One Bossy Disaster: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Bossy Seattle Suits)

I must be out of my fucking mind.

Absolutely certifiable.

Taking a novice kayaker on the long route from Olympia city limits into the wilds of the Olympic Peninsula?

Stupid.

And doing it alone?

Alone? With a beautiful woman?

They should have me institutionalized.

If Hannah Cho were here, she’d have done the smart, mature thing and booked us a boat ride to Olympia or a seaplane into the boonies.

Anything but this.

Which is why I’m still wishing she was available for this excursion.

Then I wouldn’t be here, too distracted by the thought of a rigorous summer paddle with a young woman who has no business shaking me the hell up like she does.

But here I am, standing on this pebbly beach, waiting for Destiny and regretting every life decision I’ve ever made since Hannah first said the words ‘Young Influencers.’

Christ Almighty.

If this leaks out to the wrong people—the Shepherd Foster tromping around the wild with a gorgeous young woman and a glorified intern—I’ll be ruined.

Dumas couldn’t have torpedoed me better in her wildest revenge dreams.

Hell, she’ll probably up her attacks and slander out of pure seething jealousy now.

I can already hear the tabloid rats squeaking.

Foster’s new fling! Younger, hotter, and sweeter than Miss Dumas? Did we mention younger?

New heartbreak, ahoy! Meet Shepherd Foster’s stunning new victim.

A new mistress for Aidan Murphy’s nephew! Will she come out of it alive?

Fuck.

I swallow a lump of tension that feels like solid lead.

What I should have done is vetoed this whole idea, no matter how adorable she looked trying to sell me on otters, batting her eyes.

Olympia, field testing our drones, the damned otters, everything.

The fact that she’s scared to death over her presentation tells me she put the proper effort in.

The proposal is probably fine without this excursion.

The wind smacks my face, disrupting my melancholy.

It’s a brisk morning as I pace around the beach, checking my equipment for the seventh time.

If we’re going to do something monumentally stupid, we’d better do it right.

I’ve got everything that was on my list. Hopefully, Destiny comes prepped with everything I instructed her to bring.

I offered to provide it myself, but she insisted on lone wolfing it.

Here’s hoping she hasn’t gone for the budget options.

A rough and tumble venture like this requires the right gear, and I always opt for quality.

Five minutes before our agreed meeting time—eight a.m. to make sure we’re in full light—Destiny arrives, already in her wet suit.

I’m lucky my jaw doesn’t hit the ground.

Full body with curves for miles stuffed in a skintight suit.

Long legs, man-eating hips, the slim dip of her waist, all on full display like a brunch buffet.

Every blessed bit of her begging for my hands.

It’s so tempting I have to ball my fingers into fists and stop just short of fucking biting them.

Jim Carrey in The Mask has nothing on what I’m feeling as I try to tear my eyes off her prancing around in that wet suit.

She raises a hand when she sees me, oblivious to the fact that I’m one brush away from blowing in my pants like a boy on prom night.

“Hi,” she says shyly.

Hi? Fucking hi?

At least she came prepared, I suppose.

“You’re here,” I say curtly.

On time, I don’t say.

“I figured you’d appreciate me being punctual, especially when we’re doing something like this. Thanks again for taking a leap of faith, Mr. Foster.” She nods at my kayak parked by the shore and the still water nearby. “Is that your ride? She’s a beauty.”

“She’s sturdy and efficient,” I clip, looking over her shoulder to see what else she’s brought. “Where’s yours?”

“Oh, that’s the one.” She jerks her thumb behind her. “Do you mind helping me carry it down? I had to fight hard enough to get it on my car.”

“You tied it up there by yourself?”

“Well, yeah. I’m too old to call my dad for help lugging around heavy things, and too stubborn to go begging random guys. I’ll show you.” She rolls her eyes as she starts back up the beach.

She’s wearing sneakers right now, but there’s a waterproof backpack slung over her shoulders, and I can make out boots dangling from it.

By the looks of it, she’s gone out of her way to buy the full kit.

Impressive, considering she only had a couple days to pull everything together.

“I can handle myself out here, in case you have any doubts. I’m not a china doll,” she tells me as she leads the way to her small VW Bug.

It’s blue—Wailea blue, I think, remembering that special shade of paint from Maui—and there’s a slight dip in the side where it looks like a dent has been popped back into place. Whale-shaped air fresheners hang from the rearview mirror.

