Chapter 11
COLT
“Mr. Jesson, I really need to stress that the weather forecast isn’t looking too good.”
“And that’s something I’m paying you to handle,” I cut off the captain, my patience already wearing thin. We’d been having this conversation for the past ten minutes, and I was done with it. “We’re sailing to Shelter Island. Today. As planned.”
Captain Morrison was a seasoned sailor who’d been working for my family for years. I trusted his abilities. I understood his need to cover his ass and err on the side of caution. He was clearly uncomfortable.
I didn’t care.
“Sir, with all due respect, there’s a winter storm system moving in. The waters could get rough by tomorrow evening.”
“Then we’ll be docked at Shelter Island before tomorrow evening,” I said flatly. “Problem solved.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Actually, it is.” I straightened to my full height, using every inch of intimidation I’d inherited from my father. “I’m paying you, what, two hundred thousand a year? Plus benefits? To operate this yacht and take me where I want to go, when I want to go there?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“No buts.” I gestured toward the helm. “My money is what makes it guaranteed. We’re sailing. Today. Get the crew ready.”
Morrison’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He walked away, already barking orders to the crew. I felt a surge of satisfaction. This was what I paid for. Not excuses. Not hedging. Results.
“You know, one of these days someone’s going to push you overboard.”
I turned to find Hallie standing behind me, a life vest in her hands.
She looked good in the outfit Frankie had picked out for her.
Really good. But maybe too much like something my mom would wear.
I knew Frankie had picked out several outfits for her to wear on the trip.
I hoped they weren’t all like the one she had on.
Hallie’s dark hair whipped in the wind as she glared at me. I could see her debating whether she should say what was on her mind.
It amused me.
She tossed the life vest at me. I caught it reflexively and scowled. “What’s this for?”
“For when your ego capsizes,” she said sweetly.
Despite myself, I laughed. “My ego is unsinkable.”
“Like the Titanic?”
“Cute.” I tossed the vest back to one of the crew members. “But unnecessary. I know what I’m doing.”
“So you keep saying.” She crossed her arms, studying me with dark eyes that always seemed to see more than I wanted them to. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re bullying your staff into doing something potentially dangerous just because you can’t handle not getting your way. Like a toddler.”
My amusement evaporated. “I’m not bullying anyone. I’m running my yacht with my crew, who I pay very well to do exactly what I tell them to do.”
“Right. Because money solves everything. What a charming outlook on life.”
“It solves most things,” I countered. “And in this case, it means we’re sailing to Shelter Island to celebrate our engagement like we planned. Unless you’d rather stay docked here? I’m sure the press would love that story.”
She glared at me again. I could practically see her weighing her options. The contract. The money. The fact that she’d already cashed the first check.
“Fine,” she said finally. “But if we sink, I’m using you as a flotation device.”
“Deal.”
I watched her go, irritated. Hallie had a way of getting under my skin that I didn’t appreciate. Most people either feared me or wanted something from me. She seemed to do neither.
The yacht’s engines rumbled to life beneath my feet.
I felt that familiar thrill of power. By the time we set sail, I’d checked every detail at least twice.
The state rooms were prepared. Hallie was in the guest suite, Frankie in hers, me in the master.
The chef had the menu approved. The staff knew their roles. Everything was lining up to be perfect.
I found myself checking on Hallie more than necessary. Making sure her room was perfect. I wanted to make sure she had everything she needed. And maybe I wanted her to appreciate the luxury I could provide.
“You’re being weird,” Frankie observed, catching me coming out of Hallie’s room for the third time.
“I’m being thorough.”
“You’re being obsessive.” She shook her head, rolled her eyes, and exhaled loudly. “She’s fine, Colt. The room is fine. Everything is fine. Stop freaking out at everyone.”
“It needs to be better than fine,” I said. “It needs to be perfect.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s the standard I set.”
Frankie made a noncommittal noise that meant she didn’t agree but wasn’t going to argue. “Dinner’s at seven. Try not to terrorize the staff between now and then.”
“I don’t terrorize anyone.”
“You made three different people cry this afternoon,” she said.
“They were tears of gratitude,” I said, only half-joking.
“You’re insufferable. You should probably go brood in your cabin or whatever it is you do.”
Dinner was set up on the aft deck, despite the cold. I had the crew install industrial-strength space heaters and brought out every blanket on the yacht. The table was set for two—white linens, crystal, silver gleaming under the soft lighting.
It looked romantic as hell. Which was the point.
There would be a few “leaked” photos. My staff would never dare actually leak shit, but in this situation, it was part of the plan.
Hallie appeared right at seven. She’d changed into a dress that should be illegal. She’d done something to her eyes that made them look even darker, more mysterious.
She was stunning.
“Wow,” I said, before I could stop myself.
“Don’t,” she said, but I caught the pleased flush on her cheeks. “Where’s Frankie?”
“Giving us privacy.” I pulled out her chair. “It’s just us tonight.”
She hesitated, and I could see her weighing whether this was a good idea. But then she sat. I pushed her chair in, letting my hands linger on her shoulders.
She looked around at the heaters, the blankets, and the view of the ocean stretching endlessly in every direction. “This is beautiful.”
