7. Michaela #2
My getaway car rolls off, leaving me behind in the enemy camp.
Dammit.
Now I’m trapped.
Returning his focus on me, he slides his sunglasses to the top of his head.
Those eyes… I can’t even pinpoint that shade of blue.
And that hair.
This man has zero imperfections. So unfair.
Phoenix gives me a onceover.
I return the favor.
I take him all in––inch, by inch, by inch.
My high heels do nothing to put a dent in the difference of height. Phoenix towers over me. Mind you, I’m only five-two, but this guy is well over six feet tall.
Height is sexy on a man.
And this man is a tall glass of smoking hot sexiness.
As my inner voice chatters on, a familiar smug smile tugs at the edges of Phoenix’s mouth. “You like what you see, kitty cat?”
I roll my eyes hard.
It’s the best I can do to avoid admitting I was openly gawking at him.
“It’s okay,” he says. “You can tell me if you do.” His words drip with cocksureness.
Darn. He caught me red-handed, but I’m not willing to cave in that easily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s the two of us, Michaela.” My name shouldn’t sound this good on his lips. “It’ll remain our little secret.”
I roll my eyes again. Speaking would only betray me.
“Fair enough. I’ll go first.” His gaze rakes over my body, eating me up with blatant appreciation. He leans in until his breath brushes against my cheek. His closeness is enough to send my deprived system into overdrive.
I close my eyes, relishing the sensation.
“You look absolutely beautiful.”
To my detriment, I’m not immune to the raspiness of his voice.
I clear my throat and take a step back, distancing myself from him.
Call it self-preservation.
I could blame the scorching California sun for the reason my body is heating up like I’m swimming in a pool of lava, but I’d be lying to myself.
His blue eyes drop to my feet. “You wear those well.”
I’m tongue tied, which is unusual for me.
I’m stumped as to how to reply. And I have no clue what to make of the glint in his eyes… the one that threatens to make me forget he’s the enemy.
That unsettling feeling returns full force, so my claws come out. “Save it, Phoenix. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I can’t win with you.” He lets out an exasperated breath. “Why can’t you accept a damn compliment?”
“Thank you. There. No need to butter me up, King Kong Tycoon.”
“King Kong Tycoon?” He frowns. “The press has many labels for me, but that’s one I’ve never heard before.”
“It’s an original. Like yours truly.” I point at my chest.
“What’s behind the mocking moniker?”
“Well, you’re the giant ape in the luxury hotel industry, the press calls you King Konig, and apparently, you’re a tycoon––”
“Apparently?” His eyebrows shoot to his forehead. “So we’re clear, Michaela, I’ve earned my stripes.”
“Noted.”
“As for my last name, Konig literally means king in German.”
“Oh. How did I miss that in my research?” Crap. The admittance was an overshare.
He smiles.
In my haste, I forgot my shades. That’s a liability because his smile is blinding.
“You’ve looked me up.”
I respond with a noncommittal shrug.
“And you think you know everything there is to know about me?”
“Something tells me you’re a man of many, many layers.” Darn. That came out so breathy.
“Good thing you have three-hundred-sixty days to discover my many layers…”
My precarious reality slaps me right across the face. I swallow a lump in my throat and force myself to appear confident, even though I’m fully aware that aggravating the man who can help save our family hotel might not be a good idea.
“Do you own the entire harbor?” I’m sure he doesn’t, but I need to change the subject. Fast.
The edges of his mouth twitch, but he doesn’t smile… except with his gorgeous eyes. “I’m a multibillionaire—not quite a trillionaire yet,” he says. “My brothers and I each own a boat. I figured it’s the safest place for us to meet.”
“You’re not planning on kidnapping me and taking me to some remote private island until I agree to this merger-marriage, right? I don’t want to disappear, never to be found.”
He flinches. “You have a hell of an imagination.”
The fact the thought comes to mind indicates how surreal this day has been so far. “You’re a complete stranger.”
“You’re the one who wanted to meet in person,” he says. “I was ready to leave your driver’s license with the concierge, but no, you wanted a face-to-face, and now you’re giving me attitude?”
“I expected to have my feet firmly planted on the ground. When the Bentley dropped me off, I thought perhaps we were meeting at a seaside restaurant, not on your getaway boat.”
“Complete privacy is imperative. Meeting at a restaurant is far too risky. Hence, why we’re here.” He drags a hand down his face. “Are we going to argue about everything?”
I square my shoulders. “Well, I’ve never been sailing before.” I don’t answer his question. Why make a promise I’m not going to keep, right?
“You’ve never been on a cruise?”
“It’s never appealed to me. Too many people in a confined space.”
“And no debauched spring break parties on a boat in the Caribbean or in Mexico while you were in college?”
“No. I’m a good girl—always have been.” I flash him an innocent smile and bat my eyelashes. I’m only missing the halo. “Since I’m a virgin, I hope I can handle it.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Didn’t you tell me you weren’t a virgin this morning?”