It looks like a car that’s been well used and well loved.

Not at all what you’d expect from a billionaire coffee mogul’s daughter who must have a trust fund large enough to leave her plenty comfortable for life.

Although it’s old and dented, it’s been lovingly polished, and I think she had the paint touched up recently.

“Um, this is Ladybug,” she says, patting the roof affectionately.

My eyes snap up.

Somehow, defying commonsense safety and possibly the laws of gravity, there’s a kayak strapped down with webbing.

A very nice kayak.

I reach up and run my hand along its side without thinking.

“This is a decent piece of equipment, Miss Lancaster. Congratulations.”

Assuming you ever use it for more than a weekend hoofing it with your boss, I think grimly.

“Is that such a shock?” Destiny folds her arms. “You don’t think I’d figure out how to shop?”

No, actually.

Most people who are new to this addiction tend to buy the flashiest boats. The brands that get promoted with young, hip models who spend more time on their haircuts than paddling on the water.

This is a Boundary Rider 520 with a sleek green hull.

Versatile, stable, and pricey but reliable.

“I could have lent you one of these if I’d known,” I tell her. “I only use this brand.”

“I appreciate that,” she says blandly. “But I didn’t want to borrow from you. Not any more than I already have, I mean.”

I dart her a look, unsure whether or not I’m being insulted.

I look her car over again.

It’s definitely at least ten years old and must have decent miles on it, considering her active lifestyle.

Another surprise.

“You’re certain you can comfortably spend over two grand on a kayak?”

“I can easily afford it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she huffs out. “And um, can you not look at Ladybug like that? She’s not falling apart…”

Goddamn.

I can’t get over the fact that she named her car Ladybug.

Although, with the bulbous wheel arches and the arched roof, it’s almost fitting.

“It’s not that I can’t afford a better car.” Destiny spears me with a narrowed gaze. “I’m riding Ladybug into the ground because I love him.”

Him?

Her car is a fucking him?

I catch myself the instant I notice hot jealousy spiking my veins.

Shit, I knew this entire trip was a big fat mistake.

Then I see the corner of her mouth twitching.

It’s a tiny, quick movement. Blink and you’d miss it.

In half a second, she has her face back under control, but it makes me wonder if maybe she’s doing this to mess with me.

This little blonde pixie with her hair tied back in a ponytail and her face makeup free. She looks more like the sporty girl I saw on Instagram today.

Not the prim, hyper-focused, no-nonsense girl who came to my office and lured me into the unthinkable behind her pristine mascara and flawless poses.

I don’t want to fucking like it.

Yet, against my better judgment, I feel a smile brewing that makes me bite my tongue.

Damn, she got me good with the whole stupid car thing.

“It’s a good kayak,” I say, unstrapping it and lifting it from the roof, careful not to scratch anything. “One of the downsides is, it’s not easy to handle by yourself. Particularly if you don’t have much experience.”

“Lucky I have you then, right?”

Lucky.

That’s one word for it.

I take one end of the kayak and let her lift the other as we haul it back down to the beach.

There are a few other early risers milling around now, people dog-walking or recovering from the poor decision to stay out drinking until the wee hours of the morning.

While I follow her I decide I should have taken the lead. I wanted to let her set the pace, in case she needed to put it down and rest, but it doesn’t seem like she needs to.

There’s an honest fitness level behind her trim looks.

Instead, she marches on ahead, giving me a direct view of the peach masquerading as her ass.

That damnable wet suit cups it too perfectly, turning this into a proper death march.

How had I even missed an ass that magnificent?

Now, I see everything.

The perky way her hair swings behind her like sun-kissed gold threads.

The long line of her legs and the small of her back, begging for a claiming hand.

Her innocent face, every time she turns.

So innocent it makes me throb to defile her.

Fuck me.

I need to get my head back in the game. Safely out of whatever lust pit it’s fallen into and gotten stuck in.

Yes, she’s hot.

She knows she’s hot.

Her entire image, her brand, her career, is made partly from her allure and the rest comes from her brain.

Like anything in life, it’s a commodity and an asset. I should be too smart to fall for it.

Key word being should.

“Do you know,” she says, barely winded when we rest her kayak beside mine, “I can’t believe I never thought of this before.”

I stand beside her.

It’s easier like this, staring out across the inlet to the islands and the long route north up ahead.

“Kayaking, you mean?” I ask.

