Page 15 of Knot for Sale

That was the part that didn’t make a lot of sense. When my father had died, Uncle Tommy had made a bid to control the family syndicate, only to lose out to Percy’s father, HughRathbone. The fact that Hugh and Percy had both gone to prison should have been a boon for my father’s younger brother—another chance at taking over leadership.

“I don’t... think so?” I said uncertainly.

Elijah seemed to consider that for a moment. He let go of my shoulders, taking a step back to give me a bit of personal space.

“Okay. So, maybe they just happened to be on the same yacht as us, or maybe it was planned somehow,” he summarized. “Either way, it sounds like the best thing we can do for now is to keep you out of sight. Which... is probably going to deep-six your chances at the lingerie contract, unfortunately.”

“I don’t care about the fucking lingerie contract,” I said, aware that less than half an hour ago, it had been the most important thing in my life. “What do you think? Should I just hide in here with the door locked, then?”

He frowned thoughtfully. “I mean, I assume someone will come asking after you before long. They’ve already sunk several grand into getting you here, between airfare and your fee. Although...” He brightened. “I just might have an idea about that.”

EIGHT

Elijah

AS SEVEN O’CLOCK rolled around, I dressed in my best Greek-island-chic linen trousers and open-neck shirt, ran my fingers through my hair until it was just the right shade of messy, and made my way to the upper deck for the initial meet and greet dinner as though absolutely nothing was wrong.

The trick to orchestrating a good subterfuge was keeping things casual. At least, that approach had served me well during an unhappy and thoroughly dysfunctional adolescence. I assumed it worked in the wider world as well.

The long dining table in the upper lounge area was set for twenty-one people—ten along each side and one at the head. I’d been wondering how many guests were aboard, and this was probably my answer. Models, men in suits, and the two well-preserved wives were milling casually around the deck, several of them moving toward their seats at the table as I approached.

Each elaborate place setting boasted a name card centered on the plate. Assigned seating, then. I supposed it made sense. No doubt the rich dudes who weren’t directly involved withThe Secret Boudoir, but who’d somehow managed to wrangle invites, had been promised a chance to mingle with the models.

And by ‘mingle,’ I meant fuck, of course.

That was what image modeling gigs entailed, most of the time. It was what Emma had signed up for, and what I definitely hadn’t. Although, I thought as Young Daniel Craig seated himself in the chair next to the one reserved for me, I might be tempted into a bit of light flirting if the vibe was right.

Creepy paunch guy sat down on my other side, which was considerably less welcome. I snuck a glance at his place card, which readCade Huntwell. Em’s cousin. A glance around showed his father, Em’s uncle, seated further up, to the left of the table’s head.

When everyone was sitting, the middle-aged guy at the head of the table, who appeared to be in charge, rose and tapped his glass with a knife. The high-pitched ringing quieted the remaining small talk around the table.

“Good evening, and welcome aboard theTitania,” he said. “My name is Ted Casick, chief marketing officer ofThe Secret Boudoir. Thank you all for joining our little cruise, which I hope will be both entertaining and lucrative for everyone.”

A small round of applause broke out, mostly among the models.

Ted chuckled. “Now, perhaps we could go around the table with introductions, so we can all get to know one another.”

I was watching him closely enough that I saw his gaze flicker over the empty place setting across from me, where Em should have sat. He didn’t mention it, though, instead offering a wordless ‘please begin’ gesture to the model on his right.

She stood, reciting a carefully rehearsed biography in a heavy Eastern European accent. I made note of her name, Irina, and let the rest wash over me. Everyone applauded as she finished with a polite thank-you and sat. Around it went, the models all standing up and channeling their inner beauty pageant queens, while the rich dudes and their wives stayed seated for their introductions.

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