I hear the hubbub of chatter before we even make our way to the open area in the bow of the boat. It’s a massive seating area that opens out onto the front deck, providing a panoramic view of the city that continues to entrance me.
I see only a handful of people, which lends credence to Magnus’ description of a “small gathering.” There are three men and two women.
A waiter immediately approaches with a tray of champagne flutes, and I grab one if only to give my hands and mouth something to do besides fidget and twist.
Magnus refrains, and I watch his eyes scan the room of people, all of whom suddenly take note of the host’s arrival.
“Ah! I was wondering when I would be getting a look at the infamous Magnus Reinhardt,” one of the men says with the sort of clipped, formal tone that hints at being a foreigner, even though his English is almost flawlessly accent-free.
He’s large in every sense of the word; over six feet, but filled out in such a way his body looks like a man-shaped balloon that’s been slightly over-inflated. Not necessarily fat, but definitely showing signs of someone who enjoys the luxuries of life a little too much. As the unfortunate woman juxtaposed next to him could probably attest to. She seems to be the epitome of grace and elegance.
Magnus plants a smile on his face and walks over to greet the man.
“Ruben, thank you for accepting my invitation,” he says, shaking the man’s outreached hand.
Ruben’s eyes slide to me with a gleam that seems almost sinister, yet taunting. “And who might this delicacy be then?”
Interesting choice of words.
I hate the man already.
“Ruben Bakker, this is Sloane Alexander, my date for the evening. Sloane, Ruben is the founder and significant shareholder of Conniver Media in the Netherlands.”
That rings a bell, mostly because Conniver owns almost every financial newspaper, journal, or magazine in the world, along with media in various other industries. I have heard rumors that they are planning to streamline their holdings, focusing solely on news, finance, and politics rather than fashion, travel, and food.
“Yes, yes,” the man says, not bothering to reach his hand out for me to shake. His eyes scan me up and down in a way that is less than flattering, as though he’d be interested in taking a bite out of me. Maybe it’s simply the protective way Magnus keeps his hand on my lower back that has me sensing how dangerous the man might be.
“I can only imagine why I was honored with an invite to your impressive yacht. Perhaps you have heard rumors about me trimming the fat on my little media company?” Ruben says, laughing as he turns his attention back to Magnus. “However, I have been told you like to create a motley little mix at these things. So maybe you are just interested in entertaining your guests with my latest hunt?”
So he’s a hunter. That explains his predatory gaze, which is far less thrilling than Magnus’s.
“Perhaps,” Magnus replies ambiguously.
“I’m looking forward to meeting Sebastian De León,” Ruben says in an almost conspiratorial tone. “An Ajax fan myself, obviously, but I can always appreciate a skilled footballer from a team outside of Amsterdam. And I’ve heard he’s leaving Barcelona, seeking out a new team to join?”
His tone hints at a question, but Magnus remains amicably tight-lipped. “Perhaps Sebastian may shed some light on that tonight. If you’ll excuse me, I should go greet our other guests.”
Ruben seems slightly disgruntled, as though he should be treated like the man of the hour, but steps aside all the same.
Magnus continues to guide me along, his hand still on the small of my back, rather than simply having me follow him. I watch him give a nod to a man that we pass, who greets it with a subtle smirk. It’s as though the two of them are in on some unspoken secret, all the more curious since Magnus hasn’t introduced him.
The man is perhaps in his late-twenties, and his black-tie suit fits in in a way that isn’t quite as attentive to detail as the other two men in the room. Even his date seems like a wild doe suddenly caught in a circle of headlights as she stares around in wonder at her surroundings. And I thought I was outside of my comfort zone.
The young Asian man we eventually meet up with has the sort of cocky but fun vibe that indicates he doesn’t take life too seriously. He isn’t even wearing a proper suit, going with a white shirt, no tie, underneath a black blazer and matching pants—all paired with Nike sneakers. Unlike the other two men, he doesn’t have a date, but he doesn’t seem ill at ease hanging around on the sidelines, observing those around him as though we’re all just animals in a zoo to him.
For some reason, I like him despite this, maybe even because of it.
“Magnus Reinhardt, as I live and breathe,” he greets in a standard American accent with a grin plastered on his face.
“Zachary Kim,” Magnus says with the first seemingly genuine smile of the night. “I’m thrilled you could make it.”
“Thrilled to be here, and it’s just Zach.” He considers Magnus with a tilt of the head. “I’m just wondering what your end game was in inviting me.”
Magnus gives him an indulgent grin. “You’ve managed to pique my interest. I had to get you to Monte Carlo somehow. I figured an invitation to dinner would spur you along.”
“Yes, I do prefer Vegas, but all you had to do was say the word, my man. I couldn’t very well turn down the grandson of a poker legend.”
Magnus’s smile disappears, and he turns to me. “Sloane, Zach is one of the top poker players in the world.”
“Well, I guess you’re in the right city for it,” I say
