When With Rome (Perfect Gentlemen Book 1) Read online

  When With Rome

  Perfect Gentlemen Series

  Natalie Gayle

  Copyright © 2018 by Natalie Gayle

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  This ones for anyone that’s lost love.

  Never give up hope, of finding it again.

  Love comes in all shapes and sizes and can be found in the most unusual of places. You just have to be open to embracing it.

  Here’s looking at you, Marg!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  A Gift For You

  Join the GayleForce Tribe

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Natalie Gayle

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Carlene

  “Wow, is that your husband?” the girl sitting next to me on the plane asks as she retrieves my phone I’d just fumbled to the floor. Why couldn’t it have been at the lock screen with the picture of the flower? Passing it to me, she adds with a smile, “Why isn’t he travelling with you? No way I’d let a hot guy like that out of my sight if he was mine.”

  My nerves twist in my stomach. Again. “No, he’s not my husband.” I take my phone from her and quickly slip it back into the seat pocket. He’s most definitely not my husband.

  “Boyfriend?”

  The man on my other side shifts in his sleep, elbowing me as he moves. Screw the cost, next time I’m flying first class. And that’s something I never thought I’d do. Not when my husband and I were drowning financially just a little while ago.

  I shake my head. “Not my boyfriend either.”

  I’ve been sitting next to her for the last eleven hours of this horrifically long flight and this is the first conversation we’ve had. I’m ready for it to be over, but she keeps on. It seems she’s reached the end of her movie marathon.

  “Okay, I’m dying to know now—who is he? And why are you carrying his photo around?”

  This is the difference between generations. I’d put her at about twenty, which is half my age and almost the same age as my twin son and daughter. Where I’d never think to ask such a personal question of a stranger, my kids wouldn’t hesitate. And yet, I find myself trying to give her an answer. My manners never fail me.

  “He’s ah…well, it’s kind of hard to explain…” My voice drifts off as I stumble over my words.

  Besides not even wanting to try to explain who he is, I haven’t slept a wink on this flight, and being tired doesn’t help me sort through my thoughts. Nor my feelings. And they’re all over the place with this trip. Two weeks in California for this Aussie who never goes anywhere or does anything remotely exciting has me both excited and worried. I’m the woman who can count on one hand the number of times she’s flown. And I’ve never left Australia before. This trip is out of character for me. I always choose the safe options in life. But hell, it’s time for me to broaden my horizons and live a little. Especially now that I have more money than I know what to do with. Still, that doesn’t make this adventure any less nerve-wracking.

  The guy to my right saves me from the awkward conversation I can’t escape. He wakes up and breaks wind before hurling himself out of the chair and lurching down the aisle to the toilet.

  “Oh God, he’s disgusting,” the girl says, staring after him with a scowl. “And the fact we’ll probably have to use that same toilet makes me shudder.”

  “He’s certainly a charmer.” I give a shudder. If being on a long haul flight isn’t enough sitting next to him is just the awful icing on a very ordinary cake.

  This flight hasn’t been the best—not that I’m any judge. The entertainment system crashed, as did most of the toilets. Add to that the repulsive habits of the man next to me and the general noisiness of the other people, and it’s certainly been an experience I’m not keen to repeat.

  I’ve been concerned I won’t love travelling, so I kept this trip to two weeks in case I don’t. This part of the journey has my mind in overdrive thinking that perhaps I was right to be worried. Then again, it could be Anton causing that.

  Oh God.

  Why did I agree to him?

  The escort who will be waiting for me at LAX.

  The man in the photo.

  What if I hate him?

  I off-handedly mentioned I didn’t want to travel alone, and the next thing I knew, I had an escort booked courtesy of my twenty-one-year-old daughter, Chelsea. She’s a total firecracker. The type of kid that grabs life by the throat and wrings every last drop out of it. She and her twin brother Jackson nagged me about this trip for long enough that I eventually gave in and agreed to it. They’re a force to be reckoned with individually— particularly Chels—but together they’re formidable.

  “So you have to tell me. Is he picking you up when we get to LAX?”

  Oh God, she’s back to that again and if she’s anything like Chelsea, she won’t give up until she has an answer.

  “Yes, he’s a friend and he will be picking me up.”

  Well the practical part of me is sure hoping he’s going to pick me up. The girly woman part is torn between not knowing what’s for the best.

  What the devil am I thinking? Who does this sort of crazy shit? Certainly not me, a no-nonsense woman from outback Australia. I can run an outback property the size of a small country with twenty thousand head of cattle, but travelling overseas by myself is something entirely different.

  My palms start to sweat again, and I wonder for about the millionth time in the last eleven hours if I’m making a huge mistake.

