“I’m not talking about the boat itself. I’m talking about the people on it. Our families. You. Molly. If I only knew what was in store for me that day I tried to get Ford to sign. The day I met you.”

  “And if I hadn’t been so tired that day we wouldn’t be here. How crazy is that?”

  Theo went silent, staring off into space as he caressed Molly’s tiny foot.

  “Did you have fun today?” he finally asked me.

  “So much. Everyone seemed to have a good time.”

  “Of course they did,” Theo said. “Ain’t no party like a Theo Barnes party.”

  “Says you,” I laughed.

  “Always.” He slid Molly across the bed and she giggled, making him laugh back at her. “We should probably get out there, dinner will be served soon.”

  I stretched out behind him, pressing my body against his back. “I wish we could just stay here. Hostessing is hard work, I’m exhausted now.”

  “Don’t be so quick to clock out, I think there’s more fun to be had,” Theo answered. He stood, picked Molly up, then reached out his hand for me. “And the food is going to be off the charts.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled. “Let’s get out there and smile some more.”

  “Atta girl.” Theo smacked me on the ass, getting a squeal out of me.

  Everyone was seated by the time we made it out to the candlelit dining area. We took our places at the head of the table as the crew filled everyone’s champagne glasses.

  “We were beginning to think you two were off trying to grow your family,” Jessica laughed.

  “Hey, maybe we were,” Theo answered. “Not everyone is on the two-year plan like you guys.”

  “It’s not my fault my wife has an endless bucket list,” Tim said. “But trust me, the babies are coming.”

  Molly let out a squeal and everyone laughed.

  “Before we get started, there are a few things I’d like to say,” Theo said as he rose to his feet.

  The quiet conversation around us stopped and everyone turned to look at him.

  He raised his glass. “I’d like to make a toast to my business partner Ford Peterson. I went after this partnership thinking that it would be yet another resource to add to my portfolio, but what I ended up with is so much more. Ford, you’ve become a critical part of Barnes Oceanic, but more importantly, you’ve also become an incredible friend. I value your craftsmanship, your instincts, your candor, and your kindness. Thank you for going on this journey with me. Let’s raise our glasses to Ford, and to our gorgeous Celeritas.”

  Everyone “hear hear-ed” and clinked glasses, and the crew filed out carrying plates topped with silver domes to kick off the meal. By the end of it, Molly was dozing in Elena’s arms and I felt ready to join her.

  “More?” I groaned quietly to Theo as the crew brought out the dessert course. “I’m stuffed.”

  “I think you’re going to enjoy it. It’s light, the perfect finish to a perfect day.”

  I surveyed the pearlescent plate through narrowed eyes. Dessert was a closed oyster on top of an array of seaweed.

  “This is what you went with?” I asked, poking at the seaweed with my fork.

  “It’s all edible,” Theo laughed. “The seaweed is made of lace butter and sponge cake, and the oyster is praline meringue.” He looked at my plate and frowned. “I think they made a mistake with yours, though.”

  He pointed to his own plate where the oyster sat open, with a gleaming white chocolate pearl on top of the undulating marzipan center.

  I tapped on the oyster on my plate with my fork. “Uh oh. This isn’t chocolate,” I whispered to him. “Did they mess up anyone else?”

  Even though it was a yacht filled with friends and family, I knew how upset Theo would be if others had the wrong dessert as well.

  He glanced around the table. “No, just you.” Theo took the oyster from my plate and tried to open it.

  “Just leave it,” I whispered. “No one will notice. Besides, I don’t think anyone wants oyster spray with their chocolate.”

  It was as if he didn’t hear me. Theo stood up, wrestling with the shell as every eye turned to him.

  “Seems we had a little mix up,” he said with a laugh, holding up the oyster so everyone could see it. “But sometimes … mix ups lead to something rare and beautiful.”

  With that he flipped open the shell and presented it to me as a soundtrack of squeals and clapping rose around us.

  Inside was a pillow of blue velvet, and on top of it, the biggest, sparkliest diamond ring I’d ever seen. My mouth dropped open in shock as I glanced from the ring to Theo’s face.

  He was beaming at me.

  “Maxine Simon, our entire relationship started off as a mix-up, and then it shifted into something that we both had trouble defining. It was rare and magical, and it caught us by surprise. All along we both felt the pull to follow our hearts and see what could happen. And, well, there she is.”

