“Immediately?”

“Yes, immediately,” the other blonde replied. This one had an Afrikaans accent that made her sound much sterner than the Norwegian. “Please come with us now.”

Nick was starting to get a little annoyed by the disruption when suddenly it hit him—this had to be some pre-wedding prank, most likely courtesy of his best friend Colin Khoo. He had assured Colin that he didn’t care for a bachelor party or any sort of fuss, but it sure looked like these two leggy blondes were part of some elaborate ploy.

“And what if I don’t go with you?” he said with a playful grin.

“Then you will give us no choice but to resort to extreme measures,” the Norwegian replied.

Nick found himself fighting to keep a straight face. He hoped these women were not about to bust out a boom box and start stripping. His classroom would descend into total chaos and he would lose control of these already attention-deficient kids. Not to mention all his hard-earned credibility, since he hardly looked older than most of his students.

“Give me a few minutes to wrap things up,” Nick finally said.

“Very well.” The women nodded in unison.

Ten minutes later, Nick exited the classroom as his students excitedly whipped out their phones and began texting, tweeting, and insta-gramming pictures of their instructor being led away by two statuesque blondes in nautical-inspired outfits. Waiting in front of the building on University Place was a silver BMW SUV with tinted windows. Nick got in a little reluctantly, and as the sedan began speeding across Houston Street and onto the West Side Highway, he wondered where in the world he was being taken.

At Fifty-second Street, the car merged into one of the exit lanes leading toward the Manhattan Cruise Terminal, where the cruise ships that visited New York all docked. Moored at Pier 88 was a superyacht that looked like it had at least five levels of decks. The Odin, it was called. Good God, Colin has way too much time and money on his hands! Nick thought, staring up at the gargantuan vessel, which seemed to sparkle as shards of sunlight reflecting off the water danced across its midnight-blue hull. He climbed up the gangway and entered the grand foyer of the yacht, a soaring atrium with a circular glass elevator in the middle that looked like it could have been stolen from an Apple store. The blondes escorted Nick into the lift, which rose just one floor before opening up again.

“We could have taken the stairs,” Nick remarked wryly to the ladies. He stepped out of the elevator, half expecting to find the room filled with friends like Colin Khoo, Mehmet Sabançi, and some of his cousins, but instead found himself alone on what seemed to be the main deck of the yacht. The ladies led him through a series of sumptuous spaces, past sleek lounges paneled in golden sycamore, barstools upholstered in whale foreskin, and a salon with a ceiling that glowed like a James Turrell installation.