Page 38 of One to Watch

He led her to the railing near the front of the yacht, which made Bea wonder if he intended to reenact Titanic—particularly when he took her hands and looked deep into her eyes.

“Bea, I want you to know how seriously I’m taking this.”

He paused, which led Bea to believe that she was meant to respond.

“Okay! That’s great, because—”

“For too many years, I have spent my nights alone,” he proclaimed. “I have yearned for someone special, someone to become my other half. My wife. I am here to seek her.”

Is this actually happening? Bea did her best to nod understandingly.

“Bea, if you’ll have me, I’d like to put my hat in the ring to become your other half. Your husband. And so I am bringing you this gift.”

At this, a PA materialized with a wrapped present—it was square and nearly flat.

“Oh wow, thank you,” Bea said, completely mystified.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

So Bea did—it was a framed etching of a fedora inside a circle.

“Do you get it?” he asked. “It’s a hat. In a—”

“In a ring, yes, I see that. This is, wow. So thoughtful, Ben. I really appreciate this.”

Ben K. broke into a wide smile. “I was worried you wouldn’t get it.”

Bea nodded. “Oh?”

“Yeah, you know. It’s kind of a subtle message.”

She gave him a quick, uncomfortable hug, then hurried away as politely as possible.

Making her way back toward the bar, Bea caught a glimpse of a few of the men—Jaime, Kindergarten Ben, Nash, and Cooper—chatting in a circle: Jaime seemed to be miming the act of having sex with a larger woman, Nash and Cooper were snickering, and Kindergarten Ben nodded earnestly, eagerly absorbing any tips Jaime had to offer.

Bea felt a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with seasickness, but she swallowed hard and walked up to the bar, where Trevor the stockbroker was talking tequila with the middle-aged bartender for the benefit of the camera next to him.

“Bea! How’s it going?”

He clapped her on the back in a friendly sort of way—nothing romantic about it, but at least he was pleasant.

“Better now that I’m at the bar,” she quipped.

“Woman after my own heart. What are we drinking?”

“Sounds like we’re in a tequila state of mind.”

“I was gonna do shots, you want in?”

Bea considered the wisdom of impairing her motor skills, judgment, and inhibitions—frankly, she thought the risk of falling on a slippery deck (not insubstantial under the best of circumstances) was worth the potential reward of feeling marginally less stressed about this entire situation. She turned to Trevor with a wicked grin.

“Lay ’em down, Trevor.”

“Bro, nice!”

The tequila was cool and smooth, and after two shots, Bea felt the liquid worming its way into her system, loosening the folds in her brain.

“You want one more?” Trevor asked, holding up his own.