Whitmore clears his throat. “Mr. Baine, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge—”
“Sebastian Roth,” Beck says. Both Whitmore and I turn our glances on him and he shrugs. “I’m paid to stay one step ahead of every negotiation.”
I smile, giving him an approving nod. As for the man who tried to scoop upElysiumfrom under me. Sebastian Roth…
The name registers—a familiar irritant, like a stone in my shoe. Roth family heir, hotel empire money running back generations. Smart. Ruthless enough that people call him Savage behind his back, charismatic in the way that makes lesser men underestimate him. And lately he seems to be circling a lot of the same deals I'm chasing.
We've never been formally introduced, but I know his reputation. He knows mine.
I scowl at this newest attempt to best me. "I’m sure Roth has his own yacht."
"Two, actually,” Whitmore confides. “But he wantedElysiumspecifically. Can't say I blame him. She's one of a kind."
Yes, she is.And fuck him for trying.
Satisfaction settles in my chest. I beat Roth to another prize. Not that it matters in any real sense, but there's something satisfying about staying a step ahead of a would-be competitor.
Beck shifts forward. "Not that I’m keeping score, but you also beat him out of that hotel deal overseas about a year and a half ago."
My jaw tightens at the reminder. "Dubai."
"Right. That family property that was going under."
"Should've let Roth have it." My voice comes out flat, weighted by the memory. "I could've handled that situation differently."
Beck knows this story too—the old patriarch who couldn't bear to lose his legacy, the deal that ended with a devastated man lying broken on pavement many stories below me while I stood atop the prize I'd won with the stroke of my pen. I don't talk about it. Don't let myself think about it, most days.
Whitmore, smooth as ever, redirects. "Well, you’ve certainly made the right decision onElysium. She'll be the jewel of whatever marina you choose."
I pull myself back to the present and nod in agreement.
Whitmore smiles. "Let's finalize the paperwork, shall we?"
Beck has already reviewed the contract drafts and approved them. Today we’ll seal the deal. Whitmore slides the contracts across the table to me. I scan the relevant pages—purchase price, customization costs, transport fees, insurance. The total is substantial, even by my standards. I don't hesitate.
I take the pen Whitmore offers and sign.
"Congratulations, Mr. Baine." He extends his hand. "Elysiumis yours."
We shake, and something settles in my chest. Not the triumph I used to feel closing deals, but a quieter feeling. Anticipation. The knowledge that in a few weeks, I'll watch Avery's face when she sees this yacht for the first time. When she understands what I've built for her.
"I'll have copies made for your records," Whitmore says, gathering the signed documents. "This will take just a few minutes."
He disappears once more, leaving Beck and me alone in the conference room.
"A custom yacht," Beck says. "Library stocked with first editions. Professional kitchen." He shakes his head slowly, but there's warmth beneath the dry delivery. "You've come a long way from the man who thought a weekend in the Hamptons counted as romance."
"Avery deserves more than weekends in the Hamptons."
"She does." He's quiet for a moment. "You both do."
I check my phone. No new messages, but I find myself calculating anyway—four, maybe five hours until she's home. Until I can pull her into my arms and hold her and start counting down the days until I can give her this gift.
Three and a half weeks until the wedding.
Then a month where she's mine completely. No cameras, no obligations, no one demanding pieces of her attention. Just us, the water, and nothing but time to relax and enjoy each other.
I can hardly wait.
