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“Yes, it’s apricot light. I asked for white.”
My head could explode. “And why do you need me?”
“Well, do you like them?”
“They’re lights.”
“They’re apricot lights.”
“Not white lights,” I say tiredly, getting a punch in my bicep for my trouble. “Rose, baby, I could not give two fucks what color the lights are.” All of this is going over my head. Lights, ice sculptures— “What the fuck is that?” I ask, pointing to a table in the corner.
She pouts. “That’s our cake.”
“That’s a fucking skyscraper,” I say, going over to it, my gaze lifting the closer I get to keep the top in my sights. “Jesus,” I breathe. It’ll take us ten years to get through this thing. “You do realize Barbie and Cindy will swallow it whole if they sniff it out.”
“Yes, I realize that, hence they’re in their kennels. The company could only deliver at the crack of dawn because it was a short-notice order. They have other cakes to deliver.”
I reach forward and drag my finger through the sugar cream.
“Danny!”
“What?” I ask, my finger hanging out of my mouth. Fuck, it’s good. I lick my lips as Rose looks at me in exasperation. She needs to chill the fuck out. It’s my cake. “Baby, stop stressing.” I agreed to this because she deserves an elaborate party where the attention is all on her. My queen. She deserves something normal. If I’d known it would turn her into an anxious mess, I would have denied her. She can’t seriously be having fun.
“I’m not stressing.” Her shoulders drop, and her gaze goes from worried to warning. “Promise me you’ve got nothing shady planned today.”
“Promise,” I say quickly, slamming a kiss on her lips and beating a hasty retreat. “I’m going out on the water,” I call, pulling my phone out to check the time. It’s not even six fucking thirty and I’m already knackered.
“What?” she yells, coming after me. “Why? What if I need you?”
“You just proved categorially that you don’t,” I say on a laugh, taking the stairs. “Besides, I could do with some R&R.”
“Why, are you nervous?”
I smile too myself as I reach the top of the stairs. “Around you, baby. Always.” Who the fuck knows when that pearler of a right hook will be launched? And if she knew what I was going to do now, that fist of hers would fire like a machine gun in my face repeatedly.
* * *
After I threw on some gray sweatpants, a white T-shirt, and my trainers, I stopped by my office to collect some cash before I went to my car and found Brad in the passenger seat, still in his gym kit, sweating. I didn’t say a word. Neither did he. We drove to the boatyard with Kings of Leon’s Closer on low, both of us silent. Thoughtful.
When we arrive, Leon’s got my ski on the water as instructed.
“Getting nervous about next week?” he asks, grinning as he wedges my Sea-Doo into the sand bed before wading out.
Brad chuckles, earning a dark look. Then he clicks, and my look becomes darker. Yes, next week. His head tilts in question. “Where’s my wetsuit?” I ask, heading for the cabin, lighting up as I go.
“Hanging on your locker.”
“Get mine out,” Brad says, following me.
“Yes, B-Boss.”
“And my ski.”
“Leave it, Leon,” I call over my shoulder. “He’s not going out on the water today.” I make it to the men’s changing room and grab my wetsuit, dragging it back outside with me. I meet Brad, who’s coming up the steps after me.
“What do you mean, I’m not going out? I want to go out.”
“Shut up, you bitch.” I head for the yellow container, Brad flanking me, Leon chasing our heels. “You’re not going out,” I reiterate, taking a key from my back pocket and unlocking the padlock. “And neither am I.” I haul the door open, the sound of creaking metal piercing the early morning quiet. “He is.”
Both Brad and Leon crane their necks to see inside the container. “Who the fuck is that?” Brad asks, taking in the pitiful form of a man tied to a wooden chair with extra strong cable ties.
“I don’t know,” I admit, pulling a knife from my back pocket. “He won’t talk.”
“Well, where did you find him?”
“I didn’t.”
“I did,” Leon chirps up, his chest practically swelling with pride. “Trying to break into the ski storeroom.”
“With a bag full of explosives,” I add, passing Leon my wetsuit and crouching in front of the unknown man. “Still not up for telling me who sent you to plant a bomb on my ski?” It’s like déjà-fucking-vu.
“Fucking hell,” Brad breathes, raking a hand through his hair and starting to pace outside the container. “What now?”
“Now our little friend here is going for a race on the water.” I cut the cable ties and throw him to the floor, pinning him down while Leon and Brad wrestle him into my wetsuit.
