Chapter 7 #2
Atlas chortled, raising his hands above his head. “I forgot how touchy you are about it. Anyway, I just wanted to reassure you that Friday is gonna go off without a hitch, and all you need to do is try to act like you’re not wishing everyone would fuck off ten minutes after they arrive.”
I threw a withering look in his direction. “I am capable of pretending, you know.”
Atlas snorted. “You’re not as good at it as you think you are. You have a very expressive face, mate. And other people are not as terrible as you are at reading body language.”
“Okay, you can go now,” I grouched. “I’m trying to relax; I don’t need you highlighting the things you see as flaws in me.”
Atlas stood. “Look, Chewy, you’ll get through it. And then you’ll be able to go back to your little computer nerd life as if nothing ever happened.”
The Girl on Fire bumped gently against the dock at Darling Harbour. It was the only gentle thing happening around me.
The DJ blasted a tuneless, thumping bass from speakers that I couldn’t escape from. Crowds of people lined the wharf, camera phones at the ready, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone famous.
And the stream of people shuffling their way up the gangplank—after being subjected to a thorough security check by Lucian and his team—poured onto the main deck until it was almost impossible for me to raise my arms without hitting four other people.
And still more arrived.
I took a deep breath, and then another. And another for good measure. I had a job to do. This was an unfortunate side effect of being rich and successful. I just had to suck it up.
I was well within my rights to quietly hate every single second of it, though.
Atlas, meanwhile, was in his schmoozing element. Hugging and kissing every woman who came on board. Shaking hands and doing awkward bro-hugs, complete with macho back-thumping, with the men. His barking laughter was too loud. I wondered how many whisky and Cokes he’d already consumed.
I should have been mingling. I should have been letting Atlas do the meet and greet while I yelled above the DJ’s racket to make uncomfortable small talk with the guests as they crowded the bar.
But I was hovering not far from the end of the gangplank, scanning the line of people still waiting to board.
A tall, stunning woman with hair the colour of caramel strutted on, planting air kisses by Atlas’s cheeks. For a second, my heart thundered. But her hips were too full, her mouth too thin. Her eyes were the wrong colour.
It wasn’t her. Ru Snack, or Irina Rusnac, according to that brief cross check I’d done. I exhaled, deflated. The boat was due to depart for a three-hour harbour cruise as soon as the last guests straggled aboard. And I hadn’t seen her.
I shouldn’t have been anticipating her arrival so much. It was borderline stalkerish to be lurking the way I was, waiting for a glimpse of her. I forced myself to turn away and made my feet take me over to the bar, where I ordered a non-alcoholic ginger beer.
“Your favourite drink hasn’t changed, I see.”
I turned to Cadence, eyeing her coldly. “When I love something, I hold onto it.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she blinked, glancing down. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, wishing I had a packet of gum in my pocket. I’d been so agitated all afternoon that I’d forgotten one of the most important regulation tools at my disposal.
“Thanks for inviting me, Hen,” she murmured, reaching out to squeeze my hand.
I let her, not wanting to cause a scene.
The words, ‘I didn’t invite you, Atlas did,’ threatened to break free from my throat, so I took a quick swallow of ginger beer.
Years of learning the hard way had taught me that inside-thoughts—no matter how honest—were sometimes better off staying inside.
“This will really mean a lot for Cadence … the business, I mean. There are two creators on your guest list who I really want to chat to about collaborating. But … it also means a lot to me, personally.”
I chanced a glance at her, finding her cheeks pink and her lashes fluttering. She looked earnest and vulnerable. Traits that had drawn me to her back at uni. But how much of it was real? She’d messed with my head so much that I now questioned every face-value assumption I made about people.
“In what way?” I asked, hoping some verbal explanation would make sense of her body language.
Cadence sidled closer, invading my personal space. “I’m hoping that it means we’re taking a step towards rekindling our friendship.”
I swallowed back a snort. “We were never friends, Cadence. We were lovers … and then we were nothing.”
