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“Try what again, asswipe?”
I blow out an exasperated breath. “Another logic. What has possibly brought two unlikely people together in the same room once again … more than 1200 miles away from their first encounter?”
“You know Bianca,” she says suddenly. She crosses her arms over her chest in a rage.
“Go on,” I cruelly encourage.
“You’re one of the guests on this cruise. You had her offer me this job, so I’d be forced to see you. You were scheduled to be on this yacht all along.”
“So close, yet so wrong. Must I leave you breadcrumbs to the answer? I thought you were smarter than this with all of your private school education.”
“You know what? I’m not going to let you ruin this opportunity for me. You can fuck off. I refused to let you get me fired from yet another job.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I grin, setting down my empty tumbler. “Fuck off, that is.”
“Look, I really need this job. I’m fine to pretend we don’t know each other. This yacht is big enough for us to coexist. Can we just agree to leave the past in the past?”
I ignore her shameless request for a truce. Instead, I slide a folder across the conference table. It reaches the end, and she picks it up.
“What is this?” She asks as she opens the folder to view its contents.
“The non-disclosure agreement you must sign if you wish to keep this opportunity you keep talking about.”
“But why do you have it, and why are you the one presenting it to me? Where’s Eleonor? Where’s Atticus? Hell, where is Bianca, for that matter?”
Fuck! This chick doesn’t just need breadcrumbs, she needs the whole loaf. “Let me spell it out for you. What is the name of this yacht?”
“TPL,” she huffs.
“And what do those initials stand for?”
“Ummmm,” she begins to search the top portion of the NDA. “The Playboy’s Lair,” she reads.
“And what is the name of the company Bianca she worked for?”
“TPL Enter…” the word enterprises die a slow death on her lips. Once again, painstaking realization sinks in, but I go for the jugular.
“What’s my last name, sweetheart?”
“Fuck,” she yells.
“I’m afraid that’s not acceptable language for a new employee. Perhaps you don’t want this opportunity after all.”
“Lair,” she says finally. “This is your yacht.”
“Ding. Ding. Ding. Damn, that took way too long to reveal.”
“So, you told Bianca to offer me this job after purposely getting me fired? Why?”
“Bianca is one of my assistants, but not for this cruise. She won’t be around to save you should you choose to move forward with this opportunity.”
“But why? Why offer me this job? Why get me fired?”
“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t answer to anyone, and I do what I want … when I want. The why is irrelevant.” I push out of my seat to tower over her—my 6'3 stance intimidating. “You either sign the goddamn NDA and walk into the why blindly or get your suitcases and get the fuck off my yacht.”
“I spent everything I had to get here,” she yells.
“Not my problem. What’s it going to be? I have shit to do.”