  But it’s time to make a change. Shake up the meaningless existence my life has become since that fateful day I lost my husband eighteen months ago.

  “So how did you two meet?”

  Oh no! She’s not going to give up.

  “Umm, we met online.” It’s not like I’m about to come out and say I’m meeting an escort!

  “Wow. There’s hope for me yet. I’ve tried Tinder but that just bummed. Where did you find him?”

  Bugger! Pandora’s box is well and truly open. I guess chatting with her makes the time go quicker.

  “Ahh. I didn’t really find him. My daughter, who I’m guessing is about your age, did. My husband was killed in a car accident about eighteen months ago and my kids thought it was time I started dating again.” Most of that’s the truth. Phillip is dead and the kids have been pushing me to get back out there. I might have told a little white lie about where Chels found the escort.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. It must have been so hard.”

  “Thank you.” I can actually say that now without feeling as if a knife has b
een taken to my gut, let alone the feeling of fighting the tears.

  “Did you and your husband travel a lot?”

  “No. This is actually my first trip overseas.”

  “Really?” She seems totally shocked by this. “I’ve been to twenty-three different countries already. Travelling is awesome. Did your husband not like travelling?”

  Twenty-three countries. What the devil? The kid is barely out of diapers.

  Phillip hated anything unless it related directly to Colanara, our cattle station. The one that just about sent us bankrupt and was a massive wedge in our marriage the last couple of years before he passed.

  “We owned a very large cattle station, in outback Queensland. Running it and seeing to our herds of cattle was very much a 24x7 responsibility.”

  Her face screws up a little in distaste. “I’m not into country stuff. Total city girl. My parents took me to Alice Springs once. Worst week of my life, ever. Dust, dust and more dust.” That about summed up living in the outback to a large degree. “Tell me you moved? You don’t get a haircut like that out there.”

  She gestures to my bob cut, with perfect highlights. No, I definitely didn’t get a haircut like this, ten hours out of Brisbane in the middle of nowhere.

  “When my husband died, I sold the property and moved to the southern Gold Coast.” And didn’t I cop some filthy looks and comments from the locals! People I thought were friends, now think I’m a cold-hearted bitch for selling up. I chose to survive, I couldn’t cope with the banks breathing down my back any longer. The fact, my husband died just made them more vicious.

  The only sensible option was to sell Colanara, to the Coal Seam Gas miners for an obscene amount of money. It was that or foreclosure. Phillip is probably still turning in his grave, furious at me, and I honestly don’t care. My instinct to survive was stronger than any emotional connection to the land where I’d lived with him for twenty years. He’s gone, and I’m left to pick up the pieces and start my life over.

  “The Goldie is awesome. I love getting down there when I can.”

  Now it’s my chance to ask the questions. “You live in Brisbane?”

  “Yep. I’m at uni there. Studying psychology. I’m heading to LA to see my dad. He moved here a couple of years back when he married his latest wife.” She shrugs it off as if it’s nothing. “That would be wife number six I think. I’ve lost count but it does mean I get to travel a lot to see him. He never marries anyone from Australia.”

  I try not to look too shocked. Six marriages!

  That whole topic is just too much for me to touch.

  “My kids are like you. City slickers. Both go to uni in Brisbane. They’re doing medicine. They’ll graduate in a couple of years.” Both my kids hated Colanara from the moment they got a taste of the big city when we packed them off to boarding school at age twelve. It was the hardest day of my life, and that includes the day I lost my husband. Leaving my kids at school the first time had been tougher. That said it all in my mind.

  Then she starts almost jumping in her chair. “I probably know them. I hang out with a bunch of med students. Do you have a picture?”

  Panic hits me. It’s one thing to pass a little time chatting. I don’t need this girl to become a lifelong friend.

  I make a show of flicking through my photos buying time when the man from beside me finally returns and pushes his way into the window seat.

  Before my new young friend has a chance to badger me again, the captain comes over the PA announcing our descent into LA and the preparations for landing. She jumps up and starts packing away all her electronic equipment, her request for a photo forgotten in the frenzy to end this flight.

  As I’m closing out my phone, I can’t resist one last look at the text Chels sent me as I boarded the plane.

  Mum, stop stressing. I know you are! You’re going to have an awesome time. Enjoy Anton. He’s so sexy ;) and it’s okay to take a walk on the wild side! (In case you need me to be specific—it’s okay to dine from the full-service menu). In fact, Jackson and I encourage it. You’re not doing anything wrong. Dad’s gone and if he was any type of man at all, he would have wanted you to be happy.

