Page 12 of An Epic Voyage (The Epic Beauty Salon Files #1)
G riffin was too wired to sleep. He did not need the distraction of Indigo Adair, but he couldn’t seem to stay away from her either. She was one end of a magnet and he the other, pulled together by an inevitable and unstoppable electrical force.
He had a job to do, and then there was the storm. He wasn’t one to portend trouble, but he felt an impending sense of doom.
“Griffin.”
He turned to see Van Houten striding toward him. The ever-present bodyguards weren’t around. Neither was Jinger.
“Hey, Benny.” He hated calling him that, but the man insisted.
Van Houten clapped him on the shoulder. “Tell me about the lovely Ms. Adair. Are you two an item?”
“I just met her a few hours ago.”
“Good. Good.”
It was? Why?
“Tell me what you know about her.”
“I ran a background check, and she came up clean. She works at an upscale salon in Boston.”
“Not married?”
“No.”
He did not like the gleam in Van Houten’s eye.
“What’s your take on her wanting to work with Jinger?”
“Long term, I would say not good. She made it clear she loves her job and doesn’t plan on leaving.”
“Everyone has a price. I’ll find hers.”
Good luck.
“Tomorrow evening, I want you and Indigo to join Jinger and me in my private dining room.”
He’d rather smear meat juice over his body and jump into the ocean. Instead, he said, “Sure.”
“I expect a deal will have been reached by then. We’ll celebrate the newest member of our staff.”
Van Houten slapped him on the back, nodded, and left. Griffin had the urge to jump in the shower. He always felt dirty when dealing with the man.
He considered going to Indigo’s room to let her know about their dinner invite, but that wasn’t wise. It would be better to send a text.
#
I ndigo regretted not asking Griffin to stay and have a drink .
. . or something. Yes, it was irrational.
She’d only met him like ten hours ago. She’d never been one to believe in soulmates or love at first sight—not that she loved him.
How could she when she didn’t even know him?
People were in charge of their fate and created their own luck.
Indigo’s head snapped toward the door. She thought she’d heard the knob rattle. There it was again. Someone was attempting to enter her room. She jumped at the sharp rap, and her heart picked up speed. Was Griffin feeling the same way about her? Could he be as attracted to her as she was to him?
Indy leaped out of bed and pulled the plush robe she’d found in the bathroom tighter against her chest before whipping the door open.
“Hello, Indigo.”
Momentarily stunned, she couldn’t speak as Benedict Van Houten strolled into her suite as if he owned it . . . which, she supposed, he did. She stuck her head outside and glanced one way and then the other down the hallway, but it was empty. Why was he here this late, and without Jinger, no less?
She closed the door and leaned against it. Her mouth dropped open as he walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of scotch. He’d removed his tie and sport coat before arriving at her room, leaving the top buttons on his Oxford shirt undone.
“Did you need something, Mr. Van Houten?”
“I wanted to chat with you, Indigo.” He took a sip. “Such a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
Warning bells clanged in her head. She’d noticed the way he’d looked at her at the restaurant earlier, then his leg had fondled hers. Now, he was here without his girlfriend and bodyguards late at night.
He took a seat on her bed instead of at the table or on the sofa. Subtle. “I plan on keeping you around. Let’s make that happen.”
“I’m going to need a drink for this discussion.”
On the way to the bar, Indigo walked by her makeup case and casually reached inside. “Let me fill that up for you.” She took Van Houten’s glass with her. “I already told you I wasn’t interested in a job, Mr. Van Houten.”
“Please, call me Benny. All my friends do. And maybe I’m not talking about work.”
Ew , the man was hitting on her while his plastic girlfriend waited for him somewhere on the boat . . . unless he’d pushed her overboard. Hum. She took a moment to enjoy the visual. It wasn’t as if she was bloodthirsty. Jinger’s chest buoys would keep her afloat until help arrived.
Indigo shook her head. No time for distractions when she was dealing with a predator. She changed the subject. “This is a beautiful suite.”
While Van Houten glanced around, she filled his glass and carried it to him. “Thanks, Indigo. This room is okay. I’ll show you what real luxury looks like in my suite. The bed is twice as big.”
