Page 10 of The Cruiser
When he wraps up his life story and steals a bite of fish, I shift back into gear. “I know you don’t have all night, and I want to make sure all your PR questions get answered. I can give you a brief overview on how we work with clients.”
He uncorks the second bottle of Barolo with the wine opener Dakota brought earlier. "Take your time. I have no other commitments. And this needs to breathe.”
For the next thirty minutes, I’m a passionate public relations crusader. I tell him how it’s a form of storytelling. How we’re not involved in, nor do we create advertising for clients. We persuade opinions through earned exposure. “Think of it like this,” I add. “With PR you don’t control the message, the media does. But that doesn’t mean we let them run with unmanaged narratives. We’re very hands on. Our focus is primarily on events and interactions designed to plant a flag in the public’s mind about who you are. We earn trust and build on it.”
Morgan eyes me over his glass of wine. I can tell he’s not sold. In fact, no one’s ever seemed less interested in what I have to say. “Does it matter what the public thinks of me? My work speaks for itself.”
“Well, you called me,” I say to jog his memory. “It must matter on some level.”
“Do you care what people think about you?”
“This isn’t about me.”
“But do you?” he presses.
Of course I care. More than I ever let on. “It’s my business to care.”
He stabs at his salad, taking time to chew and swallow. “To be upfront, this missive has more to do with the opinions of my senior staff.” He pause, smiles thinly. “To smooth my edges, so to speak.”
Interesting. In other words, he’s not here because he wants to be.
“There are three important European yacht shows in the fall,” he goes on to explain. “Cannes just finished. Genoa and Monaco are up next. I’m in the mix for a lucrative contract, one of my boats is up for an award, and we’re expanding our design services. There’s a lot going on. The consensus is I need someone to oversee the bigger picture. When you come to Monaco next week, I’ll—”
“Excuse me,” I interrupt. “Did you say next week?”
He dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Yes. Didn’t Vaughn relay the message?”
“He mentioned a future date but nothing specific.”
“Is there a problem?”
Other than my personal life in tatters? Bloody Vaughn and his distractedness. Now I hope he calls me so I can chew him out.
“No problems,” I lie. “But I haven’t had time to immerse myself in your company or the industry. PR doesn’t happen overnight, and this is practically no notice. I just want to manage expectations. And you haven’t asked about our terms.”
“I’m sure they’re reasonable,” he says, pouring more wine into his glass before moving onto mine. I’m over my limit and feeling it, so I cover the glass with my hand. Maybe it’s the lanterns hanging in the tree nearby or the glow of the half-moon, now high above us. The circle of skin where my wedding band sat for six years pops bright white against my tan. Few people would notice a ring of pale skin. Morgan catches it, however, and we study each other for a length of time that feels a lot longer than the eight seconds it actually is.
I had yanked the ring off before leaving the house tonight, one of those dark, depressing moments with too many questions and no answers. That simple act of removing what had symbolically bound Derek and I felt like a small reclamation of self. Staring at my ringless hand now, it all comes rushing back.
The unknown path my life is on.
Morgan clocks the shift in my body language and sets the bottle down. “Shall we go to my room and finish up the night?”
I blink, not sure I’ve heard him correctly. “Finish what?”
He tilts this head. “Isn’t there one more step between you and me?”
I’m trying hard to keep a neutral expression stamped on my face, but wow. I’m naive about some things, clearly, but not innuendo. This guy is so used to women throwing themselves at him, he doesn’t even have to try hard.
I gather my boozy thoughts, a harder-than-expected task. “Just to be clear, this meeting is purely business.”
To my great horror, he chuckles. “Perhaps I’m not being clear. Did you bring a contract with you? There’s a desk in my room and proper lighting. Better suited for me to review your terms, if that’s important to you.”
Oh. Shit.
Shitty shit shit shit.
The best thing, the only thing, is to pretend those words hadn’t left my mouth. “I didn’t bring a contract with me, but my assistant can email you first thing Monday.”
