The Trouble with Mojitos

Romy Sommer

A division of HarperCollins
Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

By day I dress in cargo pants and boots for my not-so-glamorous job of making movies. But at night I come home to my two little Princesses, and we dress up in tiaras and pink tulle … and I get to write Happy Ever Afters. Since I believe every girl is a princess, and every princess deserves a happy ending, what could be more perfect?

To Donna, for a lifetime of friendship.

There is a legend told by the elders of Los Pajaros of how the neighbouring island of Tortuga came to be uninhabited.

It was midsummer, at the height of the seventeenth century, when the ship first sailed into the calm waters of the natural harbour at Fredrikshafen. In those days, the town was a prosperous settlement and traders came from all corners of the Caribbean to sell sugar, spices and slaves, so a ship was not an uncommon sight. But there was something different about this ship, so that heads turned and all work along the docks ceased as the ship sailed into view.

The legends say it was a ship made of gold, encrusted with jewels, its sails made of the finest silks from the Indies. For it was a royal ship, and it carried a princess.

There was one man on the docks, though, for whom the ship’s arrival was to mean more than just a sight to behold. He was a pirate captain, a hard man who’d been cast out of his homeland, a man with no heart. But when he saw the princess, fair and pale and regal where she stood in the ship’s prow looking towards the island which was to be her new home, he saw the vulnerability in her face, and he loved her.

As the ship berthed beside the quay, the princess waited on its deck for her betrothed, the governor of these islands. She looked out over the busy docks and she saw a man who made her heart beat faster and her breath quicken.

By the time her betrothed came to claim her, it was too late.

As the governor led his princess away, to the golden carriage that awaited them, she turned to look back over her shoulder and her gaze met that of the dark-eyed man who’d won her heart with nothing more than a crooked smile.

The pirate winked at her.

The governor and his royal bride were to be married within the week, in a festival with more pomp and finery than the islanders had ever seen, a festival worthy of royalty. The people crowded the streets to see the show, and they got a show indeed.

For the pirate led his marauders right into the heart of the town’s cathedral, and snatched the bride from before the very altar to take her back to his home on Tortuga.

The governor sent his ships in hot pursuit of the pirate ship, and the sound of their cannon balls rocked the whole island. The battle raged, fierce and terrifying, for a day and a night before silence fell at last.

Only one ship returned.

It sailed into the harbour with the grim-faced governor at the helm. Neither he nor any of his sailors ever spoke of that day again, but soon everyone on Los Pajaros knew that the governor had cast a curse on Isla Tortuga. He was from the far away land of Westerwald, a land rich in magic as well as gold, and his curse carried all the magic of his people.

From that moment on, the governor waged a war on all pirates, dedicating his life to hunting them down and killing them. And when a terrible storm ravaged Tortuga and the citizens came begging for refuge, the governor showed them no mercy and ordered them killed too.

And so the island of Tortuga was abandoned to its fate. Those fishermen who strayed too close returned with tales of the carcasses of ships lying deep in the water, and claimed they heard the death cries of the many of who died that fateful day. Gradually the sea covered over the wrecks, and a coral reef grew around them, and none but the sea turtles ever disturbed their slumber.

“But what became of the princess and her pirate captain?” the children of Los Pajaros always ask.

Their elders shrug. “No one ever knew their fate. Some say they drowned with their ship in the great battle. Some say they died in the storm, abandoned by their own people who blamed them for their ruin.”

But there is one old woman, a wizened, wise woman, who tells anyone who will listen that the pirate and his princess were happy, because they lived and died together.

“And … ” she leans close, her voice a rough whisper, “it is said that when the pirate and his princess return to Isla Tortuga, the curse will be broken.”

@KenzieCole101: Paradise is not all it’s cracked up to be.

“A mojito, please.”

Kenzie sagged against the bar counter, not caring that her order sounded desperate or her body language suggested impatience. She needed alcohol, and she needed it now.

