The dick.
“A woman with great tits.” I take another sip, wink at a passing server who blushes, then look at Parker. “There’s no romance here, just great sex. Move on.”
“Who is she?” Maddox asks in that rough voice of his.
“Since when do you need to take a woman on a date to get down and dirty?” Killian asks.
If only they knew sex with Brook was so much better than just fucking one of the girls at the club. She isn’t going to like what I have planned tonight, in fact, she’ll hate it. She’s also going to hate how much she enjoys it.
I’ll make sure of it.
“Since I have bigger plans for her, which include destroying my father.”
The smile falls from my face, and I pick up my knife and fork. The silence is deafening. I take a bite of my salmon, and challenge any of them to get in my way.
Maddox and Parker have found closure.
Now it’s my time.
“I need her name and your assurance you won’t hurt her.” Maddox rests his arm on the table.
I snort. “Says the man who kidnapped his wife.”
“He has a point.” Killian nods.
––––––––
EARLIER THIS MORNING I gave my assistant a list of instructions, which had her snapping her eyes to mine after reading the email. I was standing beside her desk, like a micromanager, making sure she knew how important it was.
“Tonight, tonight?” Tiffany asked. “All this?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll see if the dock is available.” She bit her lip, shooting me another unhappy look.
“Make it happen, Tiffany!” I fired over my shoulder as I walked back to my office.
“Is this for a date?”
“It’s not a date.” I closed my door firmly.
She’s done her job well. I’m now standing on the end of my superyacht at the Skyport Marina in the East River, hands slid into the pockets of my tan chinos with dark sunglasses on my face, waiting for Brook.
The sun is hanging in the sky, and it’s still warm enough at night that my white button-down is sufficiently warm enough. Which is important to note because a woman closely resembling Brooklyn McKenna is walking toward me wearing a pair of black leggings, what looks like a ski jacket, boots, and a knitted hat.
And dark sunglasses.
She looks ridiculous, and like she’s heading up a mountain.
“Forget your ski goggles?”
“The more information you give a woman, the more likely she is to dress for the occasion,” Brook replies, her eyes roaming my yacht.
“Where in New York, in the middle of September, do you feel a...” I lean forward to get the brand name. “North Face jacket is necessary?”
“You said dress warmly.” Brook shrugs, still not meeting my eye.
I walk down the gangway and reach out my hand. “Well, then welcome aboard Lady Alliance.”
