Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Hello, hello! Fancy meeting you here,” a familiar voice cuts in.
I spin on my heels and find Jeremy in a peach-colored button-down and beige dress pants, holding a tray of champagne flutes.
“Hey!” My smile is genuine, even if his timing is lousy.
Jeremy nods at Ronan. “Sir, good to see you again.”
“Oh fuck, don’t ‘sir’ me, man. Seriously.”
Jeremy chuckles. “Okay, got it.”
“You’re working here tonight?” I ask. Obviously, but it’s a Tuesday. The deal Ronan negotiated was weekends only.
Jeremy shrugs. “They needed an extra body last-minute, and I was finished my cruise shift. Missed you out on the water again today.”
“Yeah, I had some appointments and other things. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Good. Don’t expect a great review for Tiki One today.” Jeremy widens his eyes with meaning. “I thought Frank was going to toss one of the guys over the rail.”
I groan. “Can’t wait to hear that story.” Though as bad as it is for business, it’s always entertaining hearing Frank’s version of events.
Jeremy holds out his tray. “I know this isn’t Sapporo, but—”
“Yes, please.” I don’t let him finish before I snatch a glass and take a sizeable gulp.
Only when my mouth is full of champagne do I remember that I can’t drink it. At least, not until I make a decision.
Panic erupts inside me, and I do the only thing I can think of—I spit the champagne back into my glass.
Jeremy and Ronan wear matching frowns.
“It’s gone bad,” I croak, the only excuse I can come up with for my unladylike action, and a terrible one at that.
“Really?” Jeremy lifts a glass, sniffs it, then samples it. “Tastes good to me. More than good. It’s Cristal.”
“Uh, yeah, I guess I’m not a champagne kind of girl,” I lie, setting my glass down on a nearby table. Dammit, when will I ever get a chance to drink Cristal again? And how am I going to get through tonight, let alone the next nine months, without a single drink?
“No worries, I’ll get you your beer,” Jeremy says.
“No!”
“Uh … okay?” His gaze narrows with an unspoken question
I adjust my tone. “A tall glass of water for now would be great. My head’s been hurting on and off all day.”
“You got it. Comin’ right up.” Jeremy strolls away, pausing to hand out champagne to a couple in his path.
If Ronan thinks anything of my odd behavior, he doesn’t let on, too busy surveying the crowd.
“He’s not here, is he?” I looked for Henry Wolf but couldn’t spot him. I’ve seen a thousand pictures of the man’s face, but maybe he’s photoshopped and less handsome in real life.
“Not yet. Come on, let’s do the rounds.” His hand slides into mine as if that’s where it belongs, as if that’s where it’s always been, and he guides me to where Connor is, chatting up two men who look familiar.
“Brisket and cantaloupe,” Connor says by way of greeting, holding up a half-eaten slider. In his other hand is a tall pint of beer. “Who woulda thought.”
“Strange combo,” Ronan agrees.
“Whatever. Like I said, I’ll try anything once.” Connor winks at me, his words laced with innuendo. “Guys, this is Sloane, but we call her Cap. Sloane, this is Merrick and Preston.”
“They were groomsmen at Henry’s wedding,” Ronan elaborates, shaking each one’s hand in greeting.
The wedding. Of course. It’s hard to forget faces like these. It makes sense that they’d be Henry Wolf’s friends. They’re dripping money.
“So, ‘Cap.’ That’s got to be a story,” the raven-haired man on the left says, his British accent posh-sounding.
“Not really. I run a small tiki cruise company, and I sometimes play captain.”
“Captain of a tiki cruise.” A condescending glint sparkles in his eye as he says the words tiki cruise. “I think the term skipper would be more appropriate?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you stuffy bastards think. She’s ‘Cap’ to me, and that was one fun ride.” Connor gives my bare shoulder a friendly squeeze before he’s distracted by a passing platter of mushroom tartlets, and he’s gone chasing food again.
“It was a great day.” Ronan’s warm palm caresses my back again.
“You guys are certainly selling it.” Preston notes the affectionate move. “Maybe I’ll charter one of these cruises while I’m here.” His hazel eyes drift over my dress, stalling on my neckline before lifting again. “Get the full tour.”
Surprise, surprise. I don’t think I like Henry Wolf’s friend Preston much at all. And he clearly knows Ronan and Connor well enough to assume this “fun ride” comes with more than just a trip to Starfish Island.
I plaster on a wide, fake smile. “Just let me know and I’ll make sure Frank treats you right.”
Beside me, Ronan chuckles.
“I think she just called you a pompous prick.” The guy with cropped, dark ash-blond hair on the right—Merrick—murmurs.
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a woman has called me that.” Preston sips an amber-colored drink, seemingly unbothered as he scans the white walls and balconies behind us. “The bastard really outdid himself with this one.”