The benefit of an empty bar was that the drink came reassuringly quickly, poured from an ice cold jug ready and waiting, and complete with swizzle stick, sprig of mint and paper parasol. She ditched both and tossed the drink back.

“Rough day?” The dreadlocked bar tender leaned on the scarred wooden counter.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Thanks, but I didn’t come here to talk.” She’d done enough of that all day. Talk, talk, talk, and still nothing to show for it. Now she understood how used car salesmen felt. Used.

It was enough to drive a girl to drink. Or at least to the resort’s beach bar, since hitting the minibar in her hotel room was just too sad to contemplate.

She didn’t drink alone. For that matter, she didn’t usually drink. Not these days.

Beyond the thatched cabana, the sky flamed every shade of pink and orange imaginable as the sun set over the white sand and surf. But here inside the bar was dark, shadowy and strangely comforting after a day of white-hot heat.

“She’ll have another.”

She turned to the wryly amused voice, and wished she hadn’t as she spotted the dark figure at the shadowy end of the long bar. Great. The resident barfly, no doubt. As if she needed another reason to hate this resort, this island, and the whole stinking Caribbean.

“I can order my own drinks, thank you.”

The shadowed figure shrugged and turned his attention back to his own drink. “Suit yourself.”

What was it with the men in this place? They didn’t think a woman could order her own drinks, didn’t think a woman could do business, wouldn’t even give her the time of day. She ground her teeth, the effects of the first drink not quite enough to blur the edges of her mood. “I’d like another, please.”

She ignored the deep-throated chuckle down the other end of the bar as the barman removed her glass to re-fill it.

The second drink followed the first a little more slowly, and this time she took a moment to savour the alcohol-drenched mint leaves. Now she felt better.

But she was still screwed.

Neil had known it when he sent her out here. He’d known she’d be stonewalled, he knew he’d set her an impossible task, and still he’d sent her. He’d expected her to fail. Perhaps even wanted her to fail.

There were days when her past seemed very far behind her. And then there were days like today, when it seemed she’d never escape the follies of her youth.

“Sod him!”

“That’s the spirit.” The stranger at the other end of the bar slid from his bar stool, out of the shadows and into the yellow lamplight.

In another time and place he might have looked gorgeous, but in low-slung jeans that had seen better days, black long-sleeved tee, with hair in drastic need of a cut, several days’ worth of beard, and darkly glittering eyes, he was devastating.

Pirate devastating. Bad boy devastating.

Kenzie swallowed. Double great.

This was supposed to be a family resort, for heaven’s sake. Instead, the beach bar was as good as deserted, and she was alone with two strange men. Would the bartender leap to her defence if this latter day marauder made a move on her?

She doubted it. He’d probably stand back and laugh at the silly gringo girl, like everyone else she’d met over the last three days.

Though she tried hard not to notice, she was ultra-aware when the stranger came to stand beside her, leaning up against the bar close enough to touch. He didn’t smell much like a barfly. In fact, he smelled damned fine, exuding raw, primal masculinity. She turned to face him, trying hard not to breathe him in.

“What do you want?” she challenged, setting her hands on her hips.

“Nothing. I just don’t think it’s healthy to drink alone.”

“Oh really? And what exactly were
you
doing before I got here?”

His mouth quirked, on the edge of a not-quite smile. “I came here so I wouldn’t have to drink alone.”

He seriously needed a better pick-up line. “Good luck finding someone else to drink with, then. I don’t need company.”

“Are you always this friendly?”

He was smirking, damn him!

She was usually much friendlier. But since she’d sworn off bad boys for good, she didn’t need this one in her face, oozing smarminess and temptation. And especially on a day like this when she’d been forcibly reminded how hanging out with the wrong sort could destroy a girl’s reputation.

There was even a moment this afternoon she’d contemplated changing her name and starting fresh somewhere else. Perhaps across the Atlantic, because England just seemed to be getting smaller with every passing year.