She stepped backwards, lips twitching downward. “Wow. Well, I guess I was holding out hope that maybe you’d be able to forgive me … it’s been six years.”
I opened my mouth, unsure of what I wanted to say to shut her down, but wild, cacophonous screeching erupted from the land. I flinched, clenching my fists because the urge to clap my hands over my ears was almost unbearable.
“I need to go,” I grunted, turning away from Cadence.
The cause of the riot was immediately apparent. Striding up the gangplank was a broadly smiling blond man, blue eyes twinkling as he showed off a truly remarkable set of dimples, and teeth so white they could have been used as roadside reflectors.
The noise was from a gaggle of teen girls, bouncing up and down in barely-there dresses down on the dock. I winced, certain that the entire yacht was about to witness an underage wardrobe malfunction.
“River!” one screamed, waving her phone in his direction. “River Riley!”
“We love you River!” another squawked. He turned his broad smile on them and gave a wave. The girls dissolved into a giggling, squealing mess.
So, this was River Riley. I still couldn’t have picked him in a police line-up. But I’d never been much of a YouTube watcher.
He reached the top and shook Atlas’s hand. “G’day mate.” His voice was mellow, with a broad Australian accent, and as I approached, I noted that now he was on the main deck, he wasn’t overly tall—perhaps five-eight. “It’s a pleasure to be included in your big night!”
Atlas beamed at the man, clapping him on the back, as the TechRaker photographer snapped frenziedly, the flash stabbing into my retinas.
“We’re the lucky ones, having you on board!” Atlas crowed, noticing me and immediately steering River in my direction. “This is Henry, my business partner, and the CTO of Tickle.”
“Great to meet you!” River extended his hand, and I shook it. His palm was warm, dry and slightly calloused. His handshake was strong, and his smile seemed entirely genuine … but as Atlas loved to remind me, I was a terrible judge.
“You too. I must confess, I’d never heard of you before Atlas mentioned he’d invited you along.”
If anything, River’s smile widened. “Fair dinkum! That’s wild! I love it, though.” He let out a small sigh, and the smile dimmed for a brief second. “It’s refreshing, meeting someone with no preconceived notions and no ulterior motives.”
Atlas, glaring at me with a warning so blatantly evident that even I had no trouble interpreting it, stepped in. “We at Tickle are very conscious of the tech industry’s environmental footprint, and we’re always on the lookout for ways to reduce our impact.”
River grinned. “Well, I’ve got plenty of ideas for you, but from what I’ve heard, Tickle is already a bit of a trailblazer in the space. That’s the reason I accepted the invite tonight.” His eyes met mine, and he nodded slightly.
I nodded back, pleased that he was aware of the eco initiatives that I’d driven within the organisation.
Even the purchase of my floating home had been made following extensive research into hybrid yacht engines, green methanol, and hydrogen fuel cell technology.
The Girl on Fire was the greenest super yacht currently in production and had capacity for upgrades as technology and innovation advanced.
Atlas guffawed. “What, so porn stars in party clothes and freely flowing alcohol had nothing to do with your decision?”
River’s smile didn’t falter, but his voice was serious when he replied, “I make a bit of a habit of not stereotyping people based on how they make their money. I’ll happily have a chin wag with whoever wants to talk to me tonight, but I’m not here to ogle anyone on board.”
I found myself warming to the man, as Atlas’s face soured. “Well, enjoy. Bar’s over there. The lower deck, except for the toilets, is off limits, and …” The boat shuddered, the engine kicking into gear. “Yep, seems like we’re about to start our cruise of the Harbour.”
He clapped River on the shoulder, harder than was strictly necessary, and turned to me. “I’m off to objectify some porn stars. That Ilya Ivanov … she could tie me up and spank me any day of the week!”
I watched Atlas leave, already feeling exhaustion creeping into my veins.
“You look like this is the worst form of torture,” River remarked, gesturing around. The hum of chatter, the thump, thump of the awful music. The press of people, their combined perfumes invading my nostrils …
“It’s close,” I admitted, taking another sip of ginger beer and trying to drag up some joviality to last me through the night. “I should probably go mingle.”
