I didn't mean to stow away on the yacht, I swear. My first mistake was going home with the jerk at the bar, but in my defense, Prescott said he owned the Worthington-ninety feet of sleek, yachty perfection-and if I could get the chief mate's job, I'd have an excuse to stay on board and keep avoiding my family and my future. How was I supposed to know he was the owner's cheating, gold-digging almost brother-in-law,...