if I let this pass, even just this one time for this one giant sum of money, it would let Bellamy and Fenway think that they could do crap like this and get away with it—that money could solve issues even of morality.
"For that kind of money, you could have all my competitors at once. Which, combined, would give you the best."
"You're not going to turn your nose up at two million dollars, are you?" Bellamy asked, brows furrowing.
While Fenway could be a bit out of touch with things like money, Bellamy was a little more in touch with how much money could impact people's lives.
"I am."
"For what reason?" Christopher asked.
"It's the principle of the thing."
"Three."
"Mr. Adamos," I said, even though my belly was starting to wobble at the idea of turning down money like that, "I am not trying to shoo you up. I am not going to take this job."
To that, he slowly bent forward again, eyes unblinking, tone deadly serious. "Four."
Jesus.
Could I actually turn down that kind of money? Just because Bellamy and Fenway had fucked up the introductions?
"We've got your attention now," Bellamy said, his smirk of the victorious sort. Like he knew the decision had been all but made.
"Good. We can get some frappes now, then," Fenway said, smiling big, giving one of the crew members a nod.
Not more than a moment later, the yacht started moving, taking us closer to shore.
"You'll take the job," Christopher said. Not asked. Said.
Because it was truly unfathomable that money like that could ever be turned down.
"We haven't even discussed the job yet," I told him, moving to sit, only to be hauled back up by Fenway as he got to his feet.
"There will be time for that. In a little cafe where I fell in love with the most intoxicating of creatures."
"For the night only," I added.
"Naturally," he agreed, ignoring my eye roll.
"Fine. We can talk it over frappes," I agreed, deciding caffeine was very much needed to balance out the drugs, tequila, and now the Percocet. If I was going to take this job, I wanted to make sure I had my wits about me while making the decision.
"Do you want to go raid the spare closet downstairs to slip into something that won't make you sweaty and miserable in five minutes when we're on land?" Fenway asked.
Yes, Fenway was the sort of man who kept clothing in a closet for women in case they should need to change clothes. I never much understood the practice until this moment.
"Yeah, I'll do that," I agreed. "Excuse me," I said, turning, and making my way below deck.
I was standing in my bra and panties, reaching for the dark blue sundress that happened to be in my size and not so long that I'd be tripping on it as we walked when a voice sounded behind me.
"I will double it if that is what it will take," Christopher's smooth voice called. Even as my body jolted at the invasion, my nerves hummed in response to the way his body made a shiver move over my—now bare—skin, somehow heating and chilling me at once. Goosebumps prickled even as my stomach swam with something that I could only describe as interest.
"I'm not dressed, Mr. Adamos," I informed him, turning to face him.
His gaze had been on my ass, only half-hidden by cheeky pink lace panties, and was slowly moving back up to my face.
"I see that."
Ignoring the anticipation in my belly, I forced my chin to lift; pushed all the desire out of my voice.
"Then you can also likely see that I wouldn't dream of working for someone who doesn't respect my right to privacy. No matter the sum they are offering me."
"All your delicate parts are covered," he said, gaze dipping down to my chest where my bra was just barely doing its job. "Well, mostly."
"Funny," I said, though there wasn't a damn thing funny in that moment, "that doesn't sound at all like an apology to me."
"You'll find I don't often apologize."
"I'm shocked," I drawled. "What could possibly be worth eight million dollars, Mr. Adamos?" I asked, deciding that the only move would be to refuse to cover myself, or demand he leave again.
"My brother."
"Your brother," I repeated, feeling my brows furrow. "What about your brother?"
"It seems I have made a lot of enemies in my particular line of work."
"I would imagine so."
"And not all men have honor codes," he added, hedging at an uncomfortable truth.
"Someone took your brother," I