Morgan was poring over financial forecasts, budgeting, and profit-and-loss statements as thoughts of selling the Bayfront Yacht Club spiraled in his mind.
He’d never considered selling. This was his and Devon’s flagship enterprise. And it yielded substantial positive margins, what with the expensive membership fees cove dwellers and beyond were willing to pay for exclusivity, slip fees for yachts and sailboats, and the crowds the dining rooms and lounge drew in. Both restaurants had earned three Michelin stars, putting them on a best-of-the-best-in-California list.
They served the most prestigious champagnes, wines, and spirits—such as top-rated cabernet sauvignons, merlots, and meritages from the Catalano Winery and award-winning cognacs from the Angelini Distillery, both located in nearby River Cross. The club also offered a prestigious line of hard-to-come-by cigars.
Morgan and Devon had expended extensive time and effort in not only designing the club and marina, but in ensuring their members’ expectations were always exceeded.
This was where it’d all begun for them.
And now Devon wanted out?
Morgan sighed. He sat at a table on one of the decks overlooking the maze of redwood-slated piers that housed the boats, with the peninsula forming the cove to his right, the long stretch of the waterfront walkway to his left, and the ocean sprawled directly before him. Behind him was the club and in the backdrop, the palm tree–covered cliffs that housed mansions of every size, shape, and architectural style.
Morgan had always enjoyed living in Bayfront. Had missed it this past year, as a matter of fact. Seattle was a great city and Santa Barbara was an interesting, artsy community, but this was definitely his hometown.
So he wasn’t exactly thrilled about what he’d told Devon yesterday regarding letting the club go if that would make his best friend happy.
This morning, Morgan had run a comparison of club profits vs. the terms of the contract Devon had provided him. The deal was a sound one. They’d make a shitload of money on it. Could easily build in the Hamptons as Devon had suggested.
But none of this really sat right with Morgan. It couldn’t possibly with Devon, either.
True, they’d both stayed away because of one over-the-top encounter with a blonde named Missy . . . something. Damn. It wasn’t like Morgan to forget a beautiful woman’s name. Especially one he’d slept with. However, that whole evening had been fueled by tequila and had nearly gotten out of hand.
And this was the result.
His gaze slid over the paperwork before him. A light breeze off the bay lifted the corners of the moderate stack and also ruffled his hair. Morgan favored the mild year-round temperature here. His family were the co-founders of Bayfront. His entire life had been centered around the cove.
Giving up his business here didn’t make sense to him.
How could Devon want this?
As Morgan deliberated over this unanticipated scenario, Devon joined him, wearing tan shorts, a black polo shirt, and sunglasses. He slipped into a chair across from Morgan and said, “Take a day off from that to digest it all. Let’s hit the water.”
“This is much too serious to brush off, Dev.”
“Agreed. But you’re just staring at figures at this point. Give it all a chance to gel in your mind.”
“And what do you propose I do in the meantime?”
Devon grinned. “Go sailing.”
Morgan chuckled, despite his tense mood. “Your answer to everything.”
“Well, not my only answer. Go up to the club and invite Fallon. Her shift is almost over. Hank stocked my boat and I just need ten minutes or so to finish getting her ready.”
“Devon.” Morgan speared him with an intent look. “Not a smart move with Fallon.”
“We used to take her out all the time. She loves the ocean. Just try to chill a little. We’ll fish, have some cocktails and dinner. It’ll be like old times.”
“Nothing is like old times,” Morgan asserted.
Devon said, “It’ll be a casual outing. We could all use it.” He stood. “Just try to mellow out a bit.”
“Not everyone can be the carefree playboy.”
“Yeah, well, here’s your chance to give it a try.”
Devon sauntered off.
Morgan glanced down at the paper under the weight of his Pellegrino so the sheets didn’t blow away.
There was a ten-day window of opportunity to respond to the offer. So Devon had a valid point. They didn’t need to rush into a decision. Even if unloading the property was truly what Devon wanted.
Morgan’s head lifted and he stared after his friend. Devon had deemed their meeting an urgent situation when he’d called and asked Morgan to meet him in Bayfront. He was supposed to have been on a flight back to the East Coast last night. So why was he still here? And taking a joyride . . . with Fallon?
Morgan swore under his breath. Rolled his eyes.
Devon had fucked her?
Morgan gazed over his shoulder toward the tall windows and glass doors of the lounge. Then back to where Devon was making his way to the end of the dock and the prime space where his boat was anchored.
