“I’d appreciate it if you could open and pour right here,” I tap the counter twice.
“I see you’re aware of Audrey’s peculiarities,” he muses. “I assure you she trusts me to handle her drinks. I’ve been doing so for four years.”
“She’s smart, not peculiar,” I clip, taking offense on her behalf, “and while you may have earned her trust, you haven’t earned mine.” I tap the bar once more. “Here,please.”
He dips his head in what I assume is a polite bow, then gets to work with his hands where I can see them.
“Right, shall we?” Henry asks, biting back a smirk as he starts toward the table, leaving us to follow.
“Brown-noser,” Addie muses in my ear.
“Excuse me?”
“At this rate, Dad will start calling yousonbefore the end of the evening.” Her voice grows softer, her breath ghosting across my cheek. “I told you I don’t care if they like you. Be yourself.”
Eyes still on the bartender, I slide my hand down her back. “Iambeing myself.”
“Oh...” She inches away, searching for any signs of bluffing in my eyes.
“Why would I act like someone I’m not when I still want to take you out on a date once we’re home?”
“You do? Really?”
I don’t know why she’s so surprised.
With every hour, I discover more things I like about her, and this is just day one. By the time we return to Miami on Sunday, I’ll know her inside out, and unless she uncovers some truly horrific secrets, it’s safe to assume I’ll want to keep seeing her.
“Yes, really. You said I can call you next week.”
She takes a step back, snatching her wine off the counter. “You have my number,” she says, and with a cute wink, she walks away, following her father.
ELEVEN
Addie
DAD STOLE COLTagain after dinner to finish the tour of the yacht. He promised to give him back in half an hour, but they must’ve stopped at another bar because it’s been an hour, and they’re still not back.
That’s not ideal because I’m exhausted and pleasantly mellow, though still slowly working through my first bottle of wine. After the seven-course meal, I need two to get a proper buzz on, so I’m not worried about calling Colt a git when the elevator dings and he and my father exit arm-in-arm, accompanied by two other men—Samuel Frost and Millington Burns. They’re not part of our family, but they’re treated like they are.
“I think it’s time for bed,” Colt says, approaching the couch I’m lounging on under an inky black sky speckled with bright stars. “You’ve been up for nineteen hours already.”
“So have you,” I point out, but I don’t protest when he helps me to my feet and tucks me against his firm side.
He smells like expensive cologne, cigar smoke, and bourbon. A surprisingly satisfying combination.
“Here, take this,” I urge Amara, holding out my half-empty wine glass.
The plush throw protecting me from the ocean breeze sighs to the floor, and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. The cold wooden decking under my bare feet makes me step from one foot to the other, shuddering in place.
“Grab that for me,” he tells my brother, motioning at the throw, then scoops me into his arms, bridal style, and curves me into his broad chest. “Cover her up.”
“I can walk,” I mutter as my brother drapes the throw over me. “I’ll be fine once we’re inside.”
He tucks one corner of the throw under my butt, adjusting his hold, zero fucks given about my protest. After saying his goodbyes, he carries me inside, up the stairs, and stops by suite seventeen.
“Key in the code, Addie,” he urges.
“You can put me down now, you know?” butplease don’t.
