Page 27 of An Epic Voyage

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.”