The Wrong Gentleman(30)

Shit, Peter wasn’t going to kill me just once. To go over his head and then have the captain compliment me for doing it? Once wouldn’t be enough. He’d resurrect me and do it all over again, but I couldn’t regret speaking out. This way, I’d be able to follow the guests to the restaurant, find out who the additional diners were, and perhaps overhear some of the conversation. On top of that, I could keep an eye on Skylar.

I just had to do it without being caught—by the captain or any of the crew or Reynolds, Walt, or any of his dinner guests. If I was, best-case scenario I’d lose my job. Worst-case scenario, I’d end up dead.





Eighteen





Skylar


“I don’t understand why you’re not more excited. Walt is wealthy, charming. Handsome. Isn’t he your dream man?” August asked from where she was lying on her bed.

“I am excited,” I replied as I did up the top button on the pussy-bow blouse.

“You could have fooled me. And what’s with that blouse?”

“What do you mean? It’s expensive.” I didn’t like to spend a lot of money on clothes. Or anything really. I tried to save as much as possible. But this blouse was an exception. It was a couple of years old, but it had cost me nearly a hundred dollars when I bought it. I figured it still owed me.

“Yeah, and it looks like something my mom would wear.” August winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”

I shook my head. “Don’t be sorry. Just because I don’t have a mom doesn’t mean you don’t either. And anyway, you’ve said how your mom has a great sense of style.”

“For her age, yes. But you’re twenty-six. Not fifty-eight.”

“I’m going for sophisticated. Alain Ducasse is a high-end restaurant.” Frankly, I didn’t want Walt getting the wrong idea. Sex was not part of the package. And if I made that clear, hopefully he wouldn’t ask me out again.

“I thought you wanted Walt to find you attractive?”

“August!” I looked in the mirror. I liked this blouse. What was the matter with it?

“I’m sorry, I just—it’s not a sexy blouse. But . . . maybe that’s the point.”

I was pretty sure August was about to launch into one of her theories. “What’s the point?”

“Perhaps you don’t really want Walt to find you sexy.”

My heart began to thud. I didn’t want her questioning my criteria. I didn’t want to have to justify that decision—tell her what had happened to ensure I never wanted to fall in love or depend on any man. “Well it’s difficult with him being the client. I don’t know him, and I don’t want to feel pressured into anything.”

“I thought so. And you shouldn’t feel pressured. But, if a marriage of convenience is what you want, then isn’t Walt an option?”

Shit. How did I get her to drop this conversation? “I’m not saying he’s not an option. I want to go to dinner without him assuming I’m going to drop my panties for him.”

August narrowed her eyes and drew in a breath. “I have a theory.”

I rolled my eyes. “I thought you might.”

“Walt is the first man that I’ve known you accept a date from. You have this list of criteria that’s almost impossible for any man to live up to . . . and even now, with Walt, you don’t seem that into him despite him ticking a lot of your boxes.”

Had August busted through my defenses and figured out I didn’t want a man? “And your theory is what?”

“That you maybe should go off type. Perhaps there’s a reason that you and Landon not only hooked up that first night but ended up on the same boat.”

“Yes, there was a reason, and it’s called coincidence. This isn’t cupid bringing two destined lovers together, August. Get a grip.”

August shrugged. “I’m just saying—I know chemistry. I’ve seen the little looks you give each other.”

“There are no looks.” Landon and I didn’t flirt—we barely spoke to each other. There’d been how he’d helped me clear up after that big night. And he had talked about taking a cold shower after the curry. We had admitted a mutual attraction that night, but that hardly counted as flirtation. There had never been even a suggestion that we repeat the night we met. Neither of us wanted anything more.

“There are plenty of looks.”

“You have the wrong end of the stick. Landon is a nice guy. A little . . .” I tried to think of a word to describe him. Dominant fit, but wasn’t exactly right. Controlling sounded as if he abused his power and he definitely didn’t. “I don’t know, he’s a little overfamiliar.” Protective, maybe, and I wasn’t used to it. Being independent was important to me. It wasn’t that Landon challenged my independence. He couldn’t. He had no claim over me. It was as if it was innate in him—like his need to solve problems, to fix and protect was in his DNA.

“Overprotective is nice. Harvey is like that.”

“I’m not used to it.” What had happened to my mother had made me face the harsh realities of life, and it was better that way—I wasn’t in denial about how awful this world could be.

August sighed. “Walt might be the kind of guy you’re looking for, but not necessarily the kind of guy you need.”