The Dare Collection November 2018. Christy McKellen

and heard enough outrageous demands to last a lifetime. Gideon Mortimer’s requests came within the top five per cent.

      ‘The yacht has a crew of twenty-five. That’s more than adequate to provide the service you need. As for your other requests, the captain also has a helicopter licence, twenty years’ flying experience under his belt and can fly you anywhere you need to go from the vessel.’

      ‘I’m bringing my most important client on board to finalise a business deal I’ve been trying to close for the best part of a year. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.’

      ‘And nothing, within my purview and the terms and conditions I sent to your assistant, will. All your demands...within reason, will be met.’

      ‘“We provide a three-sixty-degree service of excellence, one hundred per cent of the time.” Isn’t that your slogan?’

      ‘Yes, and the crew you need are ready to be allocated to you should you wish to lease the yacht. That includes three extra staff from my Monte Carlo office. Any more and I’ll have to shut that office down for the summer.’

      ‘Then do it.’

      ‘No, I won’t. You’re a potential valued client, but you’re not my only client. As a businessman you’ll understand that I can’t place my eggs in one basket. And frankly, the staffing ratio you’re asking for is excessive so if you’re not willing to budge on that, then we’ve come full circle.’

      ‘As a businesswoman, you should know that sometimes success hinges on making that one bold decision that could turn a crucial tide in your favour.’

      I allowed myself a small smile at the irony. Gideon Mortimer had no idea how much I’d risked to be a part of the consortium that had built the yacht. How much he himself was crucial to achieving my next goal. ‘Trust me, I do. But from where I’m standing, I’m not sure you’re that tide bringer.’ Right now, he was more like a pain in my ass, albeit a very sexy-sounding one.

      Silence greeted my response.

      Had I been too bold? I might not be the biggest dog in the yard but I hadn’t let that stop me from barking long and loud when I needed to.

      I mentally shrugged. If Gideon Mortimer wanted to take his business elsewhere, it’d be a blow, but it wouldn’t kill my plans for the future. It’d just delay it a little.

      That stony ache beneath my breastbone rubbed hard, as if reminding me of its existence. I breathed through it.

      ‘A bold move, insulting a potential client,’ he said, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

      ‘I believe in playing a straight bat. If that’s too offensive for you, I’ve given your assistant the names of much larger firms who could cater to what you want.’ Those firms believed in landing their business no matter what it took. I didn’t.

      ‘It’s not my assistant’s job to sell the yacht to me. It’s yours. Shouldn’t you be bending over backwards to please me? Or are you inflexible?’

      ‘I’m flexible in every way that counts. I was a junior athletics gymnast before I went to university and I have three medals to show for it, two of which are gold.’

      ‘And how long ago was that?’ he mused. ‘Thirty? Forty years? You’ve obviously grown rusty.’

      My fingers tightened around the handset as I counted to ten. I’d let a personal detail slip. My number-one rule of business was to keep my emotions out of it. That included not letting clients rile me.

      ‘I can fly in the special smoked salmon you requested so it’s ready for you each morning. Same goes for the caviar from Iceland and the tuna from Norway. Any other culinary requests will be catered for, you have my word. And...I can stretch the crew to twenty-seven if you really need it. It would involve taking more members of staff from Monaco but with some clever balancing, I could make it work.’

      ‘My client is bringing a large entourage, possibly his extended family. So might I. That’s why we’re hiring a twenty-cabin vessel. Three weeks is a long time on a boat. We’ll all require various forms of entertainment. A crew of twenty-seven at full capacity would be a stretch. On top of that, I believe you told my assistant the captain is the only one who knows the vessel inside and out. I’ll need an experienced member of crew who is not the captain—since I believe he’ll be otherwise occupied actually piloting the boat—to answer any questions my client will have about the yacht. This is your golden opportunity to turn a lease into a sale. I may be in the market for the right yacht. My client has two and is looking for a third. Does that register at all?’

      ‘Of course,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘Every crew member is given a tutorial on the boat.’

      ‘Really? And how long was this tutorial?’

      I felt heat rise up my neck. ‘Sixty minutes.’

      He didn’t respond for a long time. ‘For a five-hundred-foot, five-deck yacht?’ Disbelief rang through his voice. ‘Do you want this commission, Miss Branson?’

      I bit the inside of my cheek until my eyes watered. With every atom of my being I wanted to say no. I’d sunk all my capital into this vessel in the hope of making a once-in-a-lifetime sale that would be an answer to all my dreams. But the rental Gideon Mortimer was dangling in front of me, with the possibility of an extension, would also bring in a considerable injection of cash, enough for me to expand my business.

      To do that, I needed men like Gideon Mortimer. ‘I want your business.’

      ‘Then find a way for us to both get what we want.’

      I took a breath. ‘Fine. You’ll hear from me by five p.m. today.’

      ‘Wonderful. And please bear in mind that if you don’t call me back, I’ll remember it for a very long time.’ The line went dead.

      This time I resisted the urge to slam my phone. After replacing the handset, I went to the kitchenette attached to the open-plan office, boiled the kettle and dropped a teabag into my favourite mug.

      I stirred slowly while counting to a hundred. Then I threw the whole thing down the drain. Normally, I loved my job, loved turning a dream into reality for the average Joe like my grandfather, who’d made my childhood a little bearable by passing his love of sailing to me.

      He’d take me out on the water when my mother’s mood swings veered into bitterness and depression, or when my father made one of his transient, illicit visits to the woman who’d never managed to free herself from a man unworthy of her love.

      The freedom of being out on the open sea had helped me to forget the man who’d never been interested in fatherhood.

      It’d been a natural transition to turn that hobby into a business with Adam, the man I’d thought I’d marry.

      Until he’d nearly derailed my life with his betrayal.

      But there was a reason Grandma Agnes had claimed my middle name was stubborn. Letting treachery get the better part of me hadn’t been an option.

      Maybe in the beginning, with my name over the door and gleaming on my stationery, I’d hoped Adam would crawl back and beg forgiveness for the shitty move he’d pulled.

      Or maybe I’d wanted to rub my success in the faces of those who found it so easy to snatch my happiness from me. I wanted to show them that I could exist in their world, hell, even rub shoulders with them.

      Whatever. Freud would have a field day with me.

      But those sensations had passed quickly and left a burning need to succeed for me and me alone.

      But not the memory of Adam’s betrayal.

      I rinsed the cup and walked over to the large corkboard where I’d pinned the itinerary for the next three months. I had the same schedule on my laptop but it pleased me to see my hard work laid out in pretty stationery.

      May to August