Page 35 of Bad for Business
Ryker looks away for a moment. The tiny muscles on his chiseled cheekbones flutter as he clenches his jaw. “Because for some reason, I can’t focus on talking with anyone on my future board right now.”
I cock my head to the side. “I don’t understand. What does your inability to focus have anything to do with me?”
He laughs. This one is darker than his normal one. There’s a huskiness to it. One that makes my skin erupt with goosebumps again. “Trust me, I wish I understood, princess. All I can say is that it’s hard to focus on small talk when you’re over here acting like you’re fighting for your life.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
He scoffs. “You haven’t moved from this spot since the moment you got on the boat.” He gestures to the railing next to me. “And you’ve been clutching that for dear life. I’m actually shocked you let go of it to take the drink.”
I frown. Why was he noticing these things? And more importantly, why does he care?
I don’t know how to respond, so instead, I take a drink. My eyes go wide. It’s made perfectly.
“Good?” Ryker prods, his face wiped of any emotion as he watches me carefully. I don’t miss how when he speaks with everyone else, there’s a glint in his eyes and a smirk that never leaves his lips. With me, it’s different. Yes, he smirks. But he also does what he’s doing right now, where he shutters his expression and I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
I take another drink of the martini, trying not to think too hard about the soft rocking of the boat. “It’s okay,” I lie. It’s perfect. I just don’t want to admit that to him.
“Martini, extra dirty, just a splash of vermouth, and six olives instead of three. That’s your order, is it not?”
My fingers tighten around the stem of the glass. That’s exactly my order. I just don’t know how he knows that. I must’ve ordered it at the club at some point.
Except I don’t think I have. I love an extra-dirty martini, but I don’t typically order them at work events. Because once I have one martini, I always think it’s a good idea to have a second.
“I’m just not an olive person,” I lie again. I don’t know why I feel the need to lie to him. I love olives. And the dirtier the martini, the better. I’m just annoyed that he knows my order.
Ryker sighs and takes a step closer to me. I don’t know why he does it. We’re already close enough. I can hear him just fine. I had escaped to a less busy area of the yacht in an attempt to not put my displeasure of being on this boat on full display. Plus, from the upper deck, I could look down and watch Ryker as he milled about, having conversations with board members on the main deck.
“Why do you feel the need to lie?” Ryker asks, his eyes watching me carefully, as if he’s actually interested in my answer.
I press my lips into a thin line at his unexpected question. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re lying because I know your order.”
“How?”
He stares at me for a moment. I swear I see his face fall for a fraction of a second before he smooths it back into indifference. “As much as you’d like to forget about it, we shared a night together. You told me all about your love of olives and how you sometimes have to sweet-talk bartenders into giving you an extra spear of them.”
I freeze. I hadn’t even thought about that. It was months ago. A small thing like my drink order is not something I was expecting him to remember. “Ryker.” His name escapes my lips. I can’t really think of anything else to say. I don’t know how I feel about him remembering that small detail.
He gestures to the drink. “Drink it and stop panicking. We’re going to be fine.”
I nod, and for what might be the first time, I listen to him. I take a large drink of the martini, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment as I savor how perfectly the drink is made. Despitethe fear of this boat suddenly sinking, coupled with conflicting feelings about the fact he remembers the small things about the night we shared—even though he left me alone in bed the morning after—my body relaxes ever so slightly.
“Aw, look, she listens,” Ryker drawls. The smirk he gives me is lethal. It reminds me of the one he gave me the first night we met. The one that had me begging for us to leave the party and go back to his place. “Good girl,” he adds, his voice low.
My cheeks get hot. In fact, everything gets hot. I blame the sun for the way my entire body flushes. Memories flash through my mind. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard him call me a good girl. He used it often that New Year’s Eve night, and it’d driven me crazy.
I take another gulp of the martini, already sucking half of it down. I know it’s probably going to go straight to my head since I’ve been too nervous to eat anything despite the large array of food Mitchell Bailey’s staff had put out.
“Easy there, princess. You don’t want to get sloppy. It was just supposed to take the edge off.”
I let out a small groan of annoyance. I hate the nickname, and I hate that he thinks I’d ever be sloppy. “I know how to handle my alcohol, thank you very much.” I put the drink down on the ledge and grab the railing once more when the boat rocks more than it has been. Both hands wrap tightly around the metal as I try to reassure myself that Ryker’s right. Nothing’s going to happen with this boat. We’re going to be fine.
“Why don’t you go mingle?” I offer, needing him to get away from me. He still stands close, and his mandarin and bergamot scent is completely intoxicating.
I hate it.
Ryker laughs. “Fine. But just try to look a little less…scared. I need to focus, and I can’t do it if I’m worried you’re going to jump overboard and swim for the shore.”
