The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

“Oh. I didn’t realize we had to do that,” I said, biting my lip as I tried to figure out just how someone talked to a boat captain. I wasn’t sure I could do it without sounding dumb.

El-Mudad must have sensed my panic. “I’ll go talk to him. You two look around.”

“I’m glad he went,” Neil said, once El-Mudad had left with the steward. “I would honestly have had no idea.”

“I don’t understand how you didn’t have a yacht before,” I mused. “Like, never?”

“Oh, no, I had one,” he said, his eyebrows lifting as he opened the door from the deck into the interior of the main level. “I just didn’t spend much time on it. I think it only ever went out once, and not with me. Elizabeth hosted Emma’s twenty-first birthday party on it. They sailed down to Miami, I believe. We held a few fundraising parties on board, but for the most part, it stayed at the dock in the harbor in New York. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as this.”

“I thought all rich guys spent a ton of money on yachts and stuff,” I mused. “Of course, you have plenty of cars. And shoes.”

“Yes, I just couldn’t justify the expense of something like this.” He took off his sunglasses and folded them up to slip them into the pocket of his white seersucker shirt. “Good lord.”

“Ditto,” I said breathlessly. The photos really hadn’t done the ship justice. The way the decks were stacked with the highest—and shortest, in terms of length—sitting far back left room for skylights that illuminated half of the enormous great room. A sitting area comprised of a low, white marble-topped coffee table and slate colored half-moon sofas filled the center of the space. An enormous flat-screen television hung above a squat, rectangular fireplace, through which I could see the dining room on the other side. The table there was already set beautifully, just waiting for twelve people to fill all the chairs. Two majestic, albeit shallow, staircases wrapped around the outside of the room, cradling the arched doorways that led to the dining room.

“Let’s go upstairs!” I said, tugging at Neil’s hand.

“Wait,” he said with a laugh, heading through the archway. I followed him past the long table to the windows that face the back of the ship.

“These can come up,” I explained, motioning to a panel on the wall. “I mean, someone with a key has to do it. But they come up so you can eat outside-ish.” Beyond them, a small sitting area crowned a broad, split set of stairs that led down to the bottom deck, where we could swim or board jet skis.

Not that I planned to do either in the ocean. There were sharks in there.

Upstairs, we found the home theater with a state-of-the-art sound system, the guest bedrooms—including a princess-themed one for Olivia—all with their private bathrooms, and the indoor/outdoor pool with swim-up bar and optional waterfall curtain between the outside and inside. On the other side of that deck, a stunning sauna and gym with sea views would make sure we didn’t slack on our workouts.

But it was the private owner’s deck that I really wanted Neil and El-Mudad to see. I made Neil wait until we were all together again before taking them up in the elevator.

“I worked really hard to get this right, okay guys?” I warned them. “So you have to like it.”

“And if we don’t, we should lie about it, or we’ll never hear the end of it,” Neil said to El-Mudad, who laughed but also elbowed him a little to support me.

The elevator doors opened onto the deck that was meant only for us. We exited behind a cozy seating area with three oversized armchairs, ottomans, and side tables grouped into a semi-circle facing another retractable glass wall. Beyond that, the smallest of all the outdoor decks held the pièce de résistance, as far as I was concerned: a raised, round hot tub with three seats and glass completely enclosing one side.

“That’s lovely,” Neil said, headed straight for the door. “And very clever.”

“How did you think it up?” El-Mudad asked though he didn’t go outside to inspect it the way Neil did.

“I actually saw something like it on another yacht.” I revised my statement. “I mean, in pictures of another yacht. I don’t go on many.”

“That may change,” El-Mudad observed, his hand lingering on the tops of the leather chairs as he walked around them.

I tilted my head. “Why do you say that?”

“Because everyone who owns a boat like this shows it off,” he explained casually. “Next season, we should take it to Monaco. I’m sure the design firm would appreciate it.”

“Wait, like...it’s a tour of homes kind of thing?” I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of just anyone marching onto my—our—boat. “Would you guys really be into that?”