mother. Their views about life were as different as night and day, and she typically avoided any discussion with her mother. It was a losing battle.
She watched as Vince stood and offered a toast and well-wishes to the bride and groom. She followed suit with well-wishes of her own. After the delectable Bahamian meal was served, it was back to the condo for yet another change of clothes. Bridget’s bachelorette party soon followed.
Sasha hadn’t had a moment to herself since arriving in the Bahamas, and she needed one desperately. As soon as Dexter had everyone’s attention again, Sasha slipped out of the suite, closing the door gently behind her. She rushed down the sidewalk, making a clean escape. She thought she’d retreat to her condo for a nice long bubble bath, and then maybe a walk on the beach. The night was beautiful—the moon lit up the sky with its brightness. She’d worn skinny jeans and high heels to Bridget’s party but wished she’d opted for a bikini top, a colorful sarong and flat sandals instead. She removed the heels from her aching feet and felt the warmth of the pavement against her toes.
“I would never have guessed you to be a country girl.” The voice behind her startled her. She turned to find Vince leaning against a palm tree, the neck of a bottle of Heineken between his fingers.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“Walking barefoot is what country girls do,” he explained. “I thought you were a city girl.”
“I grew up in the city, but my parents are definitely from the country,” she said. He was not exactly the breath of fresh air she’d needed all night.
“I thought you were at your bachelorette party, getting your groove on.” He grinned that grand piano of a smile.
“I’ve had enough fun for one night. What about you? Shouldn’t you be somewhere sticking one-dollar bills into the thong of some overdeveloped Bahamian hoochie?”
Vince laughed this time. She liked his laugh—it was hearty and real. She couldn’t help noticing how handsome he looked in his designer jeans and silk shirt.
“I’ve never heard it put that way, but I’m sure the young lady that they hired is getting plenty of dollar bills without me.” He took a sip of his beer. “Where you headed?”
“To my condo for a long bath,” said Sasha.
“Ooh, sounds wonderful.” He smiled. “Any chance I could convince you to have a drink with me first?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. I’ve had enough wine and rum punch to carry me through the night.”
“One drink,” Vince pressed.
“Just one?” Sasha was close to conceding.
“Just one.”
As much as Sasha wanted to play hard to get, she couldn’t. She’d secretly hoped that she would bump into Vince. He’d cluttered her thoughts all day—the intoxicating smell of his cologne, his eyes and that smile had haunted her. She’d wondered how he was spending his day while she was being pampered with the girls. Had he driven his rented Mercedes along the streets of Nassau, sightseeing? Was he a shopper? A fisherman? Did he play golf? Perhaps that was the thing that Vince and her father had in common. She’d found herself wondering these things and couldn’t for the life of her understand why.
Vince helped Sasha climb onto a stool at the poolside bar.
He asked, “What are you having?”
“I’m a wine girl,” she said, and then turned to the bartender, “Your house Chardonnay, please.”
“A Black Russian for me, Jake,” said Vince, calling the bartender by name.
“What is a Black Russian, anyway?” Sasha asked.
“Vodka and Kahlua,” Vince explained.
“Is it good?”
“It’s an interesting drink, with many variations.” He raised his glass after Jake set the drink in front of him. “This is a Black Russian. Add cola, and it becomes a Dirty Black Russian. Add ginger ale, and you have a Brown Russian. Add a touch of Guinness beer, and you have a Smooth Black Russian.” His voice was sultry as those last three words rolled off his tongue. Smooth Black Russian.
“Okay, I get it.”
“You should try one.”
“I’m not much of a drinker.”
“You’re on vacation. Let go of your inhibitions. Live a little,” Vince suggested. “Jake, give the lady a Brown Russian.”
“How do you know I wouldn’t like a Smooth Black Russian? Or perhaps a dirty one?”
“You don’t strike me as smooth or dirty,” teased Vince.
“I beg your pardon. You don’t know me like that.” Sasha giggled and took a long sip of her wine.
“You’re right. I don’t know you as well as I’d like to,” Vince said. “How does one break through that hard exterior of yours—that shield that you put up for the world?”
“I don’t have a shield!” Sasha argued. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know that you’re a workaholic, and you’d rather be somewhere other than here right now.”
He was wrong. She was exactly where she wanted to be at the moment.
“My firm is hosting a retreat on Tybee Island this weekend, and it’s imperative that I be there. Only...my sister is getting married, and I can’t be in two places at one time.”
“And your career is hanging in the balance because you’re not there. And there’s some other hotshot attorney that’s threatening to steal your spot,” Vince stated sarcastically.
“How’d you know that?” Sasha asked as Jake placed a Brown Russian in front of her.
Completely ignoring her question, Vince asked, “Who’s your rival? Some young, blond-haired, blue-eyed little geek who graduated Yale or Harvard at the top of his class?”
“No, actually she has brown hair and brown eyes, and graduated from UCLA. And I taught her everything she knows.”
“And now she’s your rival? I’d say she’s not very appreciative,” Vince said. “She’s at that retreat right now, isn’t she?”
“Rubbing noses with clients I should be rubbing noses with,” said