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“Everyone has them.” That time, my voice comes out as a whisper and a hair sultrier than my usual tone.
“Not me. Can’t afford them,” he says.
Suddenly, I’m wondering if we’re still on the topic of business.
Kyle gathers himself first as he shakes his head slightly and steps backward. “Enjoy yourself, Ms. Martin.” He looks me up and down. “But not too much.”
Yet again, he presents me with his back as he saunters off.
* * *
Kyle
“You’re watching her again,” Diego leans over and says into my ear.
Even though I hear him clearly, and know I need to, I can’t tear my gaze away from her.
Riley fucking Martin.
She’s across the room, talking with Adam Bachleda and another board member. When Riley tosses her head back and laughs, I tighten my hand around my glass. I both want to get her off my boat and move closer to her.
“That’s when my team was able to build out the systems that grow our reach,” Sam Waterson says, bringing my attention back to our conversation. He’s going over how his company expanded the distribution of his medical supplies company.
“Yet another reason why your connections will pair perfectly with Townsend,” I tell him as if I was paying attention the entire time. I remind myself that my only objective for the remainder of this weekend is to get Waterson’s signature on the dotted line.
That’s the only thing that matters.
Yet, as if a damn homing device is attached to her, my eyes land directly on Riley again. This time around, she’s speaking with one of the board members’ wives. When the older woman pulls out her phone from her clutch, I wonder what she’s showing Riley.
Riley’s expression softens.
“Townsend is number one in that arena. Isn’t that right, Kyle?” Diego nudges me with an elbow.
“Yes, what he said,” I say, not knowing what they’re talking about now. “Will you two excuse me? Dinner should begin shortly, and I need to make sure we’re on schedule.”
I hear Diego tell Waterson something about how hands on I am when it comes to events and projects under my charge. What he’s saying in not so many words is that I’m a control freak.
I head over to the closest security guard to me.
“How many are onboard?” I ask.
“Fifty-three.”
I nod. The dinner is set up for sixty, but a few celebrities exited early as I suspected they would.
“We’re right on schedule,” Mike, my assistant, comes up and tells me. He’s been giving me updates all evening.
I nod and peer down at my Rolex. “In exactly five minutes, gather our guests. I’ll make the dinner announcement over the microphone. Are you certain the caterers are prepared?”
He nods quickly. “Everything is aligned to your specifications. The tables are already set.”
I nod, knowing as much since I went down and double checked on the dining area myself. We’ll be dining on the lower deck of the yacht. It’s the perfect space for quieter and more intimate conversation. I’m seated at the head table, of course, with Sam Waterson, a few of his team, and the board members from Townsend. My interest isn’t in anyone else at the moment.
At least, that was what I told myself. Yet, after giving Mike a few more instructions, I head in the opposite direction instead of heading to where the live band is playing to grab the microphone.
Without much thought behind my actions, I find myself standing before Riley. She’s speaking with another board member and an artist whose work was featured at last evening’s show.
“Dinner will begin shortly,” I tell the two men without a preamble.
