The Skipper & the Billionaire Playboy

by Mia Caldwell

  His eyes widened; those adorable blue eyes that always won his way with women. Not her, of course, but the susceptible women who went for his kind.

  He held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Whoa, hang on there. That isn’t what I meant at all, Skipper. I’m talking about a business deal that would give me what I need and reward you. There must be something you want? Name your price.”

  Almost immediately, the mental image of a catamaran similar to the one her father had owned popped into her head. A quick mental calculation yielded exactly how much she would need to leave this job five to seven years early and pursue her own dream. Without thought, the figure rolled off her tongue and out her mouth.

  He didn’t even blink. “Done. You be my loving girlfriend for a week with my family, and I’ll deliver a check to you at the end of the week for that amount, plus another ten grand because you’ve been an excellent skipper.”

  “You do realize I’ll be resigning, sir? I have plans for that money.” She spoke professionally, sounding unfazed even as her brain whirled. Was she really going to do this? Had he found the price to make her act in a dishonest manner? With another mental flash of sailing her catamaran in the America’s Cup, she nodded just once, more to herself than to him. Yes, she supposed he had found the exact number to buy her.

  Not that he was actually buying her. There would be none of that. It was simply a business arrangement, a slight pretense that would be over quickly. She’d probably have to endure some snide comments and some ugly looks from his old-money family, because they surely wouldn’t be pleased if he brought home a black girlfriend, but that was his problem instead of hers. “I’ll require half the money up front as well, just in case our deal ends early.”

  He shrugged. “Done again. And I’ll regret losing you as skipper of the Quixote, because you’ve been an excellent captain, but I’m glad we could both find mutual benefit from this arrangement.”

  He held out his hand, and she accepted it to shake. It should have been purely businesslike, a way to seal their deal, and shouldn’t have made her palm tingle. Quickly, she dropped his hand and cleared her throat, banishing all contemplation of inappropriate reactions to his touch. “What shall I do to prepare for this, Mr. Sinclair?”

  “You can start by calling me Sawyer, and we’ll stop before San Francisco to acquire a new wardrobe for you. You need it for some of the fancy crap my mom will plan.” He grinned and winked.

  She managed a small smile, responding to his conspiratorial wink even though she didn’t want to. “Very well. What role am I supposed to play? Where did you meet me? Am I one of your usual bimb…types?”

  His lips twitched, and it was clear he understood what she’d almost uttered. “I don’t see any reason to maintain a pretense. Simply tell them the truth. You’re the skipper of my boat, and the captain of my heart.”

  Nadia couldn’t help letting out a groan at those words. “Would you like some wine with that, Sawyer? That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” His name felt strange on her tongue, since he’d always been Mr. Sinclair or just Sinclair in her more irritable moments, at least in her internal thoughts.

  Generally when addressing him, she called him sir. It was going to be a strange change, thankfully one to which she had a couple of days to adapt. And since she would not be returning as skipper, she didn’t have to worry about slipping back to the employer-employee dynamic after their pretense ended in a week.

  It was a strange bargain they had struck, but she supposed she could live through a week of pretending to be his partner in exchange for having her dreams that much sooner. Even his family’s likely disapproval wouldn’t be that bad if she just remembered the check awaiting her at the end of their transaction.

  Chapter Two

  In keeping with his plan to purchase a suitable wardrobe for the coming week, Nadia modified their trip to include a stop in San Diego. That didn’t strike her as a particularly high-fashion destination, but Sawyer insisted. After they docked at the marina, she was unsurprised to see a limousine waiting for them. It was a familiar sight when he disembarked from the boat, though she had never ridden in one with him before. The last time she’d been in a limo was for her senior prom.

  This one was nicer than that had been, and she couldn’t help appreciating the small touches of luxury, including a wet bar and an iced bucket of champagne with two flutes awaiting them. “I’ve never been much of an actor, Sawyer. I suppose I should warn you about that ahead of time.”

