Page 86 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“You have got to be shitting me!” I shout.
Miss Muffy stops in front of me, giving me a short, icy bark. I’m guessing it translates to “Bitch, how dare you copymylook onmyship. Who do you think you are?”
“Oh, Miss Muffy!” Fiona gasps. “I am absolutely mortified for you!”
The dog yips rapid-fire, her tiny body quivering with aristocratic outrage.
“What’s she saying now?” Hana asks.
Nigel clears his throat. “This is an unprecedented breach of vessel etiquette. Miss Muffy finds it deeply inappropriate that someone would wear her signature ensemble.”
“We are so sorry, honey!” Fiona coos to the dog, then places her gaze on me. “Petra! Go change this instant.”
I stare at the assembled group, waiting for someone to crack a smile or admit this is an elaborate prank.
Nobody does.
“You’re serious,” I say slowly. “You wantmeto put on a different outfit because I’m accidentally twinning with a dog.”
Every single person on deck—including my supposed brother—stares at me likeI’mthe one being unreasonable.
Miss Muffy delivers a final, authoritative bark as though to say: “Don’t forget who runs this ship. Begone, peasant!”
“Fine.” I throw my hands up in defeat. “I’ll go. Wouldn’t want to offend Her Highness.”
Honestly? I’m relieved to escape this circus. I need to wrap my head around the fact that Bryce is available now, decode his smoldering stares, and maybe—justmaybe—not sabotage the only shot I have at happiness.
***
“Fuckingdogfashionpolice,”I hiss, stomping down the hallway as the yacht sways beneath my feet. “This whole billionaire week can kiss my ass. I’m done pretending this is normal.”
But then my brain—that traitorous bitch—circles right back to the image that’s been torturing me since I stepped onto this floating palace.
Bryce. His eyes drinking me in—
No!I stomp the mental brakes so hard, my thoughts screech. The second I let myself think about the way his pupils dilated when I mentioned untying this bow, my thighs start quivering like they do when I’m about to make spectacularly bad decisions. And my core? Already throbbing with its own goddamn heartbeat.
I scan the empty corridor, hearing the distant sounds of conversation and clinking glasses from above. The guests are probably playing boat bingo, or pin-the-tail on the servants, or whatever wild games the elite dream up for fun.
Which means this is prime snooping time.
I need to get my hands on Gavin’s prenup. The way Fiona’s face went all twitchy when I mentioned it? That wasn’t bride jitters. That was full-blown panic mode. Something’s rotten in the state of Gavin’s love life, and I’m going to figure it out.
A crew member appears around the corner and immediately tries to blend into the mahogany paneling like a chameleon.
“Excuse me,” I call out, switching to my most harmlessI’m-not-about-to-ask-you-to-break-the-rulesvoice. “I’m in a bit of a bind here. My brother—Gavin Brinkman—asked me to send some emails from the laptop in his suite, but I’m a total idiot who forgot to grab his key, and now—”
“Not a problem, Miss Brinkman,” he says, unlocking a door halfway down the hall and stepping aside. “Will you need anything else?”
Seriously? That worked?I’ve seen tighter security at a Motel 6.
“All good, thanks,” I say, slipping inside and sealing the door behind me.
Without hesitation, I plop my enormous sun hat onto the table and flip open his laptop.
Password screen. Dammit.
I glare at it, hoping my sheer determination can will it to unlock. What would Gavin’s password even be? Some pretentious Warren Buffett phrase about compound interest? His favorite tax loophole spelled backwards?