Avoidance had been the order of the day since that night with the blonde. But maybe that wasn’t the most logical approach. Perhaps he and Devon needed to hash out the issue and whether or not selling the club was really the best course of action.
A conversation to be privately held between Morgan and Devon. Not something to bring Fallon up to speed with—that would require an explanation of a different kind. One Morgan wasn’t willing to provide. No doubt, Devon would prefer to skip the tell-all as well.
Despite Morgan trying to keep things on an even keel with all these bizarre developments, he pushed his chair from the table and got to his feet. He collected his stuff and headed into the lounge. Fallon was cashing out Rogen Angelini and Vin D’Angelo from the Angelini Distillery. Both of whom had just returned to wine country after working for several years at the corporate headquarters in Italy.
Morgan greeted the two men.
“Welcome back to Cali,” he said.
“Good to be home,” Rogen told him as they shook hands.
Morgan extended his hand to Vin and said, “Glad to see you’re frequenting the club again. One of these days, I’m going to convince you to buy a yacht. I’ve got one slip left for a decent-sized vessel. Happy to put it on hold for you.”
Vin chuckled. “I don’t have time for a yacht, and you know it. Angelini Distillery keeps me hopping.”
“I hear you.” Returning his attention to Rogen, he said, “The club’s hosting a party on Thursday night. I saw your names on the RSVP list, so I look forward to catching up with you both then.”
“You bet.”
Morgan moved on. He said hello to several other members. Then he found Fallon in the servers’ station running Rogen’s credit card.
Morgan said, “Dev’s hitting the high seas in ten. You wanna join us for a drink on board?”
Her head whipped up from the computer. “He’s still here? He told me he was going back to New York.”
“It appears he missed his flight.” Morgan’s gaze locked with hers.
Fallon’s crimson-colored mouth worked like a fish trying to spit out a hook as she seemed to search for the appropriate words—and came up short.
Confirming Morgan’s suspicions.
“So apparently, he didn’t stay over. But he was at your condo, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” she said. “He walked me home and we had some champagne.”
“That all?”
“No.”
He stared at her for a few seconds.
“Morgan—”
He lightly pressed a finger to her lips to indicate she didn’t need to say more. Especially with servers coming and going from the kitchen.
He asked, “How about a midafternoon cruise with dinner? Still enough sunlight right now for you to work on your tan.”
She whisked away his hand. “I’m more of a self-tanner, you know . . . avoid the skin cancer. But some vitamin D does sound good.”
“Plus there will be champagne.”
“A lure I always nibble on.”
“That’s why I mentioned it.”
She laughed softly, teasing his senses. Everything about the new Fallon had his blood pumping hotter and brighter through his veins. From the moment he’d laid eyes on her when he’d returned to the club, he’d been trapped in some weird and controversial vortex of lusting after this best friend, while trying to come to terms regarding the near mishap with the other one. It was a perplexing and somewhat agonizing scenario.
Yet where Fallon was concerned, not necessarily an unwelcomed one. Because when she’d all but bounced off him outside the restrooms, he’d felt that jarring straight to his groin. An electrifying revival to his libido that kept the testosterone flowing.
Now that he knew she’d been with Devon the previous evening . . . Damn if that didn’t make Morgan want her even more. Because he knew exactly how Devon would have fucked her. And Morgan would love to have watched.
True, he’d been the one to say that hooking up with Fallon was wrong on many levels. He’d warned Devon against it and he’d been serious yesterday.
But as she gazed up at him with excitement in her striking green eyes, he couldn’t stop himself from moving forward with this crazy idea of Devon’s.
“Punch out, get your backpack, and meet me on the patio in a few minutes,” he told her. “I have to drop off all these documents in my office.”
The tip of her tongue glided over her bottom lip and her eyes shimmered more vibrantly.
“Sure, boss. Whatever you say.”
“Smart ass.”
She smiled. His gut clenched and his cock pulsated.
This might not be the most brilliant direction for the three of them to take, but Devon had already set something in motion. And Morgan couldn’t deny he’d enjoy spending some time outside of the club with Fallon. The wide-open ocean could be the breather he needed from his tortured thoughts and tormented soul.
Regardless of the implications the two men still needed to address. Yet the temptation of Fallon was much too powerful to pass up—especially now that he knew Devon had sampled her.
Morgan wanted her, too.