Best mates Derek & Roland - Once Upon a Love Story
Once upon a time, two good friends were in London for work. They couldn't have been more different ... and then they met a girl.
Introducing Derek and Roland from Once Upon a Love Story, my free prequel to The Intern and The Unfaithful Wife.
Be honest, haven't you wanted a Derek in your life?
Once Upon a Love Story
Chapter 1 A Model Life
Roland
“Did you even get her name?” Roland asked as a leggy blonde scampered out their hotel room and Derek emerged from the bedroom wearing boxers and a smile.
“It was either ‘Honey’ or ‘Babe’, can’t remember and don’t care – where’s my coffee?” a sheepish shrug and Derek had moved onto his next need for satisfaction.
“Where do you get them from – when I left, you were having one more drink and leaving?”
“Mate, she came onto me.” Derek protested while fighting with the hotel jug. “Seriously, I wanted to leave and then a group of models walked in.”
“And you just had to …?”
“It almost seemed like she needed a reward after working so hard this week.”
“Working?”
“Fashion Week – didn’t you notice all the gorgeous women hanging around?”
Now it was Roland’s turn to shrug and scratch his untidy, week-long stubble, “I’ve been putting in fifteen-hour days trying to help Bob land the Nightingale Capital account. The only women I’ve noticed are the ones who either work at the office or coffee shop.” Roland didn’t want to admit even if he noticed them, with his average brown hair and eyes, they were unlikely to return the favor. Yes, he had polished accent, height and a rugby body on his side, but women fell for men like Derek. Tall, dark and charismatic.
Derek, always the lucky bastard. If random one fling wonders were your thing. Roland preferred getting to know a woman first, find all the ways of making her purr, or at least her name! Not that any woman came up to him in bars, wanting to know his name or give him their room key after one drink.
“You need to get out more, and make a move,” Derek finished stuffing his clothes in the suitcase, as Roland looked for the ringing mobile. Raising his voice, not caring if the caller heard, “If you keep holding back, you’ll never get laid.”
“Shit!” Roland ran into his bedroom, yelling, “The partners want us to drop into the office on our way to the airport! We need to leave in five!”
“Chill, we’ll get there when we get there,” Derek kept sipping his coffee with one hand while closing his bag with the other. “We’ve pulled off a major coup this week, they probably want us to move out here and take a cut of the Nightingale spoils.”
“Or make last minute changes to the contract. Maybe the client saw through the penalty clause I added.” Roland pulled out the draft papers from his bag. “Or maybe the partners wanted a quicker payment schedule. I don’t know how I’m going to fix things before we catch our flight?’ He stood with furrowed eyebrows, torn between the stack of papers they’d been working on and his half-packed suitcase until Derek gave him a good natured shove.
“Mate, relax. We go into the office, we’ll fix whatever needs fixing, accept everyone’s applause and go back to Sydney as heroes.”
If Roland could only have either Derek’s confidence or charm, he would choose confidence every time. Derek of the ten or twelve-hour days, working through a hangover and then partying again all night. Derek of the rule, only to learn their name after a couple of weeks and never let them know where he lives.
Roland trusted one day he would meet the “special one,” and she would see past his shyness and prefer calm to crazy, friendship to fuck-buddies. He wanted a wife and mother to his future children. A partner in his bedroom and life.
Derek
Derek forced a smile and prayed the coffee would start working quickly. After a week of dealing with paranoid London partners not even trying to hide their concern that these Australians would let the team down, and Roland’s need for perfection, this was the last straw. All he wanted was a ride to the airport a couple of hours to relax in the captain’s lounge and then a hot hostess to flirt with all the way back to Sydney.
Bloody, pious Roland. Best mate and biggest pain in his neck. Typical of all these privileged white boys. Worried their riches would be taken away from them. Look at Roland, born into obscene wealth and now every deal could be his unmaking. The dude had to learn to relax.
“I’m ready, let’s go.” He held the door open as Roland struggled with his luggage and the work laptop, flip charts and briefing materials. “You are dumping that at the office, right?”
“I wasn’t going to, but if we have to go back there…”
Derek followed his friend’s eyes, turning to see a familiar blonde about to knock on their door.
“Hi, you forgot to ask for my number.” The leggy girl from last night handed him a folded-up piece of paper before sticking her tongue down his throat, again and stirring memories of what else she’d done with it last night.
“Sorry,” he looked for a name, “Tracie. I was a little distracted before you left.”
“Call me,” another brazen kiss and grope before she left, again.
“Someone wants a return match,” Roland said, shaking his head. Derek hated the way Roland had a holier than thou attitude when it came to women. If they wanted to throw themselves at him, who was he to turn them away. Consenting, legal and female. His only three rules and from what he remembered from last night, Tracie met all three.
“Too bad we’re leaving,” Derek needed to get back to Australia, find a small pub, order a beer, steak and chips and hang out with real people You could take the boy out of Western Sydney, but never the tough western suburbs out of the boy. Deep down, he would always be Demois Caasbarati, son of Italian refugees who came to Australia, looking for a better life for their family. His mother changed their names when Derek was in primary school and fought hard for them to be accepted.
His life was a series of fights. In the school yard over his different “wog” looks and lunches, in high school when his exotic looks attracted the girls and angered their brothers, and through university where he fought to be better than the rich pricks who didn’t need to rely on a scholarship to pay the fees.
Now in his late twenties, the world was his. The dark looks were “international” and women still fell in and out of his bed. He learned how to win over the harshest client or partner with wit and charm.
One day, probably after he made partner, he’d meet a woman game enough to call him on his bullshit and sexy enough to tie him to her bed for keeps. Until then he lived by the motto, work, women and wine – in that order.
Sick of babysitting Roland. Great guy, but a manic panic merchant. “Where’s the bloody cab?” a rhetorical question as they waited on the footpath. The sooner they sorted things out at the office the quicker they could get back home.