  Everyone glanced at Molly and cooed. My eyes filled with tears and my nose started running as I tried to keep myself together.

  “You have given my life meaning in ways I never could’ve anticipated. You’re nothing that I expected, and everything I want. Which is why I’m asking you, in front of everyone we love, to be my wife.”

  Now fully bawling, I jumped out of my chair and flung myself into Theo’s arms. “Yes!”

  Cheers surrounded us, rousing Molly so that she added a few cries of her own.

  Theo held onto me, pressing kisses against my wet cheeks.

  “This is the best day of my life,” I whimpered, trying to hide my face against his chest because I was sure I had mascara everywhere.

  “No,” Theo murmured as he stroked my hair. “Not possible. Because every day with you is better than the last.”

  We stood there, our arms wrapped round each other with our family and friends looking on, and I knew he was right.

  When it came to our love, the best was yet to come.

  END OF MR. COCKY

  BILLIONAIRE BOSSHOLES BOOK THREE

  Mr. Grump, February 9, 2023

  Mr. Jerk, May 18, 2023

  Mr. Cocky, July 20, 2023

  PS: Want more sexy billionaires? Turn the page for an exclusive free book offer and exclusive extracts from The Bossy One and The Billionaire’s Pregnant Assistant.

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  BLURB

  My new nanny posting with Irish billionaire Declan Byrne and his adorable niece, Catie, feels so right—at first.

  But everything—and I mean everything—is wrong about Declan.

  We first met on a flight where he basically told me that it’d be “grand” if I could stop talking.

  I can’t help it. I’m a nervous flyer.

  He’s a total grump.

  He obviously doesn’t like me.

  Too distractingly gorgeous to be around for any length of time.

  And he’s made it clear that as soon as he can find another nanny, I’m gone.

  This Minnesota girl is made of tough stuff though, so I know I can make it through one Irish summer with one sexy Irish curmudgeon.

  At least I thought I could, until he became that much harder to resist.

  Because the more I work with Declan, the more I realize there’s something growing between us…an attraction that’s impossible to resist.

  Declan hides a kind heart behind his stormy, gruff demeanor.

  And that accent.

  That suave Irish brogue makes my insides melt.

  The cardinal rule of being a nanny is to not get involved with the family.

  To maintain a professional distance.

  Sleeping with Declan would definitely cross that line.

  Some rules are meant to be kept.

  Others are meant to be shattered.

  Grab your copy of The Bossy One

  Available October 5th, 2023

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  Chapter One

  Declan

  Word to the wise: do not keep reading.

  I’m overtired, stuck in a hellish airport…and I’ve had fucking enough. I won’t be pleasant company and I’ll make zero excuses about it.

  Still here?

  Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  I’m not usually like this, mind you—I might not be a saint, but I do know how to be a polite enough member of society. Of course, whether the Chicago airport is a part of society or the seventh circle of hell…well, the jury’s still out on that one.

  First, they’d kept my incoming flight on the tarmac for so long there was a chance I was going to miss my connecting flight. But I’d still thought I had just enough time to grab some damn food from airport kiosk.

  That was when the cashier confiscated my credit card and accused me of identity theft because, and I quote, “You can’t possibly be Declan Byrne. As if he’d ever fly coach.”

  Because, obviously, Declan Byrne is so rich he must have wings made of money.

  If only.

  Now I was hungry and running late. Everywhere I turned, there was some meandering idiot with a suitcase blocking my way, acting like they’d never been in a damn airport before. The last 24 hours had been a nightmare, and all I wanted to do was get on the damn plane that would finally take me to the sister who needed me.

  I was panting when I got to the gate and shoved my ticket at the airline staffer.

  He squinted when he saw my name. “Ha. Declan Byrne. Just like the Irish guy who invented that pathetic social media platform. Everyone acts like Snug is so great, but in my opinion it’s just for losers who hate humor. Did you know my account got flagged just for making a few harmless jokes about that bitch who won the Nobel Prize?”

  I gritted my teeth.

  For a split second, I considered buying the stupid airline and getting his contract flagged, same as his ‘harmless’ comments had been. Lucky for him, I had bigger fish to fry.

  He smiled conspiratorially. “Wonder what old Declan’s doing these days, eh?”

  Seriously?

  “I’ll tell you what he’s doing,” I replied. “He’s waiting for you to scan his fucking ticket.”

  That did it.

