"It's a—a—," she can't bring herself to say the word.

She holds a large, shockingly pink vibrator in front of her. She's never seen one in person before, but some of her friends at college showed her pictures on the internet. She drops it on the table as if it's burnt her and wipes her hands against her skirt.

"I thought you liked to play," Jackson says with a low chuckle. "That's why I got you all these toys and props."

"No, no, no," she says. "You're wrong. You're completely wrong about me."

She continues wiping her hands against her skirt. Hot tears drip down her face, and she shakes her head over and over. Jackson stubs his cigarette out and joins her at the table. She looks down at her shoes, but he lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"You're the one who's completely wrong," he says. "Did you really think I'd let you get away with that little braid stunt? Oh yes, I've seen the picture you uploaded, and now I want my revenge."

Gabrielle jerks her head away from him and looks around the room for something she can use as a weapon. Her eyes fall on the whips on the table, but she doesn't even want to touch them. Besides, I'm probably not strong enough to hurt him with them, she thinks.

"Are you going to try to run away again?" Jackson asks.

"What? Of course not," Gabrielle says, making her voice high and innocent.

Suddenly she clutches her stomach and groans. Jackson rolls his eyes and sits back down on the sofa. He rests his feet on top of the coffee table and stares at her calmly.

"I know you're faking the stomach ache," he says. "So what will it be first? The whips, the candle, or maybe the vibrator?"

"Mr. Oliver, I know I belong to you now, but I think there's a better way for me to pay my debts," she says. "I could work it off somehow. Trust me, and I'm a very hard worker."

"This will be better," Jackson says. "I'm selling each photo for $1,000. And each album for $100,000. You cost me billions, so it'll take a while, but it's faster than anything else. Just think how much money I'll have if every wealthy man in the country decides to buy your album."

"I don't think that will work," Gabrielle says, slouching over and puffing her stomach out. "I don't have the kind of figure men like to see in albums."

"I know what kind of figure you have," Jackson says. "I've seen it for myself several times."

"Please," Gabrielle begs. "I could be a dealer or a waitress or even a maid."

Jackson laughs and says, "Dealers get a monthly salary of $5,000, and waitresses and maids make even less. You could never pay off your debt that way."

"Well, I could start as a dealer and work my way up," Gabrielle says. "As time passes, I could get promoted and become a director, manager, and even general manager. Who knows, in a few years, I could be in charge of this entire ship."

Jackson laughs and says, "You have ambition, but I don't really want to hear about it. Anyway, after we get back to shore, I'll give you another job."

"Really?" Gabrielle asks, scared to let herself hope. "What's the catch?"

"As your boss, I'll want to teach you some things," Jackson answers.

Avery helps Andrew from the sitting room to the bedroom. She pulls back the thick duvet and helps him into the bed, fluffing the pillows and adjusting the covers until he's comfortable. She walks to the window and stares out at the dark blue sea. Without meaning to, she sighs.

"Are you thinking about Gabrielle?" Andrew asks.

"Of course I am," she says.

"I can't just stand by while Jackson has her," she says. "I'm so worried."

She stares out the window and chews her lower lip, trying to come up with a plan. She can't think of anything. Jackson owns the ship, and the place is crawling with his bodyguards, security teams, and employees. Besides, her father and Gabrielle both signed the contract.

"Do you want me to help you get her away from him?" Andrew asks.

"Yes, please," she whispers, feeling another rush of gratitude.

What's happening? She thinks. In just a few hours, I've gone from hating him to feeling grateful for him. This isn't good—I need to keep my distance from him. He may act helpful, but he's bad news.

Andrew slowly gets out of the bed and joins her at the window. He wraps both arms around her waist, wincing as the movement tugs at the cuts on his back. He pulls her close to him, and his body feels unnaturally warm against hers.

"I'm more than happy to help you, but I want a reward," he whispers into her hair. "What will you give me?"

She pauses and answers, "A kiss."

Andrew lets go of her and looks down at her face. His eyes are bright and full of hope. He strokes her cheek with one finger and winks.

"Only if it's a real kiss," he says. "None of this friendly peck on the lips nonsense."

Avery flinches away from his touch and says, "No, just a peck. If you're not willing to help me, I'll just do it myself."

Andrew shrugs and kisses her on the cheek, "Do you really think you can handle it on your own? Jackson is a difficult man."

"I'm sure," Avery says. "I'm not going to trade romantic gestures in exchange for your help with my sister. I'm not that kind of woman."

"That's too bad," Andrew whispers. "I would have liked to help you. Besides, how will you ever fall in love with me if you don't let me touch you?"

Avery turns away from him and stares out the window again. The sea is calm and tranquil, but she feels anything but relaxed. There's a knock at the door, and a waitress enters, pushing a tea cart. The top of the cart is laden with fresh fruit, hot tea, and small cakes and cookies. The waitress is wearing a French maid costume, with a long blonde wig. Avery smiles.

She gestures for the waitress to leave and pours two cups of tea for her and Andrew. She sits on the sofa, sipping her tea and working on her plan. There must be dozens of maids wearing the same costume all over the ship. If she can get her hands on one of the outfits, she'll blend right in. She puts her tea down and walks toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Andrew asks.

"I'm going for a walk on the deck," she answers. "I need to stretch my legs."

Andrew nods and sends two bodyguards to follow her. The deck is covered in dark teak wood, and a dazzling blue swimming pool reflects the late afternoon sky. A breeze blows, ruffling the fronds on the potted palms. Loud music plays from speakers hidden all over the deck, and men and women mingle near the pool, sipping fruity cocktails.

Avery walks toward the poolside bar, hoping to lose the guards in the crowd. She pushes her way past beautiful women in designer swimsuits, and toned men wearing swim trunks. She glances over her shoulder and sees that the bodyguards have split up to look for her. She opens a door labeled "Staff Only" and ducks into a dark changing room.

She opens several lockers before she finds one of the French maid costumes. Quickly, she takes her clothes off and puts the costume on. She ties her hair in a bun and puts the wig on, carefully adjusting it to cover as much of her face as possible. She's still not sure what she'll do once she has Gabrielle, but she's hoping she can steal a speedboat or helicopter to take her back to shore.

Avery walks to the kitchen, hoping she won't run into any other waitresses. Everyone seems too busy to notice her; men and women rush around, barely paying attention to anyone around them. In the kitchen, she listens to the different waiters and finds the tea cart for Jackson's room. She gets behind it and pushes it toward the elevator.

Before getting out of the elevator, she checks her wig. The hallway seems endless as she pushes the heavy cart. She finally makes it to Jackson's room and raises her hand to knock. Instead, the door to Evan's room flies open, and Evan strides out into the hallway. Robert jogs behind him.

Avery looks away, but she's scared she was too slow. Her heart hammers in her chest, and she hears Evan whisper something to Robert.

"Hey, you," Robert says. "Go into Mr. Howel's room and tidy it up."