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“I do. But I also know Kaylin’s had a difficult time, and if hiring a bodyguard helps her to relax, then I’m going to hire a bodyguard.”
“Fucking hell, you’ve got it bad for this woman, haven’t you?”
“Is there a problem with that?”
“No problem. I’m happy for you, dude. And of course I can supply a bodyguard. If you pay me enough money, I can supply a tier-one special forces operator with childcare experience.”
“Good. Do it.”
“What time do you want him?”
“Six p.m.”
“He’ll be there. I’ll send you a name and a photo by mid-afternoon.”
“Any update on Cesare Cavallaro?”
“We’re not monitoring him twenty-four-seven anymore, but Friday’s report said he was still chasing around Queens. Plus he has a local PI watching Kaylin’s grandma, so she might want to hold off contact for a while.”
“She hasn’t been in touch.”
“Any concerning developments at your end?”
“Other than the Sara Baldwin affair? No.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything more. Enjoy your date.”
Emmy hung up before Nico could correct her. It wasn’t a date. Was it? Things were heading in that direction, but he wanted his first date with Kaylin to be special. Cocktails, a fancy dinner, good conversation. Not nibbling on hors d’oeuvres, surrounded by drunk people as smooth-talking businessmen tried to convince him to part with half a million dollars.
There was a market for yacht charters, sure. The three-Fs crowd—if it flies, floats, or fucks, then rent it, don’t buy it—would happily drop a small fortune to hire a fully crewed party boat. Nico knew that because once, he’d been a part of that group. But now, he had his own yacht, albeit one he didn’t know how to sail, and he was well and truly over hookups. Hell, maybe he should just buy his own plane and be done with it?
Although in light of recent developments, he did plan to cut down on travel. Matty needed stability. A good school. Friends. Unless Kaylin wanted to homeschool him, in which case, Nico would support that decision.
One thing was for sure—he wouldn’t be repeating the mistakes of his father.
36
NICO
Kaylin-the-girl had raced around the mansion in Moscow in jeans and sweaters, pigtails flying. Kaylin-the-woman had developed a sense of grace and style, and Nico’s heart had flipped when she walked out of her room that evening.
She was right: this was weird, but he didn’t care either.
He just wanted her.
Emmy’s operator had shown up at the appointed time, a wiry man in his mid-forties with a crooked smile and hard eyes, followed by the babysitter, who reminded Nico of the cheerful grandmas you saw in movies. Matty had been laughing at a cartoon when his mom left.
And now Kaylin was at Nico’s side on the upper deck of an eighty-foot super yacht, dressed in a royal-blue high-waisted bikini with a crocheted sundress over the top—an outfit Nico recognised as having come from the boutique at the Peninsula—and a pair of wedge sandals that left her only an inch shorter than him.
This was an exquisite form of torture.
Focus on the numbers. A yacht like this one could be bought for two million on the secondhand market, and the base rate for a charter would be in the region of a hundred thousand a week. Of course, that had to cover the crew’s wages, maintenance costs, and fuel, but the profit margin was still reasonable as long as rental voids were kept to a minimum. Which was the biggest gamble—the company didn’t have much of a track record, and Nico wasn’t convinced by the company’s marketing plan, which was heavy on lifestyle influencers and low on networking. But the investment would be backed by assets, and?—
Damn, she was beautiful.
Nico slipped an arm around Kaylin’s waist and leaned in close.
“Is it time to leave yet?” he asked.