  His eyes widened, and he scanned the ticket so fast you could’ve mistaken him for a member of Formula 1 pit crew. I ignored his mumbled apologies, rushed down the ramp, and onto the plane. I hadn’t flown Economy in years, but this had been the fastest way to get to Faribault-Northfield, Minnesota. My business partner was already using our company’s private plane, and there had been some kind of paperwork hang up when I tried to charter a private one.

  Contrary to popular belief, a gigantic pile of money isn’t the same as having a genie in a bottle. Then again, I think even a genie would have trouble finding Fairbault-Northfield on a map. My sister wasn’t kidding when she said she wanted peace and quiet in the US.

  If only she had found it.

  When I got into my seat—if you could even call the scuffed-up chair a seat—I collapsed in relief.

  “Passengers, please take your seats,” a flight attendant said. “We’ll be closing the cabin door soon to prepare for takeoff.”

  At least there was no one sitting next to me. Maybe I could finally relax enough to get some damn sleep. With some luck, by the time I opened my eyes again, I’d already be at—

  "Sorry, sorry! I got here as fast as I—oh, sorry!”

  I heard a commotion up toward the front of the plane, and then a pretty redhead appeared, apologizing profusely as she hauled an overpacked duffle-bag up the aisle. “I’m so sorry! Ooops, didn’t mean to…Shoot, was that your head, sir?”

  I massaged my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. I just wanted to get to my sister Sinead and her daughter Catie. But no, I was on a damn plane, waiting for Miss Over-Packed Duffle bag to find the right angle to squeeze her bulging bag in the overhead compartment across the aisle from me.

  “It’s fine,” she said valiantly, smiling at no one in particular. “I’ve almost got it.”

  She hopped in place, trying to shove her bag into the compartment with her shoulder. It was useless. If this was a cage match, that bag of hers would’ve been the clear favorite.

  “Jesus,” I swore under my breath. I stood up, tried to grab the bag from her hands. “I’ve got it.”

  Apparently, I’d picked the one woman who was allergic to accepting help.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got it,” she said, her voice coming from somewhere on the other side of the giant duffle bag. All I could see were her fingers, buried so deep in the canvas you’d think she was hauling a concrete slab.

  “Clearly you don’t,” I grunted. “And you’re holding up the rest of the plane.” I wrested the duffel from her—and the concrete slab she’d hidden inside it—and shoved it into the overhead compartment.

  “I said I was fine.” She looked up at me, disheveled locks of fiery red hair falling across her face. “I get that you’re trying to be helpful, and flying is probably stressful for you. But—”

  I slammed the overhead compartment closed and sat back down in my row.

  “Seriously?” She continued. “I appreciate the help, but—"

  “You’re welcome,” I cut her short, praying to God this put an end to whatever conversation this woman wanted to have. Unless she was carrying a dead body inside that duffle bag—you never know with people—there was nothing more interesting right now than falling asleep.

  “If everyone could please take their seat,” the flight attendant said again, sounding a little desperate.

  But the woman didn’t move along and take her seat. Instead, she started fishing for something in her purse. Her wide hazel eyes took up her whole face, which was delicate and sprinkled with freckles. Her bright red hair spiraled in messy curls around her flushed cheeks.

  If I wasn’t in such a rush, and she wasn’t such a walking disaster…

  No. She wasn’t my type. Too clumsy, too talkative, too… much.

  She fished her phone out of her purse and frowned at the screen. Then she looked up at me with narrow eyes.

  “What?” I demanded.

  If she recognized me and decided now was the time to lodge a customer complaint…

  Instead, she held up her phone, showing her ticket info. “I think you might be in my seat.”

  Fuck me, I thought, as I reluctantly surrendered the aisle seat.

  Of course I had a seatmate…and of course it’d be this woman.

  I grunted and moved over to the window seat, which had significantly less leg room. With my knees pressed tight against the front seat, I felt like a coiled spring someone had tried to squeeze into a sardine can. Just what I needed.

  Her shoulder bumped mine as she took her place. She smelled like lavender.

  “Wow. Good thing I’m short.” She looked at me, her right eyebrow lifting into an arch. A thin, amused smile dawned on her lips. “These seats must be really uncomfortable for tall people like you.”

  I didn’t say anything. Please God, let her not be one of those women who says every single thought that comes into her mind.

  “Not that I’m short-short. Actually, I’m average. The average American woman got shorter this year.”

  Apparently God didn’t like me very much.