  He shrugged. “How hard can it be to pretend like we’re in love?” He asked the question in a syrupy sweet voice before rolling his eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know why my grandfather cares that much anyway about who I’m dating.”

  She could have probably enlightened him, assuming his grandfather had a similar opinion to hers, which was most twenty-nine-year-old men had some sort of responsibility by this point in life, and they’d at least had a few stable relationships if they weren’t ready to settle down permanently.

  She agreed with Sawyer that it wasn’t his family’s business with whom he spent his time, but she was happy to use their manipulations to her advantage. That sounded cold and scheming, but she couldn’t regret the deal they had struck that would allow her to pursue her own dream years sooner.

  Deciding to immerse herself in the role early, in hopes it would help her be in the right frame of mind by the time they met with his family tomorrow afternoon, she took the flute of champagne he extended and clicked it lightly against his own glass. “To a rewarding relationship.”

  For her, the reward would be her own catamaran, and for him, he envisioned it would be a cessation of nagging, at least for a while. She really thought he had picked the wrong woman for the position, but reminded herself again that was his problem, not hers. All she had to do was deal with snobbery for a week, or less if he got tired of it all and cut short the visit. As long as she endured and made it through the week of misery, it would certainly be worth it in the end.

  The limousine ferried them to an unremarkable string of shops, and she arched a brow as she imagined finding classy fashions in this place. It seemed so unlikely, but she knew very little about the latest styles. With a quick gulp, she finished the rest of her champagne before surrendering the flute to Sawyer.

  He set them both aside before stepping out, where the driver waited with the door open. When he leaned in to offer a hand, she took it, reminding herself it was part of the role.

  However, sparks of electricity racing up her palm weren’t part of the role, and she pulled away as soon as politely possible. That was a disconcerting reaction to a man she didn’t even really like. Surely she wasn’t foolish enough to be attracted to Sawyer Sinclair? No, of course not. She had better common sense than that. Nadia was a practical woman, and Sawyer was the most impractical man available.

  They entered a small shop, which appeared as nondescript as the others in the row, aside from the heavy drapes blocking the windows. As soon as the door closed behind them, she knew they had entered a different place entirely than what she had expected. Inside, there were bolts of gorgeous fabric, along with mannequins dressed in a variety of casual and fine wear, all of it clearly expensive and exquisitely made.

  The blonde receptionist stood up from the desk behind which she had sat, and she could have been a perfect fashion plate herself. With her hair wound into an elegant chignon, perfectly done makeup that was understated but sexy, and a crème sheath dress that hugged her curves, but not in a trashy way, she made Nadia feel inadequate.

  With the extravagant red heels the woman wore, she was almost Nadia’s height, which was a surprise. Few women stood as tall as Nadia, who was an inch shy of six-feet, and it only added to her sense of inadequacy. For just a moment, she was intimidated by the wealth around her. She firmed her mouth, determined to stamp out that ridiculous reaction. Straightening her shoulders, she held out her hand when the blonde offered hers.

  “Welcome
to Menaul’s. I’m Bridget, and I’ll be happy to assist you today.”

  Her manner changed when she turned to take Sawyer’s hand, not even waiting to hear Nadia’s reply. “Welcome, sir.”

  Nadia barely held back the urge to roll her eyes at the way the woman’s body position shifted, her posture turning slinky and inviting with just a slight adjustment of her hip, knee, and shoulder. She might as well have put a “screw me” sign across her chest. It was a reaction common to women, at least as far she had observed in the times when she’d been unable to avoid seeing Sawyer interact with his conquests, and she supposed she would have to get used to it for at least the next week.

  “Thank you, Bridget, but could you please get Onja for us? Tell her Sawyer requests her.”

  Bridget’s full lips took on a pouty look, but she didn’t argue as she turned on her high heels and marched into the back room. Nadia couldn’t help a small smile at the other woman’s hint of irritation at being replaced by request.