  Enjoy yourself, be happy and have fun. (I’d say be safe…but it’s you I’m talking about here, so that’s a given!) Love Chels <3 <3

  Oh Chels! I love you, my crazy bold daughter. When I mentioned not wanting to travel alone, she took control with consummate ease and got the ball rolling. The next thing I know, I’m emailing and Facetiming with Perfect Gentlemen, the escort agency she approached on my behalf.

  Thinking of that conversation still brings a smile to my face. Talking about sex is nothing to her. It’s as if she’s talking to me about what we’re going to eat for dinner.

  Her text reveals so much. It speaks of the disdain both kids felt toward Phillip at the end. He managed to isolate both of them by his coldness and his lack of understanding about their choice of careers over the last few years.

  I grab my overnight bag and try to discretely tidy up before I get off the plane.

  By the time we land, butterflies are two-stepping in my stomach, and I know they won’t stop until I meet Anton and settle into the trip.

  What I wouldn’t give for a shower right now!

  I feel grimy and revolting. My preference would be to meet Anton freshly showered with wrinkle-free clothes—I hope he understands.

  When I began corresponding with Perfect Gentlemen, they’d been surprisingly professional and didn’t seem sleazy at all. Then, after I met Anton over the web, I finally made up my mind to go ahead with this crazy adventure. He seems very nice, charming and now, I’m secretly looking forward to spending time with him…as well as seeing a whole heap of places I’ve only ever seen on television or on the web.

  This is my dream holiday, and I’m determined to enjoy it.

  My thoughts are broken when the chatty girl, wishes me a good trip with a very overt wink and embarrassment washes over me. I manage to politely wish her a lovely visit with her father.

  Eventually, I file out of the plane with four hundred and fifty fellow weary travelers. Approaching customs is concerning. I’ve seen so many customs television shows in Australia, and I know how strict we are back home. The slightest little thing can land you in crazy hot water with the customs department. They don’t have a sense of humor.

  It’s quite funny, now that I think about it. The customs and immigration process is really like a giant cattle round-up. We’re being run through the human version of the cattle crush. Instead of having my ear tag checked, I’m having my passport verified.

  I’m big on trying to see the funny side of something. Sometimes, you just have to, in order to get by. It’s a lesson you learn early living in the outback. You either learn to laugh or you will cry at every little adverse thing. And wow, there are a lot of adverse things to test your survival skills.

  The immigration process all happens surprisingly quickly, and a few moments later, the imposing black man at the booth gives me the whitest, toothiest smile I’ve ever seen and a “have a pleasant stay ma’am.”

  Then it hits me. Through those doors in front of me, there’s a man waiting, and I don’t know him from Adam. Part of me is terrified, and an equal part is excited beyond memory.

  I’m on my own crazy adventure, and it’s all my doing.

  Rome

  “How are you doing with the last of those invoices, Roxie?” I ask, walking through the door, into the downstairs area of my house. For convenience, I’ve converted a good part of the lower level into an office space to run my business, Perfect Gentlemen.

  “Just about done, Rome, thanks for the help—not.”

  I can relax. I shouldn’t have been worried. I know better.

  Most of the time, I just say stuff like that because I feel like stirring her up a little. Reality is, I don’t need to worry—Rox has it covered.

  Roxie is my personal assistant; efficient is just one of her many qualities
. She might bitch and whine about it, but a better person I won’t find or trust. Another thing I don’t have to worry about with Roxie is loyalty. She’s one hundred percent loyal to me, and as far as I’m concerned, I can cope with her idiosyncrasies and sometimes grumpy demeanor. I’ll take loyalty any day, and in this business, I need someone I know has my back—each day, every day.

  We’ve been through the fires of Hell together, and she’s been with me every step of the way as I built this company. Actually, we built it together, but she won’t hear of it.

  “Is everything set for today’s dates?”

  “Yep. Twenty-three booked, organized, and invoiced. I think the guys are all ready.” She glances up at me, looking a little frazzled from the accounting program she’s using.

  Her attention turns back to her computer screen. “Ah, I almost forgot, Anton rang. He wants you to call him.”

  That’s strange. Anton usually calls my cell phone direct.

  “Did he say why he didn’t call me?”

  She shrugs. “I think he said he couldn’t get a hold of you.” Probably, I ducked out for a couple of hours to hit the gym and then interview a potential gentleman to add to my roster of talent. When I check my phone, there’s no missed call from Anton.

  I’m starting to get worried. He has a two-week assignment booked, starting later this afternoon I think. The gig is worth fifty grand to Perfect Gentlemen, of which Anton will get more than half.

  “Have the funds come through from Anton’s client?”