Oh, good Lord. She poured herself a shot of vodka and slammed it back in one gulp.
“Why don’t you join me over here?” Van Houten patted the mattress beside him.
“I’d rather stand for this conversation.”
“Very well.”
He rose from the bed and walked closer to her. She didn’t want to have to kneecap him. Her modest chest wasn’t quite as buoyant as Jinger’s.
Van Houten prowled closer. Indigo kept the bar between them. Safer that way—for him.
“So, you don’t want to work with Jinger,” he said. “I understand. I prefer your natural look to all the goop she wears on her face. That’s not a dig at you or your skills. You made her look lovely. It’s her style.”
“Working with Jinger is not the issue. I already have a job I love.”
“I can guarantee they can’t pay you what I can.”
“Money doesn’t motivate me.”
That seemed to stump him. His head jerked back, and he studied her as if she’d sprouted horns and fangs. “Money drives everyone,” he argued.
“I’m comfortable and don’t want for anything. I have everything I need.” Except for that damn nuke.
Van Houten placed his empty glass on the bar top. “What does motivate you, Indigo?” His gaze took a leisurely tour down her body. “Maybe we can work out a different arrangement. Jinger is on her way out anyway.”
That was it. She was going to have to kneecap him after all.
Van Houten’s brows bunched, and he gulped. One hand slapped over his rumbling stomach.
“Is everything okay?” she asked sweetly.
“I’m suddenly not feeling well. Something I ate for dinner must not have agreed with me.” His throat convulsed and she jumped back. She did not want Van Houten’s vomit on her.
“Are you sure you’re not seasick?”
A hand clamped over his mouth and he shook his head.
“Where are your bodyguards? I’ll call them to escort you back to your room.”
His face paled, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He waved a weak hand and swayed. “Outside somewhere.”
Indigo darted for the door and flung it open. She looked one way, then the other, but didn’t spot the big goons anywhere. She chose to go right toward the open deck. The men were standing by the rail, smoking cigars.
“Hey, Mr. Van Houten needs you. He’s sick.”
The men tossed their cigars into the ocean—jerks—and dashed after her.
“Indigo, what’s going on?”
She turned to see Griffin jogging her way. “Van Houten isn’t feeling well.”
“Where is he?”
“My suite.”
He jerked to a stop. “What?”
“No time to explain.” She didn’t want her nice, flowery-scented room to smell like puke. She needed to make sure he was out of there before the fireworks started.
The bodyguards beat her inside and beelined for their boss. Griffin was on her heels. They moved aside as the men escorted a heaving Van Houten out, his arms draped over two of their shoulders.
“Sorry about this, Indigo,” he croaked.
She wasn’t. “I hope you feel better.” And he would in six to eight hours, once the symptoms from the concoction laced with disulfiram subsided.
Griffin waited until they were out the door before turning to her. “What the hell were you doing inviting Van Houten into your room dressed like that?” He waved a hand at her.
She glanced down to find that the robe had come undone and exposed her thin, spaghetti-strap top and hip-hugging boy shorts.
She wasn’t wearing a bra. Indigo took issue with his high-handedness as she adjusted the lapels of her peignoir.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I did not ask him here. He invited himself.”
“So you decided to have drinks with him?”
Indigo glanced over her shoulder. She should probably get rid of that glass in case anyone thought to check it. And maybe it did look bad, but she didn’t need to explain herself to anyone. Still, she said, “He helped himself.”
She hated the disappointment she saw in Griffin’s eyes. He didn’t believe her. Did he think she’d go after Van Houten for his money? If he did, she was disappointed in him too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know her at all.
“If you don’t mind, it’s late.”
Griffin looked as if he wanted to argue.
Instead, he gave a sharp nod and headed for the door.
If he’d come by before Van Houten’s impromptu visit, she might’ve asked him to stay.
Now, she would gladly kick him out for assuming she’d invited the billionaire to her room.
Plus, she wanted to be alone to shower off Van Houten’s icky germs and dispose of any incriminating evidence.
“Goodnight, Indigo.”
“Night, Griffin.”
With one last look, he was gone.