  A few moments later, Bridget emerged once more, sending a cool nod in their direction before returning to the desk. She’d never seen a desk in a retail shop before, but it was elegant and antique, and just one more way the shop set itself apart from others.

  Less than a minute later, a petite Asian woman stepped out from the back room. She was just as put together as Bridget, though not as understated. Her red sheath dress was made from raw silk and screamed sex, though still in a tasteful way. Surprisingly, she didn’t wear towering heels. Instead, simple gold ballet flats covered her feet. She seemed self-possessed and confident as she strode toward them.

  Half a foot away from them, she stopped in front of Sawyer, who grinned lazily at her. He opened his mouth to greet her, but before he could get in a word, her hand pulled back and smacked into his cheek with the thudding sound of flesh against flesh.

  He clapped a hand to his face, whistling through his teeth. “Damn, Onja, you’ve got quite a right hook on you.”

  The other woman rolled her eyes. “It was my left hand, you idiot, and you certainly had that coming.”

  Nadia couldn’t help it. She liked Onja already, perhaps sensing a kindred spirit who wouldn’t put up with his bullshit. Not that she had any option of doing so, at least when he had been her employer. Now that he was her pretend-boyfriend, and she wouldn’t be working for him any longer after this week, she would be more free to express her opinion of his womanizing ways, should the opportunity arise.

  The other woman turned to her and extended a hand, smiling sweetly. “Hello, and welcome to Menaul’s. How may I help you today, miss?”

  “Call me Nadia, and I guess I need a wardrobe suitable for mingling with Sawyer’s people.”

  The Asian woman’s darted brow drew up barely noticeably. “I see. Come with me please, and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

  “I’ll just stay here and have some coffee,” called Sawyer behind them as he settled himself into a comfortable-looking wingback chair on the other side of the room from Bridget’s desk.

  Onja waved a careless hand at him, and Nadia nodded in his direction, but neither woman spoke. She had to bite back a laugh at his surprised expression. Clearly, he was unused to women not doting on him.

  As soon as they were completely in the back room, Onja turned to her with a small smile. “I do apologize for slapping him, and I hope you don’t think I treat all my clients that way.”

  Nadia smiled too. “No, I’m not offended at all. Knowing Sawyer, I’m sure he’s done something to deserve it.”

  Onja linked her arm through Nadia’s to bring her to a rack of exquisite clothing. “He broke my heart,” she said carelessly, as though it no longer mattered. “Of course, I was foolish enough to let him. I am surprised to see him back again, and with his…girlfriend?” she asked delicately.

  Nadia almost denied that, but realized she had to maintain the role starting now. If word reached his family in San Francisco that it was all a sham, the deal would be off, and while she had a nice deposit from Sawyer sitting in her bank account, she still needed the other half to be able to pursue her dream independently without having to work as a skipper for someone else in the interim.

  Finally, with a small hesitation, she nodded. “I guess you could say that. We’re figuring us out.” That sounded ambiguous enough without revealing too much or forcing her to lie, at least not in vivid detail.

  “I sincerely wish you better luck than me or the rest of us, Nadia.” Onja seemed genuine in her sentiment, and not as though she was simply putting on a façade to satisfy a wealthy customer.

  That was the last they spoke of it, and soon enough she was immersed in trying on the kind of clothes she had never dreamed of owning. Somehow, Onja seemed to coax out her own style and love of casualness and little fuss, but still made her look like a million dollars. The clothes were exactly what she would have picked if she’d previously found herself in the position of needing such a wardrobe. Before she knew it, three hours had passed before Onja decided she had enough for a week with the Sinclairs.

  When she emerged from the back room, Nadia was half-surprised to find Sawyer still sitting in the same chair, his phone absorbing his attention. She’d almost expected to find him in flagrante delicto with the receptionist. Judging from the cold look Bridget sent her, it appeared either Sawyer had ignored her, or perhaps even more unlikely had shut her down.