River nodded. “So should I. But Henry, I’d love a chance to sit down with you … in a less chaotic environment. I have a proposition I’d like to put to you.”
My insides chilled. Had I read him wrong?
Was he a charlatan out to try and press his agenda with the na?ve billionaire, using a good-natured exterior to shoulder his way past my defences?
Or was he really as genuine as he seemed?
We appeared to have a common interest in eco-innovation … It wouldn’t hurt to hear him out.
“Give my office a call on Monday,” I told him. “My PA will arrange a meeting time.”
With a final nod, I turned and walked headlong into the melee.
I didn’t last more than ninety minutes.
My head throbbed, my stomach churned, and if I had to smile at another stranger, I thought I might try to self-lobotomise. As liquor flowed and the yacht sailed into Sydney Harbour proper, everyone aboard got looser, and louder, and personal space meant less and less.
I’d managed to avoid any conversation with Cadence after that first, fraught one, but I had noticed her eyeing me with some expression that possibly could be interpreted as longing.
Atlas’s little gold-digger jab might well prove right—the things she’d found unlovable about me six years ago were suddenly much easier to overlook when they came packaged up with my new net worth.
Anyone who was only prepared to put up with me for my money was not someone I should be giving the time of day to. Even if, once upon a time, I’d expected to spend forever with her.
I took one final look around the party. The foredeck was crowded with sweaty bodies gyrating to the doof, doof of the raucous dance track.
Atlas was in the thick of it, gripping wildly at the waist of the caramel-haired beauty who had air-kissed him earlier.
That was Ilya Ivanov; I recognised her now from my background checks.
She claimed to have been born in Belarus, but mysteriously, I hadn’t been able to unearth any information about her prior to her mid-teens, when she’d rocketed to stardom as a runway model.
But perhaps Eastern European record keeping was lax.
These days, she posted content of dominating men in a variety of kinky ways.
I wondered if Atlas knew what he would be getting himself into if he did end up going home with her.
I staved off another pang of what I could only assume was disappointment that Irina Rusnac hadn’t attended.
I found myself more than a little curious about what the real-life version of her would be like.
People put on a face for social media, and adult content really required a mask.
I wondered if the real Irina would have that same open face, the same easy smile and cheeky twinkle in her eyes that her on-screen alter-ego did.
Well, this had been my one opportunity to find out, and she hadn’t showed up.
I sighed, backing towards the stairs. If I slipped away below deck now, I was positive no one would even notice I was gone.
Everyone was well on their way to sloppy drunk.
Well, everyone except Lucian, who was looming over the crowd on the foredeck, glaring around like they were all criminals and he was just waiting for them to slip up so he could throw them overboard.
I really hoped it didn’t come to that. The last thing we needed was TechRaker breaking a story about partygoers drowning at a Tickle function.
I escaped down the stairs before anyone approached, making my way through the living room and nodding at the uniformed security guard Lucian had placed on duty down here. Rubbing my temples, I headed for the bedroom and the medicinal cannabis in my bedside drawer.
I needed to take the edge off my agitation.
The door was still, thankfully, closed, because Trink and Abs were locked in there, no doubt finding the vibrations coming from the ceiling bemusing. I could relate.
I pushed open the door, my foot ready to fend off two escapee cats. When there were none, my heart leapt into my throat. Someone had let my cats out. And with the chaos upstairs, who knew where they would be?
I surged into the room then jerked to a stop.
My cats were on my bed, affectionately nuzzling a woman.
A beautiful woman, who was perched on the edge of the bed, one hand propping her up, the other absently scratching Abs’ chin.
A woman with dark blonde hair falling like a curtain over her shoulders, twinkling blue eyes and breasts that practically spilt out of a tiny black, strapless, body-caressing dress.
My mouth fell open. Irina Rusnac had made it to the party after all.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” I blurted.