Page 17 of As You Crave It

“I’m not sure, but I know it’s not to do code.”

“What if you don’t go?”

“I can imagine he’ll fire me.”

“Being on a yacht with Jared Foster seems like a fate worse than firing.”

“You’re telling me,” Celia agreed. But she remained silent as to the real reason she was doing it. She didn’t need the job. Her freelance work had paid the bills for years. She could easily walk away and forget he even existed. But this was her opportunity to entrap Jared, to catch him on audio and video being a creep to his employees. And if he got physical? Celia had martial-arts training in the form of the Krav Maga classes she’d been taking since her first run-in with him. She could take care of herself, and she smiled to herself. Once she got enough dirt on Jared, he would lose everything, and she couldn’t wait.

“So are you going to do it?” Amy asked.

“Yeah, I guess I have to.”

“He’s such a creep.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I’ll be okay,” she told her.

“But—”

She reached across, placing her hand on top of her friend’s. “I’ll be fine.”

Celia could tell by Amy’s deep sigh that she was worried, and she knew she had to tell her friend something. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

Celia leaned in and lowered her voice; she told Amy about her past with Jared, that she’d worked for him, and that after he’d harassed her she’d lost her job after reporting it. Then she told her what she hoped to do to him. When Celia was done talking, Amy sat back in her seat and picked up her glass. She drained her mimosa and slammed the glass back on the table with so much force that Celia was sure she’d broken the stem.

“Wow,” Amy said quietly. “Are you serious?”

“I’m deadly serious.”

“And he has no idea who you are?”

“Not yet,” she confirmed. “I was a blonde back then, but he hasn’t connected my name or anything, either. But it’s not like he would look at a woman and see anything but tits and ass, anyway. He’s such an idiot.” Jared may not remember her from the past, but there was no way he’d forget her when she was done with him.

The sun was starting to set in St. Martin as Quin stood on the dock and looked up at the large white yacht. He’d seen nice boats before, but the seventy-foot yacht was one of the most luxurious things he’d ever seen. Except for the name emblazoned on the back—If This Boat’s Rockin’... “Jesus Christ,” Quin muttered, rolling his eyes. Imagine having more money than 99.9 percent of people in the world, and no more class or sense than an ant.

He took a deep breath, and with each step he took to the deck, he felt like he was selling his soul. He’d heard a few things about Jared Foster... He sneered. He’d try to forget about them and do business with Seacoast Prestige based only on the company’s portfolio, but the more he thought about it, the harder it was going to be to move past it.

He boarded the vessel and was met by the yacht crew on the main deck. Each one of them was better-looking than the last. While one steward took his shoulder bag, another handed him a champagne flute.

He sipped from the flute and heard a voice boom from inside. “Is that Quin Rexford?” He looked up and saw Jared Foster approaching, joining him on the deck. He was wearing white linen pants and a shirt to match, and was holding his own glass of champagne. He downed it, but instead of putting the delicate glass on the table next to him, he carelessly tossed it to the deck, causing the glass to splinter into a million tiny shards of crystal against the hardwood of the teak deck.

Appalled, Quin looked at the barefoot stewards, who exchanged a quick look of contempt, and possibly fantasies of poisoning Jared’s food, but then broke into broad smiles. He caught the eyes of one of the women and did his best to convey a look of apology.

Jared put out his hand, ignoring the stewards working to clean up his mess. “I’m glad you’re joining me.”

Quin shook it with apprehension. “I appreciate the invite. I’m looking forward to discussing our upcoming collaboration.”

“We can discuss the business later. We’re not ready to sign anything yet.”

Quin ground his teeth together and realized that the deal wasn’t quite as finalized as he thought it was. He was going to have to play along with the man—butter him up to do the deal.

“We’re here to have some fun, too.” He looked at the stewards. “Is anyone going to come and give me another goddamn drink?” he yelled.

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