Chapter 1

ROARKE

"Please tell me you've found someone."

I pace the bridge of the West Wind—my flagship yacht, the centerpiece of the soon-to-launch luxury charter division of Westward Maritime—still pulling streaks of rainbow finger paint out of my hair hours after the investor meeting imploded in a haze of seven-year-old chaos and parakeet shrieking.

The West Wind was supposed to impress today.

Sleek. State-of-the-art.

Outfitted to the nines to showcase the pinnacle of Mediterranean charter experiences.

Instead, my seven-year-old niece Isla turned it into a finger-painted art installation mid-presentation.

And just like that, the most critical business meeting of my career drowned in glitter and tempera paint.

My executive assistant Claire sits in the navigator’s chair like she’s watching a slow-motion yacht crash. “Define ‘someone.’”

“Someone competent. Someone who doesn’t let a seven-year-old turn a fifty-million-dollar yacht into an acid trip on the high seas. Someone who understands that finger paints are not appropriate business collateral when pitching a charter fleet to a room full of European venture capitalists.”

From somewhere below deck, there’s a distinct squawk followed by an even more distinct child’s giggle.

“And someone who can control that feathered menace,” I add, glaring down through the staircase toward the main salon. “Because between Isla and Captain Feathers, I’ve officially lost control of the ship—and the narrative.”

“Good news and bad news,” Claire says, setting her tablet aside like she’s about to lower the boom. “The good news is: I found someone. She’s hired. Starts immediately.”

“Thank God. When can she—”

“The bad news is it’s Mia Rossi.”

I freeze. “Mia Rossi. As in Interview Candidate Number Seven Mia Rossi?”

“That’s the one.”

"The one who spent twenty minutes of her interview explaining everything wrong with wealthy people in general and me specifically?"

"She was very thorough in her critique, yes."

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