huge mistake.
“There must be some mistake,” she said, swallowing hard.
A small, mocking smile appeared on the man’s lips. “You can say that again.”
“But you’re a—” She was too polite, Sunday reminded herself, to say he was a two-bit cowboy, an unshaven slob, a disreputable character and very possibly a drunkard, besides. She took a deep breath. “But you’re an American.”
He flashed her that smile again. “Born and raised in the heartland of the U.S.A.—Minneapolis, Minnesota.”
“You’re not Thai.”
“I would think that was obvious, even to you,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Sunday stood a little straighter, not that she had ever been one to slouch. “I assumed you would be Thai.”
“You assumed incorrectly.”
The situation was getting awkward. “I thought my secretary made my requirements clear. I want someone who speaks the language, understands the customs and knows his way around this country.” The man just sat there. “What I want, Mr. Hazard,” she said, no longer mincing words, “is the best.”
There was a flash of straight, white teeth. “Lady, that’s what you’ve got—the best.”
What she had, Sunday realized, was a problem. And a big problem, at that. From where she stood—and he sat—it was apparent that Simon Hazard was tall, well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged and handsome as sin...if a woman was partial to the rugged he-man type, which, thankfully, she was not.
He stuck out like a sore thumb from the tips of his scuffed cowboy boots to the top of his head. His hair was blue-black and long at the nape; it was damp from the heat and formed dark curls that brushed against the collar of his denim shirt every time he moved his head. She wondered when he had last had a haircut.
There was at least a two day’s growth of beard on his chin. His jaw was chiseled granite and decidedly uncompromising. His nose—possibly his best feature—was a throwback to some patrician ancestor. His eyes were dark, somewhere between brown and black. They were bright, intelligent and unclouded by the alcohol he had consumed.
Unfortunately, his clothes looked as if he’d slept in them, and there was no doubt he had an attitude. His body, his face, his expression, his eyes all spelled one thing: danger.
Sunday’s heart sank.
“I don’t think this is going to work, Mr. Hazard.” She permitted herself a small sigh. “You can simply return my deposit and we’ll go our separate ways.”
“Can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Drank it.” He indicated the glass of brown liquor on the table in front of him. “Beer.”
“You drank the entire deposit?” She was shocked, and she made no attempt to hide it. “But I sent several hundred baht with the messenger only this morning.”
His eyes narrowed. “It seems you haven’t done your arithmetic, Ms. Harrington. A hundred-baht note is the equivalent of only four American dollars.”
Sunday didn’t know what to say. “Oh—”
“And, in case you also didn’t notice, the prices around here are inflated for a farang.“
She still didn’t know what to say to him. She finally managed to inquire, “A farang?“
“A stranger.” Simon Hazard leaned back in his chair again and balanced his weight on the spindly rear legs. “Besides, you won’t find anyone better.”
“That is a matter of opinion.”
“That is a matter of fact.” He stroked his jawline. “Tell me something.”
She waited for him to go on.
“Why would a woman like you want to travel into the hinterlands of Thailand, anyway?”
“Business,” she said.
“Business? What kind of business?” Suspicion was thick in his voice. “It better not have anything to do with the poppy.”
Sunday drew a blank. “The poppy?”
“Opium.”
Her mouth dropped open, whether in surprise or outrage, she wasn’t sure. “You think I’m involved with drugs?”
“I don’t know what to think, do I?” He gave her a stony stare. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“I assure you, Mr. Hazard, my business is strictly legitimate,” she retorted, bristling.
He shrugged but said nothing.
Her temper flared. “Keep the damned deposit, then. I’ll find someone else.”
“No.”
“No?”
“We’ve got a deal, Ms. Harrington. Signed, sealed and delivered. You pay. I guide.”
He was right. She had received an agreement through the mail and she’d signed it.
Sunday permitted herself another small sigh. If she wanted to do business, if she wanted to see the crafts produced by the hill tribes, if she wanted to visit the City of Mist, if she wanted to experience the closest thing to heaven on earth, it was, apparently, going to be in the company of this cowboy.
“All right, we still have a deal, Mr. Hazard,” she said, holding out her hand.
He moved surprisingly fast for a big man. His chair was upright and he was on his feet, pumping her arm, before she knew it. “Business is business,” he said.
Sunday looked around the bar. “Is this where you usually conduct your business dealings?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the Celestial Palace,” he countered in a hard, dry voice.
As if on cue, a fight broke out between two sailors at the bar. There was the sound of breaking glass and voices raised in anger. The bartender shouted, “Stop! Stop!” and pounded the bar with his fist, but no one paid him any heed. Somewhere, a girl let out a shriek.
“The Celestial Palace isn’t exactly a slice of heaven,” Sunday observed judiciously.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“Where are we going?” she inquired as he took her by the elbow and steered her toward the door.
“Does it matter?”
“Of
