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Ваша оценкаI 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, or that I’d end up stuffed in a closet when the ship left the harbor?
Whe...
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Forever Wilde
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