The yacht gleamed under strings of warm lights, anchored just off Figure Eight Marina. The sound of glasses clinking and the low hum of conversation mixed with the ocean breeze. You leaned against a tall cocktail table on the upper deck, staring out at the black water, champagne fizzing in your glass. This wasn’t your world. Gowns, diamonds, and whispered deals, it all belonged to the Kooks. But Rafe Cameron had insisted, dragging you along under the excuse of “business.”

You were halfway through your drink when Rafe showed up, slipping through the crowd with a lazy confidence that made people step aside for him. He tossed a small card onto the table next to your glass, rolling it between his fingers.

“Who is she?” you asked, side eying the card with the name “Hollis R.” printed in elegant gold.

Rafe shrugged, playing casual. “Oh, she’s just, uh… the biggest realtor slash cook girl, you know.” He spun the card between his fingers before finally glancing at you.

“Oh,” you replied flatly.

That one syllable made his mouth twitch, then curl into a smirk. “What, are you jealous?”

You turned away toward the crowd, raising your brows. “Should I be? Friend.”

His grin widened. He leaned in closer, his voice low, brushing against your ear. “Depends on what she’s offering.”

You smacked his arm, making him laugh and lean back. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Damn. Feisty.”

“You’re such an ass,” you muttered, though your lips betrayed you with the hint of a smile.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, his smirk lingering as his eyes stayed on you. “But you still showed up here with me.”

You rolled your eyes, finishing your champagne in one sharp gulp. Before you could respond, a voice floated over, Hollis herself, draped in silk and pearls, calling Rafe’s name across the deck. She waved, smile a little too sweet, eyes lingering on him like she already owned him.

Rafe’s jaw tightened for a second. He shot a look back at you. “See what I mean? She’s… persistent.”

“Mm,” you hummed, setting your glass down. “Looks like she’s waiting for you.”

“Maybe,” Rafe said, stepping closer, his smirk softening just enough to make your chest tighten. “But I’d rather stay here. Better company.”

You arched a brow, trying not to let him see your grin. “Smooth, Cameron.”

He tilted his head toward the back of the yacht where the deck was emptier, quieter, the sea stretching out in endless black. “C’mon. Let’s ditch the gala crap for a minute.”

And before you could protest, his hand brushed against yours, casual, but deliberate, as he led you away from the glittering crowd, out toward the night air and the edge of the boat.