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“You get to keep the money, and we’ll have had a bit of fun.” Wriggling his eyebrows, he pulled his sunglasses back down.
Why does he have to look so damn sexy?
“Tell Aria, if she gets twenty grand in my account in an hour, she has a deal.”
“She said you might say that. Deal.”
Damn it. I should have asked for thirty grand.
He reached into the rubber boat and pulled out two bags.
“Don’t tell me you brought your coffee machine again?”
He chuckled as he plonked the two bags onto the deck.
“Thanks for the lift, Jordan,” he said, and he pushed the boat off Rhino’s side.
Jordan saluted me, then revved the engine to full and powered away.
Tyler hoisted his bags, and as he strolled toward me, I stood my ground.
“Money first, Officer Fancy Pants.”
He lowered the bags and pulled out his phone. He held it up, possibly looking for a signal, then he dialed a number. I hated that his mirrored glasses hid his eyes, and I also hated that I actually wanted to see those stunning blue irises of his.
I put my foot up onto the railing and ran my gaze up his body. He must work out to keep so fit. His dark hair was so healthy it glistened in the sun. He probably used expensive shampoo and paid for a pricy gym membership. Even his shorts and T-shirt looked like they were designer quality. I couldn’t remember the last time I bought new clothing. No need when I barely left this boat.
“Hey, Aria,” he said into the phone, his voice all business. “Indiana has agreed to twenty grand. Yep. Okay. Of course. Will do.”
He ended the call and looked up at me. “Aria said she’ll ask Zac to transfer the money immediately.”
My heart skipped a beat. Twenty grand!
Today is payday, after all.
Yet it was so weird that I believed him. I hadn’t met a cop yet who hadn’t fucked us over.
“Here.” He handed me his phone. “Send Aria your bank account details.”
We had a Mexican stand-off for a few beats before I typed my bank account details into a text message to Aria. I handed the phone back to Tyler, and he picked up his bags.
I should have made him wait until the money showed up, but instead, I said, “You really do have your coffee machine. Don’t you?”
“Sure do.”
Groaning, I turned my back on him and marched away.
I stepped into the shade of the hut, and Dad jolted back like I’d caught him stealing booze from his ‘secret’ stash. The old Vegemite jar that doubled as his whiskey glass was half full, and I couldn’t decide if he’d just topped it up or he was halfway through finishing the drink. The time of day was irrelevant when it came to Dad’s addiction.
The bittersweet smell of booze was woven into the fabric of my childhood and went hand in hand with who my father was. The bottle next to the glass was one taken from Chui’s boat. I should have told him to put the bottle away, but Dad wouldn’t, and also, I shouldn’t give a flying hoot what Tyler thought about the expensive liquor.
I turned on the kettle, and with my back against the fridge, I watched Tyler pull his coffee machine from his bag and set it up. The machine looked brand new, and so did his bags. Or maybe Tyler hated getting dirty.
This was the wrong boat for that kind of mentality.
Tyler cradled his coffee machine like a precious artifact, and I rolled my eyes at the absurdity. Here we were, roughing it on the open sea, and this man was worried about his caffeine fix. I wondered if his woman received such dedication.
Did he have a woman?
