“Good…afternoon.”
I spin around to find a tall, broad-shouldered man watching me from the companionway, and even from this distance, he's devastatingly attractive.
Dark hair with silver at the temples.Gray-blue eyes that seem to catalog every detail.
Not to mention, the kind of bone structure that probably makes photographers weep with joy.
Oh God.Of all the people to walk in at this second…
Roarke West.My new boss.
And he's watching me drip champagne onto his pristine deck.
“I’m surprised to see you here, Miss Rossi,” he says, stepping onto the deck.He extends his hand.“Your interview was… memorable, to say the least.”
“Mr.West.”I shake his hand before dabbing at my blouse.“I can explain?—”
“Can you?”His gaze flicks from my sticky pants to the puddle of champagne.“Because from here, it looks like you’re auditioning for some avant-garde performance piece about childcare chaos.”
“Actually, I was trying to eat your thoughtful welcome spread without incident.”
“Ah.”He surveys the scene with infuriating calm.“And failing spectacularly.”
“At least I commit.I’m sure most people wait until day two before wrecking your yacht.”
“My yacht will survive.My question is whether you will.”He steps closer, the scent of his expensive cologne wrapping around me.“Tell me, Miss Rossi—do you intend to bring this…expertise…to caring for my niece?”
“Only if she’s particularly difficult.”My heart beats an unfamiliar rhythm in my chest.“Though based on our interview, stubborn streaks seem to be a family trait.”
For a split second, I think I see his mouth twitch.
Not a smile, exactly—more like his face considered it and then decided against it.
“Understood.”His tone stays clipped, but the engines hum to life, pulling us out of port.“I should warn you—we’ll be at sea for the next month.Along the Riviera.”
A month.With the Thundering God of Disapproval.
Awesome.
“Then I should warnyou,” I reply, blotting at my shirt, “that I may not be the most coordinated person on board.But I’m damn good at my job.Your niece will be safe and cared for.”
He studies me.“Even if you can’t manage a pastry without incident?”
“Especially then.Children like adults who aren’t afraid to look ridiculous.”
“Well.You certainly have that qualification covered.”
The Monaco harbor grows smaller behind us, the French Riviera coastline spreading out in golden splendor as the sun begins its descent toward the horizon.
It's beautiful—romantic.
And completely wasted on this shit show of an introduction.
“Look, to be honest, I can’t make any promises about the yacht.”I smirk, but he doesn’t smirk back."But, again, I’m great with kids.I have a degree in this.And as I’m sure you know, I was a chief steward aboard luxury charters for fifteen years, and I’ve had my share of taking care of special guests.And their special children.Trust me, Mr.West.Your niece will be in great hands.”
"She'd better be."His voice carries an undertone that makes me look at him more carefully.There's something protective, almost fierce, in his expression when he mentions Isla."She's been through enough."
Before I can ask what he means, Claire reappears."Mr.West?The satellite phone is for you.Something about rescheduling tomorrow's client call."
