Page 9 of The Cruiser
ChapterFour
I keep my bio brief.An Orange County girl, born and raised in Laguna Beach. A father whose network of car dealerships inspired my interest in business. I graduated magna cum laude from Stanford, and two years later, founded Sevruga with Vaughn after being introduced at a cocktail party. He was a senior executive at another PR firm and was ready to branch out on his own.
“It’s been a good fit,” I say, picking at the olives that arrived with our wine. “We complement each other.”
“I was told you two are the best,” Morgan says.
“We like to think so.” Smiling, I take a sip of the Barolo. Rich and massively structured, it is very good wine. “It sounds like you’ve made quite the name for yourself as well. What inspired you to become a yacht designer?”
Morgan leans in for an olive, and it borders on erotic as he removes the pit from his mouth with nimble fingers.
God. How to scrub that vision from my brain.
“The ocean is where I feel the freest,” he says, leaning back to swirl his wine. “I was born on a boat and christened with saltwater. I learned to swim before I could walk.”
“Sounds like destiny, then. In a way.”
He shakes his head. “That implies forces beyond my control decided for me, when it’s the opposite. If you don’t pursue what you’re most interested in, what’s the point?”
His declaration reverberates deep under my ribcage. I zigged instead of zagged in my career and it’s worked out, but there comes a time when that’s not enough. The way Morgan looks at me, it’s like he knows.
“I understand your father was a boat builder,” I say, moving right along. “Did he encourage you to follow in his footsteps?”
“I’ve never followed anyone,” he says, sounding offended at the suggestion. “That’s why my boats are as unique as they are.”
The man speaks the truth. His yachts are jaw-dropping. The beautiful lines of the exteriors seem to be an extension of him, but all that magnificence comes from an interior place.
“Tell me what inspires your designs,” I ask. “From in here.”
I lay a hand over my heart and prove he’s not the only one who can play the eye contact game. Or games in general. His earlier comment about being born on a boat and so forth felt like sound-bites. Rote answers he’s given a million times. I’ve interviewed hundreds of clients, and I know when they’re keeping things surface and safe. Working together effectively means digging deeper. But based on how he angles his body away from me, deeper isn’t where he wants to go.
“A well-designed yacht is like a woman,” he says, his eyes roaming over my bare legs. “Deceptively simple lines but underneath the surface, they’re infinitely more complex. The challenge is wrangling that complexity. The challenge is what interests me.”
“Deceptively simple,” I repeat. Wow. Had he really just said that? “Forgive me for not agreeing with that part of your design mantra—as it relates to women.”
A ghost of a smile flickers on his face. “You’re forgetting infinitely complex.”
“What you’re saying is, women inspire your designs?”
“I enjoy the symmetry and curves of the female form immensely. Very inspirational,” he adds, tipping his wineglass in my direction.
Well. What to say to that?
Dakota saves me, reappearing with impeccable timing. She unloads her tray of arugula salads, seared halibut cheeks and a platter ringed with crackers. Nestled in the center is a bowl heaped full of shiny grey pearls.
“I ordered the caviar especially for you,” Morgan says. “I figure if someone names their company Sevruga, high-end caviar is a must.”
Huh. Just when I’m ready to dislike him. “Thank you,” I say. “That’s very thoughtful. And you guessed right.”
Dakota beams at Morgan. “Do you need anything else?”
Morgan dismisses her with a wave of his hand and tops up our wine. “Bon appétit,” he says. “Please, start.”
I didn’t realize how hungry I am, and it’s hard to remain ladylike as I dig into my biggest weakness. While I nibble away, Morgan picks up the conversational thread. Born in the South Pacific on his parents’ sailboat, he didn’t touch land until his first birthday. An only child, he spent his formative years learning the ropes of boat design from his father and started his own company at twenty. Royal Morgan Yachts now employs ten staff and will hire more next year, pending a few contracts.
His beguiling accent leaves me in a trance. He could read War and Peace and make it sound like saucy pulp fiction. With the Barolo starting to go to my head, it’s hard not to sink into the cushions and let the night drape around me. Luxuriate in the silent warmth from the heat lamps and the simple pleasures of good wine and caviar.
But I am here for a reason.
