Obsessed Heir (Billionaire Heirs #4)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Barron

T he party’s in full swing by the time we leave port. The heavy beat of pulsing music blasts out of the speakers we set up on the upper deck for this event.

Austin Connors and his security team are stationed across the multitiered deck. With so many high-profile guests, it’s best to have professionals who can keep an eye on things.

“Champagne, sir?” A waiter appears at my side, offering a tray of glistening flutes.

“Thanks.” I grab one and take a sip of the crisp drink as I survey the crowd. By my account, this maiden voyage is shaping up to be a resounding success already.

I find Ethan Templeton, a man whose reputation precedes him. He’s a self-made billionaire with an empire rooted in guiding guests through Europe’s most risqué clubs. His presence here speaks to the circles this cruise is drawing.

“Barron.” He greets me with a smirk, the kind that knows too much.

“Ethan, I trust you’re enjoying yourself.” Glancing at his drink, I make sure it’s been topped off.

“I am.” He raises his flute. “I have to admit, I may have cursed you when I heard you were starting a business on the high seas.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.” I chuckle, swirling the champagne in my glass.

“I damn well wish I’d thought of this.” He gazes at the people around us. “Having a captive audience adds a certain je ne sais quoi to the experience,” Ethan chides. His tone is a mix of admiration and envy.

“Not everyone here will take part in the activities,” I point out.

“Maybe, maybe just not this time.” He gives a quick grin. “You’re pioneering a new frontier here,” he continues, gesturing to the crowd surrounding us. “Your guests are expecting more than luxury—they crave unique experiences. The kinds of things that are only whispered about in the States.”

Indulgence, the private club on board, offers exactly that. Anonymity, exclusivity, and the kind of pleasures whispered about in hushed tones.

“That’s why I started on the fringe of the continent.”

“Smart man.” He raises his glass as he rejoins the celebration.

“Another drink, sir?” a waiter offers, as I finish my champagne.

“Perfect timing.” I swap out the flutes.

Waiters are weaving in and out of the crowd, precisely as Holly planned. Champagne is going out by the caseload, and the numbers are adding up in the back of my mind. That’s why I warned the investors this first trip was likely to end up at a loss.

We need an indelible splash to make Maiden Cruise Line the next global status symbol for the ultra-wealthy and elite. Our maiden voyage consists of carefully curated A-list VIPs. With that, our every move is bound to be amplified across all social media platforms on a global scale.

The trick is to control the optics. We’ll ensure the right candid photos and videos are released to build buzz. Meanwhile, Austin’s team helps contain any untoward antics that could create a scandal.

I lean against the railing and glance across the deck. Holly’s chatting up Rhys Davenport, multi-billionaire, currently the richest man living in Alaska, which says a lot in itself. Eric D’Santo, multibillionaire heir to the D’Santo empire, is talking to Bronwyn O’Neal.

Her eyes light up as our gazes make contact. Oh hell. I should have stopped before I caught her eye. But I didn’t, so she excuses herself from Eric and heads in my direction. Eric raises his flute, grins, and shakes his head before turning away.

I’m going to need more champagne.

“Barron.” The lilting voice of surprise belongs to Bronwyn.

“Hello again.” Holly’s earlier reminder not to be an asshole replays in my mind. I’m good at reading people, and I know what I have. With this viper trying to slither into our operations, I’m better off keeping a professional distance.

Unfortunately, Bronwyn has other designs, sidling up close and placing a perfectly manicured hand on my forearm. “I’m so glad I found you.” She raises her champagne flute for a toast. “To Maiden Cruise Line, and her maiden voyage. May it all go fabulously.”

“May it all go fabulously,” I agree, holding out my drink. She touches her flute to mine then downs the rest of her drink.

“It’s the first cruise I’ve taken in years,” the model reveals. “Well, in quite a while,” she adds in a sober tone. Likely, she realized that adding “years” to her description would reflect upon her age. Something no model in her right mind would bring attention to.

“Well, I hope you enjoy the cruise.” I shift my stance, creating a few prudent inches of space between us. “We have a wide variety of activities available on board for your entertainment.”

“Yeees,” she replies, her voice heavy with suggestion. “So I’ve heard.”

The unspoken rule has been you don’t talk about Indulgence, which she’s clearly referring to. Indulgence is a private, elite venue that caters to any desire or depravity one might imagine. It’s all kept behind closed doors and away from prying eyes.

If you want to see or be seen, it’s the place to be. More importantly, if you like to watch or be watched, you’ll fit in just fine. Holly had the brilliant idea to provide masks for preserving anonymity. We then implemented a strict ban on phones or cameras to avoid any potential scandals.