I blush from ear to ear. “I mean, I’m a sea virgin. I hope I won’t get seasick.” I try to save face. “I’d hate to embarrass myself.”
“Don’t worry. We’re not setting sail. So you can toss the kidnapping plot out the window,” he says. “We’re going to enjoy a nice lunch on the water, without having to worry about prying eyes, anyone within earshot, or paparazzi.”
“Are you going to dazzle me with your cooking skills?”
“No. It wouldn’t make sense to poison you this early in the game. I need you alive and kicking.” He stretches his lips into an evil grin.
“Not funny.”
“I thought it was.” The evil grin morphs into an arresting smile.
Bastard.
“The chefs at the Pompadour worked their magic. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
“Sounds like I get to live another day and I get to enjoy a spectacular lunch.”
He chuckles. “Let’s go onboard and get this business meeting on its way.”
“Okay.”
We start walking.
“My boat is docked right at the end. Her name is Daniela . She’s the one with the American flag and the flag with the king chess piece wearing a crown.”
“You named your boat after your best hookup, Konig?” I laugh. “Man, she must’ve been something else.” It’s a low blow, but I can’t help it.
His face turns somber. “No. I didn’t name my boat after my best fuck.” He takes a deep breath in. “It was my mom’s name. She passed away?—”
“I’m so sorry, Phoenix.” Fuck, I put my foot in my mouth. I feel like the worst individual on the planet. I deserve the guillotine for that insensitive remark. “That was out of line.”
“You didn’t know.”
I shake my head in response because it’s best to keep my mouth shut.
He keeps talking, oblivious to my utter shame.
“My father, brothers, and I honor Mom’s memory on our boats.
Daniela Graciela Alandra Emiliana Peleritti was an Italian Argentine, born in Córdoba.
Italians and Argentinians tend to give their kids multiple middle names.
Hence, why Mom had three. Dad’s yacht is named Bella Daniela .
He used to call Mom, Bella . These days, Roman uses it since Dad doesn’t use it as much.
Slate and Wilder have their own yacht and use it in rotation.
They named their boat, Alandra. The name means defender.
Mom was the ultimate momma bear, even when we were grown men.
She carried a great deal of guilt at not being able to prevent my older brother’s death.
Barron’s boat was named The Peleritti. We sold it after he died—it carried too many memories. ”
I’m all choked up. “What a beautiful way to honor your mom.”
“Yeah.” A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes appears on his gorgeous lips. “Let’s go,” he says.
“Okay.”
We keep walking.
“There she is,” Phoenix says.
Since my eyes are trained to my feet to avoid getting my heels stuck between the planks of the boardwalk, I’m unprepared when I look up.
Whoa. “That’s not a boat. That’s a yacht.”
He shrugs. “Sixty feet of smooth sailing when I take her out at sea.”
Some of us have a charmed life.
“Come on, I’ll help you onboard.” Phoenix takes my hand into his.
Like earlier, his touch ignites my body.
The effect he has on me screws with my head.
I balance my shoe on the first stair, grip the rail, and climb onto the luxury vessel.
If I could whistle, I would.
I may not like the guy, but he surely knows how to live.
The sleek, plush and streamlined interior of Phoenix’s yacht matches the unquestionable elegance that’s so prevalent at the Pompadour. The space is expansive and to my surprise, inviting. I have nothing to gauge this yacht against, but I suspect this baby cost an obscene amount of money.
“This is––” I search for my words. “It’s so luxurious.”
“I wanted it to be comfortable.”
“Comfortable? You could live on this yacht year-round.”
“I have,” he says. “Not so much anymore. My brothers and I completed a luxury tri-tower residency complex six months ago. Along with the house we each own, we own a penthouse suite in the new residencies. We reserved the top two floors of each of the three buildings and never released them to the market. A Konig heir or one of our cousins occupies those coveted suites. Each top floor has two large penthouse suites. Irish twins Slate and Wilder share a floor in the same building. Roman and I live in separate buildings. For now, neither of us has a neighbor. The suites on the floor right below ours are an exact replica of our suites, but we don’t call them penthouses. ”
“It’s good to be Phoenix Konig. Heck, it’s good to be a Konig, period.”
I thought I had seen it all in New York. I was wrong. There’s money and then there’s Konig money. I’m a bit intimidated by Phoenix’s wealth.
Can I pull this off?
Can I handle playing the role of wife to a multibillionaire tycoon who sits at the helm of a multinational conglomerate?
“Most days it’s good to be me.” His response jolts me back to the moment.
“You’re sitting on top of the world.” I extend my arms in my attempt to encompass his universe. “What would a guy like you have to worry about?”
“Sometimes my name feels like a heavy weight I have to carry. Every day, I’m reminded I’m responsible for a legacy… and the livelihood of thousands of people who count on me. The implications of screwing up have a ripple effect.”
His words hit me at the core.
Although our family hotel doesn’t employ as many people as Phoenix’s, I get it.
I offer him a sad smile. “I understand. After all, that’s why I’m standing here.”