The Day You Said Hello

By Kenny Yao

Monica, fulfilling every woman’s dream also gets to meet the most sought after bachelor in the world.

Mark, a self made billionaire who owns condominium-hotels around the world wooed her. After his proposal, they went on a pre-nuptial vacation which led to a plane crash, causing them both to be comatose. Separated by two hospitals and several months of deep sleep, they woke up in a romance nightmare that would change their lives forever. Monica wakes up with amnesia and met Mike, Mark’s twin brother, who took her halfway around the world. Mark wakes up from his coma and searches for the love of his life, only to lose her to his own flesh and blood.

Will Mark find his true love back? Will Monica return to Mark? Does hello always ends with a goodbye?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenny Yao
• Release date: Mar 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311817556

Kenny Yao

"Sometimes in life when we are handed a problem... we just go on and do the best we can. That way we survive the challenge and can achieve victory." Kenny Yao is a retired Businessman turned Writer from San Francisco. A widower, he is a father of four sons. He is now residing in Manila. It all started years ago, when witnessing one of the most destructive typhoons in his local city, Kenny was inspired to build an evacuation center someday to help those in need. The image of a chopper hovering down a rooftop to rescue a group of stranded family, became the inspiration for the very first scene that Kenny wrote for his debut novel, "The Sun Day". Up to date, he has written and published novels, a collection of short stories, poetry, and Biblical non-fictions.

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License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

This work is a copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

eBook ISBN: 9781311817556

Copyright © 2015 by Kenny Yao

All rights reserved

Acknowledgements

Thank you God, again.

To my dearest mom, Uncle Jerry, my sister, Lizanne, and my four sons, for always being there for me.

To Kevin, thank you for the book cover, I like it very much.

To my readers, thank you for your support.

Dedicated to all hopeless romantics out there.

Table of Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

OTHER TITLES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ONE

The lights on stage glared at the beautiful women in their dazzling evening gowns. The tension packed the arena as all eyes were glued on the five finalists on stage. Even the master of ceremonies looked with excitement as anticipation filled the air as who would be crowned 2014 Miss Inter-Continental. Everyone held their breath as the emcee took the envelope with the results from the auditor.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the 2014 Miss Inter-Continental is Miss USA, Monica Dowell! May we request on stage Mr. Mark Scott, the Chairman and the Chief Executive Officer of the Ms. Inter-Continental Beauty Pageant to award the crown and the prize of three million US dollars, a house and lot of her choice from Mr. Scott’s company, Mark Developers, and a brand new car - a 2015-BMW Active Hybrid 5.series.

The crowd went wild as they applauded, while a very good-looking man in his mid-thirties stood up from his seat in the front row, and lumbered up the carpeted steps onto the stage.

The beautiful winner, her twinkling eyes glowed in disbelief started to water, had both her hands upon her mouth.

I can’t believe it! She whispered.

The Arena went up in cheers as everybody stood up and gave a standing ovation.

Mark Scott, on stage, approached the winner, and gave her his sweetest smile.

Hi, I’m Mark, Congratulations! Please forgive my manners for not saying hello, because if I ever say it, someday I may have to say goodbye.

Her cheeks went red when she said, Hi, I’m Monica.

This was a month ago. Today, she’s travelling with Mark in his private jet to his hotels and condominiums development in Central Europe. The first stop would be in London, where he will have a couple of meetings with his operation officers, and where she and the runners-up of the 2014 Ms. Inter-Continental will perform their duties and responsibilities. Monica, at first didn’t know that Mark Scott was the founder- franchise holder of the beauty pageant around the world. This could be quite easy to miss with his young looks, which gave him the distinct image of a model. With his long, brushed up, salt and pepper hair, tanned skin, and his chiseled body that could give any professional model a run for the money. He donned his clothes as if there were no dress codes at all. He much preferred comfortable fashion than those of the older businessman. At thirty-five, he has made his mark. He now belongs to the Forbes’ Top 100 Billioners of the World. Nobody could say anything against Mark Scott. He made everybody his ally, even those who hate his guts for making so much money at a very young age.

The 2008 Learjet 60 serial-334 landed at the Heathrow airport at the exact expected time of arrival at six in the evening. It was a smooth and comfortable flight all the way. Mark, his secretary, personal assistant, the four beauty pageant winners, and their manager, disembarked the plane as soon as it landed. Two limousines waited on the tarmac for them. All of them were out of the airport in fifteen minutes flat. The secretary stayed behind and took care of all the immigration and customs check.

