Page 55 of One Night in Vegas

“Le Ore,” I repeated. “The time, in Italian. I was trying to be creative. I didn’t know what to name the thing. It was tracking time that made it possible for me to buy the boat, so that’s what I went with.”

“Cute,” she said.

I started the engine, shrugged out of my suit jacket, and put on my sunglasses. She watched me like she was waiting for something to happen.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Ready for what?” she asked.

“We’re going to take her out for a spin,” I said, smiling.

I coasted away from the slip before giving it some gas.

“What do you mean we’re going for a spin?” she asked.

“Out. On the water. Cruising.”

“Why would you drag me out on a boat?” she complained. “I’m not dressed for this.”

“I’ve got a full closet in one of the state rooms,” I told her. “I’m sure you can find something to wear.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I was thinking about stripping down to my underwear,” I teased.

“Why do you have a full closet?” she asked.

“Because I often host parties and people need something to change into for one reason or another.”

“Women?” she questioned.

“Men and women,” I replied. “I like to be a good host and make sure my guests have everything they might need. I can’t tell you how many times people come aboard and only once we’re out on the water they decide they’d like to go for a swim. Sometimes the weather gets cold and they need a sweater or it’s hot and they want to change into something a little cooler.”

“I’m not sure I want to wear something one of your girlfriends has worn,” she said with her lip curled.

If I wasn’t mistaken, I thought I picked up on some jealousy. “Everything is new,” I assured her. “Tags and all.”

“Whatever,” she muttered.

“Just take the stairs down,” I told her. “Hang a left.”

“How big can it possibly be?” she mumbled and walked away.

I guided the yacht out to the open water. I loved being out on the open sea. The freedom always made me feel better after a long couple of weeks. If I didn’t have the water to destress, I would never survive. My job came with a lot of pressure. I couldn’t let the pressure get to me. If I crumbled, the company crumbled.

She came back up fifteen minutes later wearing a pair of shorts and a bikini top. I raised an eyebrow. She shrugged and gave me a look. “If I’m going to be out here, I’m going to work on my tan.”

“Feel free to take off the shorts,” I suggested.

“Thanks. Why are we really out here?”

“Because I like to come out here when I’m stressed,” I answered.

“It’s Monday. You didn’t even work five minutes. What could you possibly be stressed about?”

“Stuff,” I said, shrugging.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell hershestressed me out. Not her. What I did to her. I supposed this was me trying to make it right while proving to her I wasn’t as big a jackass as I had presented myself to be.

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