Hard No: Secret Baby Enemies to Lovers Romance by Hazel Parker (fun to read txt) 📗

saw the movie itself. I also can’t remember the last time I watched a movie in its entirety. To be honest, I’m not even sure if I still have cable.

That movie reoccurs to me now, though, because I recall the cover of the DVD, with a row of copies of the protagonist lined up behind the oblivious heroine. It sounds appealing on the surface, the idea of several versions of me all attending to the more pressing aspects of my everyday life.

I would need one for each of my restaurants, and another three to oversee the planning behind the scenes. Then another one to handle all my non-work responsibilities. Seven of me, and my life would be so much more manageable.

As I step out onto the dock, I realize, though, that I could never send a clone to do any of my work for me. I want to be there in person, doing everything myself. For another thing, I wouldn’t miss a firsthand look at the monstrosity before me for the world.

The Wavebourne floats tied up to the dock before me like a luxury hotel tipped on its side, which somehow has forgotten to sink. I would find out later from its proud owner that, at a hundred and sixty-four feet, it was the largest yacht in the Regatta. It was also the most expensive—valued at two hundred million dollars.

There’s a point where luxury just starts coming across as silly, though, so to me, the ship just seemed grotesquely excessive.

At my side, Daniel intoned, “Good thing it’s springtime…I hear boats this big don’t do so well around icebergs.”

I shush him, and we head for the retractable walkway that will allow us to board the Wavebourne.

Time flies when you’re having fun, so they say, but I’m here to tell you that it positively screams past when you’re getting ready for a huge, important job. I had been up until three in the morning today, checking and re-checking plans, the same way that a mountain-climber would check his gear. This is a more apt analogy than you might think—one misstep could lead to disaster, and this was one big, expensive stage to have a disaster befall you.

Daniel is clearly nervous. He hasn’t been out on many private gigs like this one. Actually, I don’t think many people at all have been out on private gigs like this one. It’s like cooking for the American equivalent of royalty.

Surprisingly, we’re met by the owner and captain himself, Lucas Monroe, as soon as we are on board. Even more surprisingly, at least to me, Monroe hasn’t decked himself out in a pretentious captain’s hat. On the contrary, he seems very pleasant and accommodating.

“Ms. White,” he says, stepping forward to shake my hand. “Mr. Jeffreys. Thank you for making yourselves available on such short notice.”

“Two weeks is hardly short notice,” I say, although all of us know better. It had taken every spare waking minute I had to get this put together.

“Still,” Monroe says, “I’m looking forward to what you serve up today. Your shopping list was quite intriguing.”

I would be amused at his faint dismissal of my ingredients as having possibly been jotted down on the back of a car wash coupon if my guts weren’t in knots. Truth be told, I was even more nervous than Daniel, which meant I had to keep an even tighter lid on it.

“You were very generous,” I tell Monroe. This was itself a pretty generous statement, being that the cost of the ingredients for lunch alone totaled a bit more than fourteen thousand dollars. I had checked again and again with Monroe as to whether or not the high price tag for the day was okay, and every time he had assured me that money was no object.

“Not at all,” he declares, squinting off into the dazzling sunlight. “I just hope the meals are as gorgeous as this day is turning out to be.”

“They absolutely will be,” I confirm. “If you’d just be good enough to show us to the kitchen, Daniel and I will go ahead and get to work so that lunch will be ready on time.”

Monroe has a small group of helpers around him like satellites, and I expect him to task one of them with conducting us through what will no doubt be a labyrinth of corridors. Again, though, he surprises me by saying, “Right this way.” Then he’s off, his entourage drifting along behind him. Daniel and I follow, each of us trying not to gawk at the opulence of our surroundings.

“This painting,” Monroe says, pointing as we navigate a wide, carpeted hallway. “Degas. You wouldn’t believe how much I had to insure it for to keep it on a ship, but it was worth it. Things like this are meant to be enjoyed, aren’t they?”

“Yes, indeed,” I agree, as though I had spent time deciding whether to hang my own Monet in the living room or in the dining room.

He points out a few more items of interest on our journey through the Wavebourne, all of them worth more than all three of my restaurants put together, probably. Daniel looks positively green. I suspect it’s because he’s afraid he’ll bump into something valuable and break it. There’s no chance he’s suffering from seasickness—the ship is completely steady under our feet, either as the result of some kind of counterbalancing mechanism or because the ship is just too damned big to rock.

“And here we are,” Monroe says at last. “I trust the facilities will be adequate?”

I look. It’s as though someone has teleported a full kitchen on board. Everything gleams as though it has never been used. Neatly wrapped and tied parcels are at the ready.

“More than adequate, Mr. Monroe,” I answer. “Daniel and I will get right to work if that’s all right.”

“Your polite way of saying