"Everything okay?" Victor asks.
I delete the message with shaking fingers. "Fine. Just my sister checking in."
"Which one?"
"Amelia. Asking how Vegas is treating us."
The lie tastes like poison, but I force a smile.
"Tell her we're avoiding video game chapels this trip."
"Probably wise."
Victor almost smiles at that, and the guilt nearly destroys me.
Because he's sitting here, his hand on my thigh, telling me we're a team, that we handle things together, that he trusts me.
And I'm sitting here with my phone full of messages from his competitor, trying not to betray him in less than twelve hours.
I shove the phone back in my clutch and force myself to look out the window at the desert giving way to coastline. The ocean stretches out below us now, dark and vast—unforgiving.
Just like the choice I'm going to have to make.
Tonight, at this dinner, I'll be sitting across from Richard Francis's board members. The same people Vanessa wants me to extract information from. The same people whose trust Victor needs to close this acquisition.
And I'll have to choose.
My father's medical bills—the treatments he needs, the care my mother can't afford to give him without help.
Or Victor—the man who just told me I'm worth fighting for. The man who's planning to spend tonight showing me exactly what I mean to him. The man who trusts me.
The helicopter begins its descent toward the yacht, and I watch the lights of Santa Barbara spread out below us like scattered stars.
"Almost there," Victor says, his thumb still tracing patterns on my thigh. "You ready?"
No. I'm not ready.
I'm not ready to betray him.
But I'm not ready to let my father suffer either.
"Ready," I lie.
And as the helicopter touches down on the yacht's helipad, I realize that no matter what choice I make tonight?—
Someone I love is going to get hurt.
The only question is whether I'll be able to live with myself after.
Less than a minute later, we're exiting the helicopter on a yacht that makes the Bellagio look modest.
There’s no other word for Richard Francis’s water-palace other than “stunning.” Complete with all white decks and teak wood and top-to-bottom windows, the boat is massive and luxe. The sun has fully set now, and the exterior is lit with warm golden lights that make everything look like a magazine spread.
Before I can even take it all in, a steward appears, leading us through the yacht's interior—all marble and brass and esoteric art.
A minute later, we’re led to a dining room set for eight people. Covered in crystal glasses and fine china, the dark walnut dining table is already set, and to my surprise, Richard Francis is already seated there, holding court at the head of the table.
Looking as exactly as I remember him from our sole meeting—his late fifties, silver-haired, sporting a tan that lets me know he spends more time on yachts than in boardrooms, the CulinaryVision CEO is wearing a navy blazer and an expression that says he's very pleased with himself.
