Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Dropping my backpack on my bunk in our shared stateroom after a lengthy check-in process and walk-through of the luxury yacht, I unpack what I need to start the day. We travel into open waters in less than an hour. The men and women are currently being loaded onboard as the three of us dress for a day on the water. Catering to a group of rich, egotistical, handsy assholes happens to be my specialty. Sure, I haven’t worked on an assignment quite like this. Not with as many moving parts and people involved. But I’ve played the dutiful, flirty waitress at underground poker nights. I’ve sat at tables with men far scarier than you can imagine and held my own. The biggest difference is Dark—his presence. We’ve done smaller jobs together where I was his partner in crime. His side piece. The arm candy. Pretending I don’t know a man who is pretending to be a totally different man is nerve-racking, but I’ve got this.

In the small bathroom connected to the stateroom, I undress from my standard work outfit into something more flattering—a burnt-orange, long-sleeved, body-con dress that fits like a glove. It hugs my curves in all the right places, and the neckline is just low enough my cleavage will make a man or two drool. Provocative yet classy is the style, and I think I pull it off when I gather my clothes and reenter the bedroom to have both of my much younger companions gape at me as if they haven’t seen a woman in a dress before.

“Hannah.” Clutching a shirt to her chest, the blonde’s big blue eyes nearly pop out of her skull.

I twirl around barefoot. “Does it work?”

“I don’t think Mr. Cassiano will be pleased,” the bustier, darker-haired blonde sneers.

Not caring what they think, I shrug and set my dirty clothes on the end of my bunk to be dealt with later. From inside my bag, I extract my matching lace-up gladiator sandals. A pair of pumps would pair best with a dress this sexy, but doting on men on a moving vessel could be a disaster in heels. These are the next best thing. Sitting on the small couch beside a built-in vanity, I slide them up, tighten the straps, and flex my black polished toes as the other two ladies finish dressing in their far more modest attire—a white blouse with black flowy slacks and the other a blue pants suit.

A hefty knock vibrates the door. “It’s show time, ladies,” a goon announces. “Dining room in twenty.”

The two women smile at each other, eagerness lighting their faces. “This is so exciting,” one says as her friend nods enthusiastically.

Exciting, my ass.

These poor women are about to be traumatized. If I had the luxury of befriending actual people on assignments, I would feel bad about what’s coming. But the only thing I care about is keeping them alive. Their mental state will come afterward when we get off this ship, still breathing. The goal is not to become fish food.

As they chatter incessantly about whoever rich and famous might be aboard, I carry my toiletry bag to the bathroom to fix my chignon and apply makeup—real makeup this time. Much to Mr. Cassiano’s preferred au natural look, I flip him the middle finger when I rock a sultry, smokey eye and a glossy, nude lip. He will either be pissed I didn’t fall in line or be pleased I took the initiative to be an atlas moth in a group of dagger moths. Standing out is the objective. The less attention paid to these two, the better the outcome for them. Not that the blonde, I believe her name’s Jasmin, cares much. She’s been sucking Mr. Cassiano’s cock for weeks. If she doesn’t blow him in front of all the men present tonight, I’ll be surprised.

Once I’m ready, I lead the charge out of our shared room, through the halls I’ve yet to familiarize myself with, and up a flight of stairs to the main level, where Romeo and his sous chefs are mingling with the group of sharply dressed businessmen as they drink at the bar in the main dining room.

Wearing the biggest, kindest smile, Romeo waves us over, and I fall in line, ready to serve however needed.

“Jasmin.” He hands the blonde a tray of tapas to serve, and she blends into the crowd like a pro.

“Dee.” He hands the less-than-friendly blonde a tray of champagne, and she joins her friend in the throng.

Once they’re gone, Romeo ushers me behind the bar and grips my elbow. “What on earth are you wearing?” Brow furrowed in the center, his gaze rakes up and down my form.

Suddenly self-conscious, I run a hand down my side. “A dress,” I whisper, harsher than I intend.

“You should go change.”

“I’m fine.” I shrug off his grip and turn to find a familiar face leaning both elbows on the bar, staring daggers at Romeo, his lips pressed together, forming a fine line.

Busying myself with work, I set a white napkin with a foiled C stamped in the center in front of none other than Maxim Drake. “What can I get you, sir?” I bat my pretty eyelashes and smile like a bubbly server.

Romeo curses behind me but doesn’t cause a scene.

Dark’s penetrating eyes rove over my body like he wants to eat me for dessert, and I shiver at the attention. He licks his lips as he leans in to order his drink. “Mojito,” he purrs.

Inwardly, I groan, knowing damn well Dark doesn’t want a mojito. Outwardly, I smile even wider until my cheeks hurt and get to work without questioning why he always has to be a pain in my ass. In a cocktail shaker, I muddle leaves of mint to extract their oils, and because I hate making this drink and he knows I hate it, I put extra strength into pulverizing the mint, which I wouldn’t do for anyone besides him.

As I make his cocktail, my ex turns, leans an elbow on the bar, and converses with another millionaire I don’t recognize. They seem to know each other well when they break into a fit of deep, masculine laughter, and the older man with salt-and-pepper hair clasps Dark on the shoulder.

I dump rum, lime juice, and simple syrup into the cocktail shaker with a scoop of ice, and then I shake the hell out of it. When I’m through, I pour the chilled concoction into a pretty glass and set it on Maxim’s napkin. Still engrossed in his conversation, he lifts his drink in appreciation, then lifts it to his lips to sip. I incline my head in acknowledgment and fall into a peaceful rhythm of bartending.