Inside the limo, with no knowledge whatsoever of the expedited exit, Monica as the grand winner was seated beside Mark Scott, as a protocol performed by Rick, his Personal Assistant in all matters pertaining to his daily routine.

How was your flight? Mark asked.

Comfortable. Thank you. Monica said.

Is this your first time in London? He said.

Yes! It’s also my first time in Europe. I’m so excited.

Please do enjoy your stay, and let me know should you need anything. Okay? By the way, this is Rick, my personal assistant. He will be with you ladies while you’re here in Europe to enjoy your vacation and at the same time while you attend to your duties as Ms. Inter-Continental.

Thank you, Mr. Scott. Monica said.

Call me Mark.

Thank you, Mark.

It’s my pleasure. He said, showing off his pearly whites.

When they reached the condominium-hotel project of Mark Scott, a first in London, he slid out of the limo, and extended his hand to help Monica out. As they entered the posh lobby, he touched her elbows and whispered in her ear.

What are you doing tonight for dinner?

I really don’t know yet, I’ll ask the girls, maybe we might be hanging out together?

How would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Mark asked.

I’m not sure. You might be so busy…

I insist!

Okay, around eightyish?

I’ll pick you up then.

Okay, see you.

Enjoy your day. Rick, please take care of her.

Yes Sir!

Monica and the girls were in the lobby chatting about their day when Mark walked into them. He was in a gray V-shaped long sleeved shirt, black jeans, and black trench coat. They all stopped talking and shifted their gaze on Mark, who gave them his sweetest smile.

Good evening, ladies. He said.

Good evening, Sir.

How was your day? He said.

We were just discussing about the children in the cancer hospital. It was such a shocking reality, I, myself was so touched by how much they try to live their lives, even in their circumstances. Monica, wide eyed, with much animation recounted her experiences. She was in a black off-shoulders blouse and mini-skirt, showing off her long and full perfect legs, and she had with her a black leather jacket, to shield her against the chill of the London night.

‘Nice and sexy.’ He thought to himself. One of the many things he liked about her.

Are you ready to go? He whispered.

Sure!

This way, please. Excuse us ladies, we have to go someplace.

Ughh, sure! They chorused, as they all exchanged awkward glances.

Mark led the way to the elevator, a private elevator, where he pressed several numbers on a key pad. The doors opened, they both walked in; the elevator door closed and it started to move.

Where are we going? Monica asked.

To the rooftop.

Oh! Okay.

They both waited in silence as the elevator rose all the way to the rooftop. When the doors opened, at first glance, Monica thought it was a joke. To her surprise, she was welcomed with a red carpet leading all the way to a private helicopter.

This way, dear. Mark egged her on.

Where are you taking me? She asked, doubts were written all over her face.

Let’s just get on the chopper. Mark said.

Not until you tell me where we’re going! Monica demanded.

To a place you’ll never forget.

Where?Curiosity getting the best of her.

Paris, France. The most romantic city in the world, so as the cliché goes, is also the gourmet capital of the world. Tonight was no different as the chopper hovered above the delightful, well-lighted city. On the way across the 213 miles travel from London, Monica began to tell Mark about her background, family, and growing up years. Mark was silent most of the time. The two-hour helicopter ride was very exhilarating for him. It was only this very moment with Monica when he felt this kind of excitement. He watched Monica’s features as he hung on every word she said. Monica was very pretty- not pretty, but beautiful in an exotic way. What with her soft blue eyes, perfect Greek-like chiseled nose, pouty mouth, and fine light brown hair. Her face could have been a middle eastern with a Polynesian descent.

Monica’s mother was of Chinese heritage, although only by half; the other half is Caucasian, a Canadian. Her ancestors migrated to Hawaii after the Second World War. There, they lived as modest as they could, work the daily wages.

Her father is half Polynesian and American, who both worked as a Polynesian dancer and a Ukulele player. Both her parents met in Hawaii, finished high school and got married. They bore three children, two boys and a girl. After high school, both her brothers entered the navy, while she, being the youngest and also by Chinese tradition, needed to stay and take care of her parents. She was able to finish her degree in Business Accounting at the University of Hawaii in Manoa. She has this knack for numbers, and she knew it. After college, she worked for an accounting firm doing taxes for people.

