Asking Eric to take him ashore with no notice and without telling me was weird enough, but now he was avoiding looking at me? Had his deal gone south? Last time I’d spoken to him they’d been about to finish things. Something must have gone wrong.
Hayden was never anything but cool. Charming. In control. But he looked as if he wanted to circle his hands around someone’s neck and squeeze until he’d choked the life out of them.
“Everything okay?” I asked Eric as he appeared at the top of the stairs, squinting into the sun.
He shrugged and slipped his sunglasses over his eyes. “This is the weirdest fucking charter I’ve ever been on, that’s for sure.”
“Did he collect something or meet someone or what?”
“No idea. He disappeared as soon as we docked and came back forty minutes later. Didn’t say a word to me on the way there or back. He’s a weird son of a—”
I put my hand up to him. “I’ll go check on him.”
“I hope the tip is worth it.”
The tip was the least of my worries. I hated seeing Hayden anything other than the man I knew him to be. Something must have gone seriously wrong and I was concerned about him.
I knocked on the door to Hayden’s office as I’d done so many times this charter. Next week the office would be back to a bedroom and I’d be blushing thinking about all that had happened between us in this room.
I’d miss him.
I’d wish things were different.
But as my dad always said, no one promised life would be fair. He also loved to tell me I had to play the hand I was dealt and then he’d fall back on a perennial favorite: suck it up, buttercup.
“Come in,” Hayden barked. He usually met me at the door, dragged me inside, pushed me against the wall and kissed me raw. Something was definitely wrong.
I turned the handle and stepped through. He was behind his desk, his gaze down. When I followed his eyes, I could see he was looking at photographs spread out on the white, glossy surface.
I stepped forward and the upside-down images sharpened, their familiarity pulling me toward them.
As I moved closer, he steepled his fingers over the images and spun them around so they were facing me.
All were of me and the redheaded man who’d approached me and offered me money to spy on Hayden.
“You care to explain?” he asked, raising his eyes to look at me. His anger rolled off him, but he was also in complete control. This was a man no one would want to go up against. This was a man ready to battle.
I stepped forward and peered at the first image. It had been taken weeks ago in Saint Tropez. I hadn’t made the connection before, but the photographer who’d asked me who was on my boat had been the same redheaded guy who’d offered me a hundred and fifty grand to tell him which company Hayden was buying. “It’s the same guy,” I said almost to myself.
“You two seem cozy.”
I glanced up. Hayden towered over me, his eyes dark and heavy.
“Why are you taking pictures of me?” Didn’t he trust me? Was he spying on me as well as this red-headed Phil guy who wouldn’t leave me alone? What the hell had happened and how was I the girl caught in the middle of it?
He didn’t answer. He just stared at me as if he were about to unleash his wrath.
“Have you been keeping tabs on me?” I asked.
“Answer the question,” he said, his jaw tight and his words clipped.
“He was offering me money,” I said, squinting at the first photograph, still confused as to why I hadn’t recognized that it had been the same guy who’d approached me in Taormina. I’d clearly just not thought anything of it. Perhaps the camera had thrown me off. I’d been excited to get off the boat and was looking forward to speaking to my dad. “This was the guy.”
“Are you working for Cannon?”
His question was like a jolt of electricity and I snapped upright and stepped back.
“What?” He thought I was a spy? I must have misheard him. He knew every inch of me. We’d spent hours together, working, kissing, tracing the contours of each other’s bodies. He couldn’t think that I’d been faking all of that. Surely.
“It’s a simple question. Yes or no.”
“Who is Cannon? Who the hell do you think I am?”
“Then explain the pictures. Why are you meeting this guy—who works for Cannon, but I imagine you already know that.”
“I don’t know who this Cannon is, and this guy approached me. I never met with him. I told you about this time.” I tapped my finger on the middle photo.
“You didn’t tell me you’d spoken to him on at least three occasions.” His hand swept up, indicating the photos. “I guess telling me about once gave you cover in case you’d been spotted. Very clever.”