I’ll be overseeing Indulgence’s operations this trip, since it’s not Holly’s scene. Not that I’ll be indulging in any of the activities myself. I can’t risk any sordid stories haunting me later. I’ve got enough to juggle keeping this ship’s itinerary and logistics running smoothly.

Keeping that schedule will be exhausting as it is. Now I have my mother to worry about. How was I supposed to know that Holly, in her infinite wisdom, invited my mother on this trip?

Her visit would have been more convenient once we had a couple of voyages under our belt. Instead, I’m having to entertain her…and Abigail.

I don’t like that the girl’s going to be underfoot the entire trip. Every time I think about it, it bothers me. She bothers me. From the way she averts her eyes to the way she pushes her hair back to hook a curl over her ear, it bothers me. All of it.

The memory of her walking away is stuck in my mind. Her hips swaying as she goes up to the bedrooms…following James.

The closest to a daughter I’ll ever have. That’s been playing on a loop?—

“I was hoping you might give me a private tour.” Bronwyn’s honeyed tone pulls me back to the present, her meaning abundantly clear. “If you can get away for a little while.”

I don’t need this woman trying to lure me into some complicated situation.

“I’m sure you’ll find plenty of diversions to occupy your time when you’re not on a shoot,” I deflect with professional courtesy.

“Speaking of photo shoots…” She jumps on to the change of subject with an eager smile.

At that moment, I realize I fucked up. The one thing I wanted to avoid was giving her an opportunity to weasel herself into the business operations. And yet I not only opened that door, I practically rolled out the red carpet for her. Damn it, why did I let myself get distracted?

“There you are,” Holly says. Her return couldn’t have been more perfect.

“Oh.” The model’s smile grows strained. “I didn’t realize you were with Barron.”

“Yes,” she replies, offering a champagne flute. “I went to check on the staff.”

She glances at the glass I’m holding. “Well, since Barron is still nursing his drink.” She holds the flute out like an olive branch.

The model opens her mouth, running the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. She’s struggling to figure out how to get back on track.

“Perfect. Now we can toast.” I hold up my drink. “To photography.” Which leaves her no choice other than to accept.

With obviously contrived cheer, she takes the flute and proceeds to toast. “And Holly is the perfect person for you to talk to about that.”

Holly glares at me as she lowers her flute. “I am?”

“You are the one in charge of public relations and marketing for the company,” I remind her. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I certainly am.”

“How marvelous.” The model displays an overly sweet smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Rhys walks up to join us.

“Barron,” he greets, giving me a firm handshake and an easy smile before turning to Bronwyn and Holly. “Ladies, you’ll excuse me, but I’m stealing Barron for a consult.”

He steps to one side, like he’s ready to walk away, and I grab the opportunity to extricate myself.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss the setup.” I’ll probably pay for leaving her with that headache at some point. But I don’t want to deal with any of it.

“Thanks,” Holly replies, through a pasted-on smile.

“Once you’ve worked out the schedule, come by my office.” Leaving her an avenue to escape might be enough to get me back into her good graces.

I catch up with Rhys. “I assume Holly pulled you into duty.”

He grins, bringing his drink to his lips. “Figured prying you out of that woman’s clutches would go a long way toward thanking you for letting me stow away on the trip.”

I chuckle. “Glad we could accommodate you.” Though I’m not sure how, since we’re out of space and his joining us was last minute. “Holly was able to get you a room?”

He smirks. “Not quite. But I told her I’d make do, even if I had to sleep in the back seat of my copter.”

With his looks and his money, he shouldn’t have a problem finding a bed for the night.

“Well, let me know if you end up in a jam.”

He nods once. “Will do. Now, you might want to get gone before she wiggles free of Holly.”

“Good point.” I lift my drink in a toast.

With that, I turn and stride away, keeping to the edge of the crowd. Luckily, most people are on the far side of the area, trying to capture the city as it disappears into the distance.

I reach the stairs and quietly make my escape.

“Sir.”

“Sir.”

Several of the staff address me in passing.

“Another drink, sir?”

“I’m good. But I’ll leave you this empty.” I hand off what’s left of my champagne before continuing inside.

I head across the ship, toward the private elevator, intent on getting to my suite. I pull my phone out and send James a message.

Send lunch for two to my suite.

Abigail can go to the dining room if she’s hungry. Then I reconsider. While I may not want the girl around, excluding her would be purposefully rude. My very Southern mother would give me an earful.

The ladies have already had their meal. Would you like me to arrange for something for you?

And here I am thinking of manners.

Yes.

Annoyed, I shove the phone into my pocket. Glancing across the ship’s atrium, I spot a familiar figure one floor down. And, this time, I’m not the only one watching those hips sway.

My hand tightens into a fist.