The chopper landed on the helipad of the Mark Suites Le Champs-Elysees on Avenue des Champs-Elysees, 8tharrondissements-or district, also known in French as 8eme. The five year old building towers over the others as it stood tall with its hundred seventy-five stories. The lights surrounded them glittered from all directions. It was a wonderful sight to behold.

Mark again surprising Monica as she disembarked from the chopper, with a red carpet leading all the way to the entrance into the private elevator. Mark led her into the elevator and one floor down to the penthouse at the rooftop of the building. As the elevator door opened, there, standing by were the hotel manager, the chef of the house, and a dozen servers lingered around to see to their needs. Monica, her eyes and mouth a perfect O, was paralyzed inside the elevator. Mark had to pull her to get her feet moving. For Monica, an island girl who spent her twenty-one years in the beautiful island of Hawaii – imagined the sight could only be in a dream. She knew she was awake, but her mind kept playing games with her. She had to pinch herself to get rid of this dreamlike state. Meanwhile, Mark shook hands with the manager and the chef, spoke to them and told them what he expects. Then, he took a hold of her hand and led her to a table full of different colored roses – red, pink, white, yellow, and blue. He pulled her chair and sat her down while he strolled with ease to his seat opposite her. The table was huge; on her right were the multi-colored roses, ordered and made specifically for her. She couldn’t take her eyes off the extravagant sight. There were at least a thousand roses right in front of her. To her left, were the porcelains and silver utensils to be used tonight. And, in front, right opposite her, was the most handsome man she ever saw.

Are you okay? Mark said.

Are you kidding me? This is the best night of my life. She said.

I hope you enjoy the rest of the night.

Don’t worry. I already have.

They exchanged pleasantries as dinner was served. Later on, Monica continued with the tale of her life.

She confessed that she was pushed by her co-workers to join the Miss Hawaii search for the Ms. Inter-Continental beauty pageant. A wish every girl dreams about. She talked to her parents, and when they agreed, everybody she knew encouraged her to do so. She firmly believed that the difference between to dream and forever wish is, to take the first step, go ahead and fulfill that dream with reality. And, she was glad she did so.

Right after the main course the manager arrived and asked if there was anything else they wanted. Mark stood up, shook his hand, and said,

No thank you, Mr. Jules, everything was perfect and according to plan.

As you wish, Sir! The manager said.

With that, he walked over to where Monica was seated and in a very gentle manner, whispered in her ear,

Come on, we’ll have our dessert somewhere else.

What? Where?

Follow me. He said.

He took her hand and led her back into the elevator. One floor up and they were back in the chopper.

Where are we going this time? Monica asked.

Have you heard that the best chocolates and beer can be found in Brussels?

She looked at him as if he was out of his mind.

Don’t tell me we’re going there for desserts.

Oh, yes we are. We’re about forty five minutes away.

Are you serious? It’s almost midnight. Don’t I have to be back for the curfew at ten?

Are you forgetting who owns the beauty pageant? By the way I already spoke with Ms. Lee, your manager, to exempt you for tonight’s curfew, unless you have some other plans.

No, no, nothing like that. I was just worried about the curfew.

He took her hand and kissed it with a slight touch of his lips, sending her shivers.

Don’t worry, I took care of everything. Enjoy the night. Mark whispered.

‘Westvleteren XII’, the world’s best 10.2% brew as rated by RateBeer, ranked the Abbey’s beer as the number one beer in the world. Monks at the SintSixtus abbey had been selling to locals since the 1870’s. Bound by the Trappist code of Ora et labora (work and prayer), which required the monks to sell soaps, cheeses, beers, and ceramics to make a living, but not to get rich. That was till the social media era. Today, as many as eighty-five thousand calls are made per hour just for orders of this world-renowned beer. The whole process of ordering would take the monks three days to complete the delivery.

The chopper hovered above the building on Place du Grand Sablon, the lovely park-like area where the well-known art galleries, antiques, and famous shops like the Neuhaus chocolate shop were located.

Jean, the manager at Neuhaus was on stand-by at the heliport of the condo-tel owned by Mark Developers. He was busy giving orders by the buffet tables. With him, a dozen assistants drifted through and fro, positioning the world’s most famous chocolates like Neuhaus, Godiva, Guylian, Callebaut, Coted’Or, and many more. Nearby, cases of the Westvleteren XII were stacked near the over-sized freezer. A bountiful table covered with pink-and-black linen was awaiting the guest of