Romeo returns sometime later and sets a small dish on the bar back with a slice of cake on top, and my mouth waters, looking at its infinite layers. “For you.” He juts his chin at the treat.

“Thanks.” I wink over my shoulder, then crack the top off a bottle of foreign beer and pour it into a glass for a handsome man with full lips and the kindest honey-colored eyes. Too bad he’s a piece of trash like the rest of these men.

I set his glass on another white C-stamped napkin, and he catches my wrist to keep me from leaving. “What’s your name?”

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I do my best to muster shyness at being noticed and giggle awkwardly when I reply, “Hannah.”

He strokes the inside of my wrist with his thumb. “I hope this isn’t too forward, Hannah, but you look stunning in that dress.”

Shielding my eyes, I press my lips together to stave off a smile. Again, it’s for show. My dress is doing what I intended it to do. If my options are to be sold or killed—I’d much prefer sold, and the more eyes I have on me, the more vying for my attention, the better. I’m willing to bet Dark wouldn’t agree. But if I’ve learned anything in my forty years on this earth, when men have their shields lowered because they feel safe, they are the first to lead every decision with their dick. This yacht and the false sense of security it offers is the perfect place for men to let their proverbial hair down—if you catch my drift.

This weekend is all about indulging their baser desires.

Noticing one of his guests flirting with the barkeep, Mr. Cassiano joins us. “Hannah,” he greets.

“Sir.” I bow my head out of respect, and the man preens.

Turning toward his host to chat, the man with the kind eyes continues to stroke the inside of my wrist, refusing to set me free. Out of my periphery, I watch Dark slide onto a different stool, three spots down. He lifts his glass as if he wants a refill, but I can’t leave.

“How much?” the man asks my boss, who snorts a mocking laugh and drinks his whiskey.

I pretend I know nothing of which they speak as the honey-eyed man frowns, and his grip around my wrist turns from sweet to iron. I try not to wince.

“I’m serious,” the man growls lowly at his host.

Not at all affected by the outward display of small dick energy, Darmond Cassiano firmly pats his guest on the shoulder. “Let Hannah go, Elden. She’s here to work. We can discuss numbers after the auction.”

A grumbling Elden complies, but not before he raises my hand to his lips and kisses the top of each finger. Dying a little on the inside, I pretend to be charmed by it. “I’ll see you later tonight, sweetheart.” He grins and disappears back into the small group of similarly dressed men.

“Have a great night, handsome,” I reply to his retreating form as I slide down the bar to help Dark with his empty.

Setting his glass in the sink to be cleaned, my ex taps his fingers along the shiny bar top. His eyes narrow on me. “Another mojito?” I ask, too brightly.

Dark’s head shakes. “No. Just a beer.”

“Imported or domestic?”

“Surprise me.” The slightest smirk kicks up at the corner of his mouth like it’s a dare. Pft. As if I don’t know what he likes. I might be an ass about the mojito because I had a snooty customer come into the winery, and that’s all they drank for hours. Eventually, the pungent aroma of fresh mint made me queasy, even though mint is supposed to have the opposite effect. That’s why I don’t like them. They also take forever to make.

Kneeling by the beer fridge, I riffle through our bottled options, careful not to break any glass, and find the perfect stout. I open the bottle and pour it into a tall glass. Drinking beer from a bottle at events like this is frowned upon. These men are far too uppity to put their lips to a bottle. Whatever. It is what it is.

The early afternoon plays much the same. I fill the men’s drinks as the other two cater to their other needs. When lunch is served, the men fill their seats at the round tables in the dining hall, and I sit at the bar to enjoy my slice of cake.

Romeo appears and sets a plate of whatever he’s serving the men beside me. “Sorry about earlier.” He pats my forearm and disappears back into the kitchen. The fancy salad with shaved steak is delicious as I eat alone and sip from a glass of ice water.

When I’m through, I carry my plates back into the kitchen, where Romeo’s… As I round the corner into the brightly lit room, my feet stutter to a surprised stop, and I nearly drop the dishes. What the hell?

Trying not to make a sound, not even to breathe, I slowly back away, not wanting to disturb them. Because that’d be awkward. A moan erupts from a sous chef, the very male sous chef, as Romeo fucks him over the kitchen counter, where all our meals were just prepared. Alright. I didn’t see that one coming. Maybe he’s bi. Maybe he doesn’t care about the no fraternization. Maybe he had a scratch that needed to be itched. Not that I care either way. This is… weird.

Scurrying back to the bar, I set my used dishes in the sink and busy myself with washing cups and prepping garnishes. I can’t believe that just happened. Romeo and the sous chef. The sous chef and Romeo. A young sous chef at that. Wow.

As I rack the wet cups to air dry, Mr. Cassiano approaches the bar and clears his throat to grab my attention.

“How can I help you, sir?” I hang my towel over the now-empty sink, clasp my hands in front of me, and turn on a friendly smile.

“We have an auction we will be running shortly. I want you to refresh the men’s drinks throughout our business dealings.”

“No problem, sir.”

“Please do not make a scene. I would hate for there to be any misunderstandings. Do you understand?” he emphasizes, as if this has gone poorly before.

In other words, if you don’t like us peddling flesh and you cause any problems, I will kill you myself.

Gotcha. Read that loud and clear. Behave. Be subservient. Smile. Now that I can do.

“Yes, sir. I am happy to help in any way I can.” I lie straight through my teeth, knowing what’s coming at the end of this sicko’s little venture. That’s what keeps the smile pasted on my face. That’s what excites me.

Pleased with my reply, Darmond double knocks on the bar top. “Thank you, Hannah.”

“Anytime, sir.”