He turned on his heel with military precision before Michaela could even thank him.
“Tell me what you really think of the boat.” Troy, a hand on her elbow, ushered her to the banquette.
“It’s a yacht, remember,” Michaela couldn’t resist saying.
He waggled a finger at her. “I might call it a yacht in front of Captain Sprague, but I’m a landlubber who thinks of it as a boat.”
She couldn’t help smiling. The man was adorably arrogant. Michaela slid into the seat, but while Troy could have taken his place across from her, he squeezed in right beside her, forcing her to swivel around the banquette unless she wanted him almost in her lap.
Yes, arrogant, completely and adorably.
She set her wineglass on the beautifully lacquered tabletop with its intricate design of flowers and leaves. “It’s gorgeous. Every whim is catered to, every luxury provided.” There’d even been salon shampoos and conditioners in each cabin’s bathroom. Weren’t those called the head? But head didn’t do justice to the luxury of each of those well-appointed bathrooms.
Troy studied her a moment. “Honest opinion. Is it worth the price?”
She’d worked with the seller of the yacht previously, but Michaela always did her due diligence. She’d pored over comps and called a few contacts before she’d even agreed to look for a buyer for the Splendid. She wanted to get the most for the seller, but she didn’t want to gouge the buyer either. “It’s a very good price.” Then she added, “We could still do a little bargaining.”
After a sip of the Cakebread, he set the wineglass down and slowly twirled it on the tabletop. “A divorce?”
She blushed, not expecting the question. “I can’t comment on another client.”
But Troy said confidently, “Divorce sale.” Then he gasped. “Don’t tell me you matched them.”
“God forbid.” It was almost an affront. “This client did not use my services in that way. And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject.”
She probably shouldn’t have said that, but she couldn’t let Troy think that one of her matches had ended in divorce. To date, she’d never had a matched couple get divorced. It was a point of pride for her.
Then she changed the subject. “Thank you for the Cakebread wine. Did you know it was one of my favorites?”
He gave her a cocky half-smile. “A lucky guess.”
She had a feeling this man never guessed, lucky or not.
Before they could continue the conversation, a steward approached their cozy table.
She realized now that the yacht was moving, but she hadn’t heard the engines or felt a ripple as the yacht got under way. She’d been concentrating too much on Troy.
The steward, a young man dressed as impeccably in white as the captain, began setting out a feast. They started with a charcuterie plate, including Swiss cheese, mortadella, Black Forest ham, and a basket of baguette slices. The steward added a pasta salad with artichokes, olives, tomatoes, feta, and mango, along with a bowl of beet hummus surrounded by sesame crackers.
Her mouth was already watering. “Shall I bring dessert now, sir?” the young steward asked. “Or after you’ve finished with this course?”
Troy gave him an appreciative smile. “Thank you. Let’s wait for dessert.”
Then the young man filled two tumblers, the water infused with grapefruit, pomegranate, and mint. “If you need anything else, press the button at the edge of the table.” He pointed to a button by Troy’s right hand.
Once he’d left, and before Michaela could say a thing, Troy asked her, “Does the crew come with the boat?”
“I’m sure you can negotiate with the captain.”
He winked. “The service is excellent.”
She took in the spread before her as the boat—yacht—sailed past Tiburon. The sea breeze was crisp and the sun warm on her shoulders. And Troy was too close for comfort. “This is too much. Tell me how you knew all my favorite things.” Every single delicacy was something she loved. “I never took you for a stalker.”
She tasted the pasta salad and almost groaned in delight.
He didn’t give away a thing. “That’s for me to know and you to guess.”
The beet hummus was to die for. She’d tried making beet hummus on her own, but she’d failed miserably. Even her mother, an excellent cook, wasn’t able to get it quite right. But they’d found a store-bought one that was delicious. She’d recognize the flavor anywhere.
