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His gaze holds mine for a beat before he rises to his feet, a move that makes his bones crack. “All right, get in.”
Men. For once, I’m glad they’re all the fucking same.
He roughly grips my forearm to steady me as I clamber into the boat. I slide onto a cold, wet bench while he untethers us from the jetty and fiddles with the console. A few moments later, the engine stutters under my ass and we’re skating over the choppy waves. A mix of ice water and wind assault my face and hair, and I squeeze my eyes shut and curl myself around my purse in my lap in an attempt to keep it dry.
But it’s fruitless; by the time the purr of the engine slows to a lazy chug, I’m soaked. Slug-like strands of hair stick to the back of my neck, and I’m pretty sure even my fucking panties are wet. Oh, and another glance at my cell tells me I’m ten minutes late.
Not a great start, Penny.
The boat pulls up to a swim deck at the back of the yacht, and the fisherman takes his sweet-ass time hoisting me up onto the ledge of his boat so I can reach the ladder. When his bony fingers inch a little too low on my hips, I bark out a nasty “fuck off.”His response is something equally as unchristian-like, and before I can make it past the first rung of the ladder, he kicks the engine back into gear and tears off back in the direction of the dock.
Asshole.
Clinging to the slippery ladder, with my purse slung over my shoulder, I use all the strength in my puny arms to hoist myself up another rung. Now, I can just about see over the edge of the swim platform, and my eyes land on a pair of black, tight-clad feet. I run my gaze up further, taking in long, slender legs, a ridiculously short skirt, and a red mouth wrapped around a cigarette.
Eyes, familiar and feline, come to mine. It’s Anna, the girl Matt is obsessed with. She takes a slow, final drag, before flicking the lipstick-stained butt past my ear and into the raging sea behind me. “You’re late,” she says coldly, before spinning on her bare heels and sauntering through a set of double doors.
Well, then. I guess she’s still bitter about me interrupting her conversation with Raphael.
Huffing out yet another curse word, I army-crawl onto the deck and rise to my feet. I consider following Anna through the double doors, but the puddle of saltwater at my feet suggests it’ll only get me into more trouble. Instead, I wander aimlessly along the side deck, peering into portholes, looking for someone, anyone, that can give me even the faintest idea why the fuck I’m on a yacht in the middle of December.
I find a girl further down the deck, bathing in the glow of the security light.
She’s also puking over the railing.
As I approach, she glances sideways and wipes her mouth with a wad of tissue in her hand. “Please don’t tell me you’re Penny.”
I look down at the green sludge sliding over the curve of the boat. “Is it a bad time?”
She huffs out a dry laugh and rips open a water bottle, then finishes it in five greedy chugs. “Sorry, doll. I’m Laurie, Raphael’s right-hand-woman. I’d shake your hand but I think the movement will make me sick again. Do you have your resume?”
I fish it from my purse. Laurie is beautiful, even when she’s spewing up her lunch. A Black girl with brown eyes, long lashes, and the sleekest ponytail I’ve ever seen. She looks a bit older than me, but definitely no older than late twenties.
“I’ll survive without a handshake,” I say, amused. I glance down at her hand married to the railing. “Are you okay?”
“Of course not; we’re half a mile from dry land and I can’t swim,” she mutters, stepping away from the sea and gripping her stomach. “But I’ll get used to it. I have to, because thanks to the explosion at the port, we’ll be working on this damn yacht for the foreseeable future.”
My gaze slides across the horizon, watching the last of the sun’s rays dip behind the storm-gray horizon, cooling the sky’s color palette.
“We will?”
“Come on, I’ll get you up to speed.”
I follow the wobbly path she cuts along the side deck and come to a stop at the open clearing at the front of the boat, where both side decks meet at a point. No doubt there’s a fancier word for it, but the only boat I’ve ever stepped on is a ferry.
The wind feels sharper up here, relentlessly whipping through my wet hair and chilling my bones. Laurie slices through its howling with a dull clap of her hands. “So Coastal Events—”
“What’s Coastal Events?” I interrupt.
Her gaze slants. “Seriously? How the hell did you get this job?” She shakes her head, as if she can’t be fucked to hear my answer. “Coastal Events is the Devil’s Coast branch of Raphael’s events agency. The other branch is Vegas Events, and well, you can figure out where that’s based. Anyway, at Coastal, we supply staff and entertainment for most of the Viscontis’ parties up and down the coast. Poker nights over in Hollow, birthday parties in Cove, weddings in Dip…you get the idea.” She slowly turns so she’s facing out to sea, and I suddenly realize I recognize her from the wedding. She was the woman with the clipboard and the earpiece barking at wait staff for not moving fast enough. Her shaky finger rises toward the shore. I follow it to the jagged cliff face, veiled by a thin cloak of smoke rising from the port below it. Around halfway up it, there’s a crater-sized hole, its edges charred black from smoke. “Rafe wanted to create a more permanent venue on his home turf, and that was supposed to be it. They’d just fitted all the glass when the explosion happened. Apparently, it caused loads of structural damage and weakened the foundations, so it’s going to take ages to rebuild.” We both stare at the gaping hole for a few beats. It makes the cliff look as if it is crying out in agony. “So, yeah, the yacht is the temporary solution.”
“Christ, who’s rich enough to have a yacht on-hand to use as a temporary bar?”
She laughs. “Rafe has two.”
I shake my head in disbelief. I can’t help but think I should have swindled him for much more than a Breitling when I had the chance. But no, that’s not the mindset of a girl who’s gonestraight.
“Uh, Penny?” I swivel around to see Laurie glaring at the puddle around my feet. “Did you swim here?”
