“If you would just—”
“There’s no talking your way out of this, Hartwell. No excuses to change my mind. I regret every second I spent with you.”
The words are a serrated blade across my throat. She thinks I’m a snake. That our night together was a tactical maneuver to make a play for her data. Knowing she doubts the way I held her in that shower pisses me off. I want to put my fist through the Hag’s rusted bulkhead.
“I’m not going to fight you, Ivy. I wasn’t digging through your shit to be a dick. I was trying to crack the code that isyou.Because I want to know every damn thing about you. But I get it. You don’t trust me.”
I tilt her chin to meet my eyes.
“I am sorry. Truly.”
She stands there, vibrating with tension. For a moment, her gaze drops to my mouth, and the air between us ignites. It sure as hell isn’t indifference.
It’s a goddamn firestorm.
I see the heat. The memory. The thing she’s trying to bury alive.
Then she kills it.
Right in front of me.
“I have a million-dollar goal to hit,” she says, stepping outside my touch. “Mic the talent and stay out of my way.”
She takes two steps, then sighs.
“Oh for the love of—”
Juliette Vexford steps onto the deck of this floating rust bucket like it’s a super yacht. Pearls, posture, and more than enough judgment to sink the ship.
“Ms. Ellison.” Her gaze lands on me. “Mr. Hartwell.”
“Ms. Vexford,” Ivy says smoothly. “We’re finishing final prep. How can I help you?”
Juliette scowls back, plucking a single sheet from her clipboard. She serves it to me like a subpoena with fancy hotel letterhead.
“I prefer to hand-deliver final notices. This is the itemized bill for Dare4Change. I suggest you review it thoroughly.”
Ivy yanks the paper from my hand.
Her eyes scan the document and stop.
Her pupils blow wide.
“FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS?!” she screeches. “Half a—are you kidding me? This is outrageous!”
Ivy shakes her head like she can rattle the number loose.
“We completed the claim paperwork you gave us,” she pleads. “I mean,Ifilled them out. I did everything you asked.”
“The claim was denied,” Juliette says, looking at us as if we’re a bug on the windshield of her otherwise perfect horizon.
“Apparently, operating a motorized vehicle in our historic lobby and decimating an 18th-century Venetian side table does not qualify as ‘standard wear and tear.’ One cannot simply glue an antique back together.”
The hull groans under a large wave. Wind tears off the water in a cold, salt-soaked mist. Somewhere above us, a sea lion screams into the void.
Same, buddy. Same.
“We secured a replacement from a private collector in Mexico,” Juliette says, glancing at her watch as if our financial ruin is a mere inconvenience. “I will now bid the Saltwater Saviors crew farewell. It hasnotbeen a pleasure hosting Dare4Change this weekend. I trust the damage has reached its conclusion.”