She turned back to the bartender. “Where is everyone, anyway? I thought this resort was near capacity.”

Again it wasn’t the bartender who answered. “It’s karaoke night in the main hotel bar.” Which would explain the blaring 80s music she’d heard on her way past reception.

“You don’t want to join them?” She barely caught the mockery beneath her drinking companion’s words.

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really into karaoke, thanks.”

“So you’re here to get drunk then. Join the club.” He raised his glass to her. Rum and cola. A pirate’s drink. How unimaginative.

“I never get drunk. I just had a tough day.”

“What was so tough about it – too much snorkelling, sailing and lying on the beach?” This time the mocking tone was impossible to miss.

She straightened her shoulders. “I’m here to work, not play.”

“Pity.” He glanced down over her attire, taking in the crumpled white tee, khaki cargo pants and dusty hiking boots. “You don’t look dressed for work. What is it you do?”

“I’m a location scout for a film company that wants to shoot a feature here on the island.” Or rather a film company that wanted to shoot somewhere in the Caribbean. There were other scouts out on other islands. She’d only been thrown this job as a bone to her best friend, who’d practically begged for Kenzie to be given a chance.

The pirate’s gaze swept over her again with the same sardonic look she’d got from the harbour master, the clerk at the mayor’s office, and that officious jerk at Environmental Services. “A film shoot. Sounds like fun.”

Except he didn’t sound at all thrilled. He sounded bored. The same way she was starting to feel. Just three days ago, she’d been so psyched for this job that she’d practically bounced off the plane. Warm sun, wide blue sky, palm trees, and the chance to finally prove her worth – what wasn’t there to like about Los Pajaros?

A lot it seemed.

She really needed to recapture her enthusiasm. Perhaps if she were more passionate, she’d be able to convince someone…anyone…to give this film a shot. To give
her
a shot.

She injected as much excitement into her voice as she could muster. “It’s kind of
Pirates of the Caribbean
meets
Lost
. With a bit of comedy thrown in.”

Not that she’d read the script, of course. That was classified. All she’d needed to know was the list of locations the director wanted and how much the producer was willing to pay for them. Easy, right?

It should have been. She’d fixed locations for dozens of shoots, usually the kind that had nothing more than goodwill to pay with. Now she had a big studio movie, a Hollywood director to impress and a budget to die for, and she couldn’t get a foot in the door. What was wrong with this place?

The pirate’s blistering, dark gaze raked over her. “So what does a location scout do?”

“Mostly I take pictures and send them back to the director. If he likes what he sees, then I negotiate permission for the crew to film there.”

“Does your director like what he’s seen so far?”

And that was where her problems began. She hadn’t sent a thing yet. Not anything the director could use, anyway. She had no doubt the scouts who’d been sent to the Virgin Islands and Bahamas were doing way better.

“I hired a charter boat, but the skipper only took me to all the usual tourist spots, and they’re completely useless for our needs. Either too small, or too rocky, or too busy. I’m looking for a bay big enough to hold a pirate ship, and a long stretch of white beach with no sign of human habitation – and preferably a handy bit of tropical forest that isn’t too dense for us to shoot in.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “According to Google Earth, there are a few uninhabited islands not far from Los Pajaros, but the skipper refused to take me to any of them without a permit. The clerk at the harbour master’s refused to give me the permit without a letter from the Environmental Services office, who refused to give me a letter without the governor’s permission.”

“The governor’s role is purely titular. He wouldn’t be much help.”

“I gathered. His office sent me to the mayor and he’s almost impossible to get in to see. I waited for the entire afternoon. Do you know the mayor’s waiting room doesn’t even have air conditioning! How can the mayor’s office not have air conditioning?”

“Depends which waiting room you’re in.” Her pirate smiled for the first time, but there was still a twist of mockery in the way his mouth curved. “There are two, and only one gets you an audience.”

