Page 2 of As You Crave It

“Seacoast Prestige?” Luis repeated. “The company that owns the yachts?”

Quin nodded. “And private jets, limos, Caribbean villas, and they do event planning. If it’s something the rich and powerful want, Seacoast Prestige has it,” Quin elaborated. “I might have fucked up on an international distribution deal, but this would be just as good for us. I’m trying to make Rexford their exclusive rum brand, but the president, Jared Foster, is a real piece of work. He needs a lot of wining and dining. He wants to build a relationship first, and that takes time.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Luis said.

Quin shook his head in disgust when he thought of Jared Foster. “He’s a real asshole. One of those guys who always gets what he wants.” Quin liked the finer things in life now, but he’d been raised in a middle-class home. He wasn’t spoiled and appreciated everything he’d been blessed with in life.

“If you don’t like the guy, why does it have to be your job? Why not share that job with Reid and Gemma?”

There was no way he was going to his siblings to say that working on the Seacoast Prestige job was too much for him. “What am I going to do, send Reid in there?” Quin asked about his older brother, who busied himself with the numbers side of the distillery. “So he can present bar graphs and financials from the past three quarters?”

“You might be right there.”

“And plus, you wouldn’t be on my ass for working too hard if you had any idea what I’ll be doing for the next few days.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“Tomorrow afternoon I’m heading down to St. Martin for three days on Jared Foster’s mega yacht.” It sounded glamourous as hell—a seventy-foot luxury yacht in the azure blue water of the Caribbean. Drinks flowing, gorgeous women... It would normally be right up his alley. But Quin wasn’t exactly looking forward to the trip. Like Rexford Rum, Seacoast Prestige had been built from the ground up, and in their respective families for generations, but when the man who’d created the company stepped down, his oldest son, Jared, took control of the reins.

Seacoast Prestige was quite a successful company, but that had nothing to do with Jared Foster. He had a penchant for using the company assets—yachts, villas, jets—as his own personal toys. The man was spoiled and lazy, and left a trail of failed start-ups and misconduct rumors in his wake. But that didn’t stop Quin from wanting to do business with one of the biggest companies on the east coast.

“You poor guy.” Luis rolled his eyes. “Three days on a yacht in the Caribbean. How will you ever get through it?”

“Alcohol, mostly, I imagine.”

“If you don’t want to go, why are you?”

“Like I said, Reid wouldn’t work. He doesn’t get how these guys operate,” he told him. Either that, or Gemma would have to go. But there was no way he was letting his younger sister within a mile of that sleazebag. “It’ll be over soon, and I’ll get that contract signed, then I can get back to my usual screwing around.”

Quin sighed and drank from his glass, draining it.

Luis poured himself a finger of rum and offered the bottle to Quin, who took it and poured himself another. Just to take the edge off. He sat back on the couch and Luis did the same, taking in their surroundings. The bass of the music still thumped, and he felt his temperature rise as if someone had turned off the air-conditioning. A headache formed at one of his temples, and he felt his skin grow hot and sticky. Quin fanned himself with his shirt, trying to cool down.

They were soon joined by another friend, Tomas, who was holding his phone. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “We’re going to head to Rockwell now—you in?”

“You’re leaving already?” Quin asked.

“Yeah, a couple of women I know are waiting for us.”

Quin narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Weren’t you just dancing with a woman here for about twenty minutes?”

“Yeah, what about it?” Tomas said with a laugh. “Are you coming, or what?”

Quin shook his head. “Nah, I think I’ll pass. I’m just going to head home when I finish my drink.”

“Really? It’s not even three a.m.”

Quin knew he and his friends were creeping up in age when 3:00 a.m. might be considered late, but they weren’t there yet. “Yeah, I’m just not feeling it tonight.”

“Still no women falling for your charms?” Tomas asked.

“Not one,” Quin admitted. But it wasn’t like he’d been trying. “Maybe next time.”

“With the hours you’ve been putting in at work lately, I don’t know when that’ll be.”

“Jesus, not you, too?” Quin asked. “Luis was just busting my balls about work, too.”

Tomas looked down at his phone. “The car’s here,” he announced, and turned back to Quin. “So, you’re really not coming with us?”

---