“Nothing but the best for my fiancée.” I sat across from her and poured wine. “Even if she is fake.”
“Especially because she’s fake,” Hallie countered, taking the glass. “Have to make it look good for the internet.”
I laughed. “They’re very judgmental. That’s why we have to get everything right.”
The food came out in courses, perfectly prepared exactly as I’d specified. The chef knew better than to disappoint me. Hallie seemed to relax as the meal progressed. The wine loosened her tongue, making conversation flow easier.
We talked about inconsequential things. Her favorite movies. My least favorite investors. The ridiculousness of yacht ownership. She made me laugh more than I expected, her quick wit and dry humor catching me off guard again and again.
In the evening light, with the ocean breeze playing with her hair and the wine bringing color to her cheeks, she looked radiant.
More than that. She looked right. Like she belonged here, on this yacht across the table from me.
The thought was dangerous. I quickly pushed it away.
After dinner, Hallie excused herself, saying she wanted to enjoy the view. I watched her walk to the railing at the bow, wrapping herself in one of the blankets. She stood there, gazing out at the darkening sea.
What was she thinking?
Was it me?
Did she really hate me?
If she were my real fiancée, I’d go to her. Wrap my arms around her from behind. Rest my chin on her head. Ask what she was thinking about.
But this was all bull shit. A contract. A performance.
So I hung back to watch her from a distance.
The wind whipped her hair around her face.
She pulled the blanket tighter and tilted her head back to look at the stars above.
She looked small against the vastness of the ocean, and for the first time, it occurred to me that this might be overwhelming for her.
All of this. The yacht. The lifestyle. The lies.
I knew this was all new for her. Hell, she’d been a hairdresser a week ago. Now she was being paraded around as my fiancée, expected to play a role she’d never auditioned for.
Was she scared?
The question surprised me. I hadn’t really stopped to think about what Hallie might be feeling, what boxes she might need checked beyond the financial ones. I’d been so focused on my own agenda that I never considered what she might need.
What her fears might be.
What she might be risking by agreeing to this insanity.
Did she have a boyfriend? What if she had a man waiting for her? The thought made me jealous and weirdly angry.
“You should go check on her.”
Frankie’s voice made me turn. My sister stood behind me bundled in a heavy coat.
“She probably wants some time alone,” I said.
“Or she’s feeling overwhelmed and could use some support.” Frankie moved to stand beside me, following my gaze to where Hallie stood. “She’s in over her head, Colt. This whole world—your world—it’s foreign to her.”
“She signed up for it.”
“For money. Not because she actually wants to be here.”
The words stung. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that you could be a little kinder. A little more considerate of what she’s going through.” Frankie paused. “Unless you don’t care. Which would track, honestly.”
I wanted to argue. To tell her I did care, that I was being considerate, that I’d gone out of my way to make sure Hallie was comfortable.
But had I? Or was I more concerned with making sure the image was right?
“Go talk to her,” Frankie said gently. “Be the brother I know you can be. Not the asshole you show everyone else.”
She left before I could respond, heading over to where Hallie stood. I watched as Frankie approached, saw Hallie’s face light up when she noticed my sister. They started talking, soft laughter drifting back to me on the wind.
My little sister had always been a better person than me.
Dad used to say it all the time. “Frankie’s the angel, Colt. You’re the devil. But that’s okay. Every family needs balance.”
I had laughed it off back then, worn it like a badge of honor. But watching Frankie comfort Hallie, seeing how easily she connected with people, made me wonder if maybe Dad had been right.
Maybe I was the devil.
And maybe that wasn’t something to be proud of.
I headed to my stateroom, suddenly needing to be alone. The space was fit for a king, including a massive bed, mahogany furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows showing the dark ocean.
Luxury and isolation wrapped into one.
My phone pinged. I pulled it out, expecting something work-related. Instead, I saw a text from a number I recognized.
Chelsea: Saw the news. You’re engaged?
Chelsea. Blonde, athletic, from South Carolina.
We hooked up a few times when she was in the city.
She traveled for work—something in pharmaceutical sales—and hit me up whenever she was in town.
She was a damn good lay. The woman was very bendy, and I was pretty sure she could absolutely suck a watermelon through a garden hose if push came to shove.
I should ignore it. I was supposed to be reformed. Committed. A man who’d finally found the one.
But old habits died hard.
Me: It’s complicated.
Chelsea: How complicated? Scale of 1-10.
Me: About as serious as you take your tanning regimen.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Chelsea: Lol. Wow. Want company this weekend?
I stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. It would be easy. She could meet us at Shelter Island. I could sneak away while Hallie was sleeping. No one would know.
But even as I thought it, I knew I wouldn’t do it.
Not because I cared about Hallie. Not because I was actually reformed.
Me: Can’t. Rain check?
Chelsea: Congrats on the engagement, Colt. Hope she’s worth it. Blocked.
I laughed. Fair enough. Chelsea had always been smart. She knew when to cut her losses.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and moved to the windows, staring out at the black water. What the hell was I doing? I glanced back at my phone and thought about reaching out to Chelsea on her LinkedIn account.
Was I really ready to say goodbye?