She’d suspected that officious secretary wanted to get rid of her. Even the women of Los Pajaros had it in for her. She recognised the run around when she saw it, but she wasn’t going to be so easy to get rid of.

He waved his now empty glass at the bartender. “Your boss doesn’t like you much, does he?”

“How can you tell?”

“Because he couldn’t have sent a worse person to do the job.”

Kenzie bristled. “I’m really good at what I do!”

“How old are you … twenty two?”

She pulled her shoulders straight and thrust her head high. “
Thirty
two.”

He shrugged. “No offence, sweetheart, but one, you’re a woman. Two, you look like a kid fresh out of high school. And three, you’re not from around here. This is a tight-knit community and wary of strangers. If your boss had done his homework, he’d have sent a man. Preferably a man with Caribbean connections.”

That figured. Neil always did his homework, so he’d known she was all wrong for the job and he’d sent her anyway. He made no secret he thought she was nothing more than a party girl playing at being a location scout.

The face didn’t help. Baby face genes were more a curse than anyone realised.

So Neil had given the plum pickings of the Caribbean to the other scouts and sent her off to chase the long shot, the backwater island group that had never hosted a big film shoot before. She was sure the other scouts weren’t getting the same run around.

Still, until today, she’d been convinced she could prove him wrong. That feeling she’d had ever since she could remember that something amazing was just around the corner, seemed stronger than ever.

Gran had always said she had good instincts, and from the moment she’d seen the satellite images of these islands, Kenzie’s instincts had been screaming at her.

She sighed and closed her eyes. Perhaps her instincts were lying. It wouldn’t be the first time. And after ten years of trying one job after another and never finding that dream, her usual optimism was starting to take a beating.

What did Gran know, anyhow? The last time Kenzie had visited the nursing home, Gran hadn’t even recognised her.

She didn’t argue when the bartender refilled her mojito glass. She lifted it in a toast to her drinking companion. “Sod them all.”

He raised his drink and grinned. “Sod them all.”

They drank in silence, and when she was done, Kenzie pushed her glass away. Three mojitos on an empty stomach was her limit for one day.

She needed to regroup. She needed a back up plan.

After all, she’d been in the film business long enough now to know that nothing ever went to plan the first time round. There was always a Plan B. Or C or D. And somehow everything always worked out in the end.

She would make it. She was destined for great things, and this movie would be the beginning. She’d start with some positive thinking and an attitude adjustment.

Plastering on her best ‘I just know you’re gonna love me’ smile, she held out her hand. “I’m Mackenzie Cole. My friends call me Kenzie.”

He gave her outstretched hand a perfunctory shake. “Rik.”

“You have a surname?”

“None that matters.”

She rolled her eyes. “So Rik, what do you do for a living?”

“Nothing much.”

Hmm. So he was going to play the Mystery Man. She squinted suspiciously at him. “You’re not some trust fund baby out for a good time, are you?”

“Do I look like I’m having a good time?” The mockery was back in his eyes, but this time she guessed it was aimed more at himself than at her.

She shrugged. Whatever shadows he carried, she wanted no part of them. She was done with men who needed fixing. Besides, her plane ticket was booked for three days from now. That wasn’t enough time to fix whatever was broken with Rik My-Name-Doesn’t-Matter, even if she hadn’t already had her fill of bad boys.

She and Lee had sworn a vow – from now on they were dating nice men only. Gentlemen. The kind who didn’t bring trouble in their wake. Her BFF would kill her if she weakened barely two weeks in.

So back to work. She toyed with her glass. “How does a girl with no local connections and a burning need to be heard get an audience with the mayor?” It was a rhetorical question. She didn’t really expect an answer from either the latter day pirate or the bartender.

She should have known she’d get one anyway.

“You don’t. You go home and tell your boss not to send a girl to do a man’s job.”

Between one breath and the next, the red haze descended, staining her vision with anger. She slammed her hands down on the bar counter. “I
can’t
and I
won’t
go back a failure!”