One To Watch(33)

Is this actually happening? Bea did her best to nod understandingly.

“Bea, if you’ll have me, I’d like to put my hat in the ring to become your other half. Your husband. And so I am bringing you this gift.”

At this, a PA materialized with a wrapped present—it was square and nearly flat.

“Oh wow, thank you,” Bea said, completely mystified.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

So Bea did—it was a framed etching of a fedora inside a circle.

“Do you get it?” he asked. “It’s a hat. In a—”

“In a ring, yes, I see that. This is, wow. So thoughtful, Ben. I really appreciate this.”

Ben K. broke into a wide smile. “I was worried you wouldn’t get it.”

Bea nodded. “Oh?”

“Yeah, you know. It’s kind of a subtle message.”

She gave him a quick, uncomfortable hug, then hurried away as politely as possible.

Making her way back toward the bar, Bea caught a glimpse of a few of the men—Jaime, Kindergarten Ben, Nash, and Cooper—chatting in a circle: Jaime seemed to be miming the act of having sex with a larger woman, Nash and Cooper were snickering, and Kindergarten Ben nodded earnestly, eagerly absorbing any tips Jaime had to offer.

Bea felt a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with seasickness, but she swallowed hard and walked up to the bar, where Trevor the stockbroker was talking tequila with the middle-aged bartender for the benefit of the camera next to him.

“Bea! How’s it going?”

He clapped her on the back in a friendly sort of way—nothing romantic about it, but at least he was pleasant.

“Better now that I’m at the bar,” she quipped.

“Woman after my own heart. What are we drinking?”

“Sounds like we’re in a tequila state of mind.”

“I was gonna do shots, you want in?”

Bea considered the wisdom of impairing her motor skills, judgment, and inhibitions—frankly, she thought the risk of falling on a slippery deck (not insubstantial under the best of circumstances) was worth the potential reward of feeling marginally less stressed about this entire situation. She turned to Trevor with a wicked grin.

“Lay ’em down, Trevor.”

“Bro, nice!”

The tequila was cool and smooth, and after two shots, Bea felt the liquid worming its way into her system, loosening the folds in her brain.

“You want one more?” Trevor asked, holding up his own.

“Nah.” Bea giggled. “I’m good.”

She pushed herself up from her barstool, feeling more relaxed than she had all afternoon, and warmed a bit by the alcohol. It was chilly on the boat—March in L.A. is hardly tropical—and of all the men, Asher the history professor was the only one who was covered up: He’d thought to bring an L.L.Bean anorak, and consequently looked much more comfortable than anyone else at the party. He was sitting far from the rest of the group at a little table near the edge of the yacht, buried in a book—somehow carving out the sort of peaceful afternoon Bea might really enjoy if she weren’t so busy starring in a television show. He seemed to sense her gaze, because he looked up and locked eyes with her for a moment, but she looked quickly away. When she glanced back a few seconds later, he’d already gone back to reading.

Before Bea could decide where to go next, Nash and Cooper arrived—though whether they were deliberately seeking out Bea’s company or simply running into her en route to the bar, it was hard to say.

“Hey guys! Having fun?” Bea asked brightly, the tequila having significantly improved her spirits.

“Absolutely,” Nash drawled, choking back a laugh, exchanging a knowing glance with Cooper. “We can’t get enough of whale watching.”

Bea gritted her teeth, willing herself not to flush with anger and shame.

“I hope you find one.” Bea forced her lips into a cool smile. “I’m sure it would be thrilling to see a creature whose intelligence so far surpasses your own.”

She turned on her heel without waiting for a response, ready to find Lauren and insist the footage of that exchange never see the light of day, but she nearly smacked straight into Jefferson.

“Whoa! Watch your step, Bumble Bee.”

He flashed her a warm smile, and Bea felt her Nash-and-Cooper-induced rage start to ebb a bit.

“Wow,” she joked, “we’re already on a nickname basis?”

“I thought I’d try it.” Jefferson grinned. “How’d I do?”

“Hmm, I’d say five for originality, but a solid seven for pluck.”

Jefferson laughed, big and hearty. “I’ll take it. Now, let me ask you a question—is there anything to eat on this boat? I’ve been having serious barbecue withdrawal ever since I left home and I could definitely crush some ribs right now.”

“You’re from … Kentucky?” Bea tried to remember, but Jefferson’s good-natured eye roll told her she’d missed the mark.

“Kansas City—that’s in Missouri.”

“Also Kansas,” Bea retorted.

“But the barbecue is in Missouri.” Jefferson rubbed his belly, which was covered in curly red hair and hung over the waistband of his Hawaiian-patterned board shorts. “The secret’s in the smoking—you do a long, slow smoke, preferably over at least four different kinds of wood.”