  That was a surprising turn of events, but she supposed he was embracing his current role as well. He was no more eager for his family to discover they weren’t really involved than she was, though for different reasons, of course.

  He stood up, freezing as he took in the sight of her. She had changed from her simple slacks and short-sleeve shirt into a slightly dressier floral pantsuit that nipped in at the waist, but fluttered around her in a flatteringly feminine fashion. New white sandals also adorned her feet, and she was thankful she had taken time to polish her toenails this morning.

  “You look fantastic, Nadia.”

  She couldn’t keep a small, genuine smile from blossoming on her face. Sawyer looked sincere and didn’t seem to be condescending or lecherous. He just seemed to simply admire the outfit she wore, or how she wore it. “Thank you, sir…Sawyer.” She hastily altered her words at the last moment, thankful neither Onja nor Bridget seemed to notice her lapse. She wondered what they would have made of it if she had accidentally called him sir?

  Would they have realized there was no relationship between them, or perhaps assumed it was some kind of kinky thing like in “Fifty Shades of Grey?” She barely bit back a giggle at the thought. She wasn’t submissive, and he didn’t seem like the bondage type—not that it mattered to her. She had no interest in finding out anything too personal about him, including whether he preferred candles and champagne or whips and handcuffs.

  After he passed over his black AmEx card, he took her arm in his and suggested they find somewhere to have lunch while the staff packed her purchases, and the driver stowed them in the limousine. She nodded her agreement, traded a parting with Onja, and walked with him out of the boutique.

  There were a few restaurant options nearby, and she was surprised when he chose a simple Mexican cantina across the parking lot. It couldn’t have been anything he was used to eating, she assumed, and certainly not Michelin-starred fine dining.

  She couldn’t deny he seemed at ease when they entered the plain restaurant though. It was the kind of place she used to eat at routinely, before she started living aboard the Quixote as the skipper.

  The ambience was kitschy, with sombreros on the wall and paintings of Mexico above each table. Their server brought chips and salsa and plastic-covered menus that had seen better days. She watched, waiting for him to make some sort of disparaging comment, but all he said was, “Looks delicious.”

  Deciding he was either more flexible than she had imagined, or perhaps more well-versed in various types of establishments, she turned her attention to the menu. They didn’t sp
eak again until their server had taken their orders and left with the menus.

  Before she could stop herself, she asked with the small grin, “How’s your face?”

  He touched the spot where Onja had slapped him, looking as that was an unconscious gesture. “It still stings a little.” He sounded surprised. “I wasn’t kidding when I complimented her right hook, even if it was with her left hand.”

  Nadia couldn’t help a small laugh. She really shouldn’t enjoy seeing him get his comeuppance like that, because slapping another person was truly unacceptable, but a tiny part of her had enjoyed the show. It took a measure of self-control not to continue teasing him about it, or to probe for details.

  Onja’s explanation had been vague, and she was surprisingly curious about his past relationship with the other woman. Not that she really needed any details. She’d seen enough of him over the past three years to have an idea of what he had done to Onja. Likely, he’d swept her off her feet, made her feel things intensely, and then sailed away when he got bored.

  She was thankful not to be susceptible to his charms, or to be at risk of being left behind when he sailed away. Her lips curved slightly into a smile. Technically, she would be the one sailing away at the end of this week, the new owner of a catamaran, and he would be sailing off on the Quixote with a new captain.

  That thought made her frown slightly. “Have you found a replacement for my position yet, Mr. Sin…Sawyer?” She was going to have to practice saying his name, or she was bound to screw up in front of his family.

  He lifted a careless shoulder. “I contacted the service. They’ll screen and hire someone for me before I leave San Francisco again. I’ll have a cursory interview before we leave port, but they didn’t steer me wrong last time, so I’m sure they’ll find a suitable skipper.”

  To her surprise, a pang of regret shot through her. No, it was more possessiveness. She had been the Quixote’s first captain, and while she had never owned the ship, a niggle of territorialism swept through her.