“Yeah. It’s a cool way to see wildlife up close here, without disturbing it with loud noises or pollution. The back roads can be rough on vehicles, too. I’ve lived my whole life in the Pacific Northwest and I’m shocked it never occurred to me before.”

“I’ve seen plenty of seals up close and personal. A few orca encounters, too, up in the San Juans,” I tell her. “If you can handle it, there’s no better way to get around these parts.”

“Is that a challenge?” She narrows her eyes.

“If it is, Miss Lancaster, you’re welcome to prove you’re up to snuff.”

We share a whimsical look—the usual charged defiance—but also something lighter.

Something I don’t want to think too hard about.

“Let’s get moving, then. There’s only so much daylight to make time and make you look like a clown,” she says.

I snort loudly. “You couldn’t do it last time you caught me with a kayak, so now you’re desperate.”

She razzes me before she jerks her head away, checking her boat over one last time.

This girl.

Confidence looks good on her, and I think I like this version of Destiny a lot.

I grit my teeth and shut down the urge to let my eyes drift to her ass again.

I don’t have to like her at all.

The only thing I need to do right now is show her how to kayak well enough so she doesn’t die on the way to the Olympic Peninsula.

That’s it. End of story.

“It’s going to be a long day,” I say. “And it’s going to be hard. Have you eaten?”

“Overnight oats with all the blueberries I could handle. Breakfast of the gods.” She nods, a short, sharp motion. Her eyes remain steady and serious. “But at least the weather’s good today, right?”

I look up.

It’s better than good, basically immaculate.

This is probably the warmest day of the year so far, peppered with intermittent clouds to lend us shade without baking in the sun.

“I wouldn’t have taken you out if it wasn’t,” I mutter.

“So, killing your minions isn’t high on your list of weekend activities? Good to know!” She flashes me the barest hint of a teasing grin. There in a flash and gone.

Then it’s like she remembers who I am and her face shutters.

Whatever.

Fine. We’re not here to bond or fuck around or anything like that.

This is business, plain and simple. An unorthodox chance for a bright young mind to sell me on this conservation tracking while I test out my own technology.

“Have you been on the water much before?” I ask.

“In recent years—for sure. I didn’t go out much when I was a kid for reasons… but once I found my sea legs, I went a little crazy. Boating, jet skis, paragliding, canoeing, you name it.” She hesitates, like she wants to elaborate before shrugging instead. “I’ve never tried kayaking, though. I’ll try to catch on fast.”

I already knew that from the evasive way she answered when I asked her in my office.

I’m regretting this entire venture. No CEO of a company goes to this extent just for a project proposal, and not even a moneymaking one at that.

Even if some part of me wants her to succeed.

I want her to convince me, dammit.

And maybe something about the way her eyes light up when she talks about those damn otters made a difference, too.

“No time like the present.” I nod at the gently lapping waves. “Let’s get started.”

I already know, theoretically, that she can swim.

But as we stride into the water, the sting of the cold muted by my wet suit, it’s easy to see she’s more competent than I’ve given her credit for.

With just a few simple pointers, she knows what she’s doing.

Her fingers trail across the water as it crests against her stomach. She throws me a grin before diving neatly through the surf. Her body cuts through the water like she was born for it, and she surfaces a minute later, flipping her hair back, now darkened to bronze.

Glassy droplets roll down her skin, accenting too much, and I hate that she’s laughing. Real belly laughter.

“The look on your face,” she says, splashing me. “Lighten up.”

Summer or not, this is still the ocean, and she just dove right in without a single complaint about the cold.

I’m almost annoyed.

“Told you I could swim, so we can get that out of the way,” she says. “Are you happy now? Sure I won’t drown?”

“Show me more,” I say, moving alongside her as she goes under again.

My body acclimates to the cold like I’m part penguin. Or maybe my blood just runs hotter than usual from watching her turn into a mermaid.

She might not know how to kayak, but she’s a damned good swimmer.

“Okay,” I say after five or ten minutes. “Enough.”

“Satisfied?” Destiny cocks an eyebrow at me.

Not a good word to use when she’s looking at me like that, her wet suit clinging to every curve.

Shit, at least most of her is still underwater.

I need to stop thinking about sex and focus on the lessons I’m supposed to be giving her.

“We’ll practice technique first,” I say, leading her back to shore. The pebbles shift under my feet, and I swipe my hands through my hair, wiping away the moisture.

Luckily, there’s not much of a breeze, though I know it’ll pick up once we’re out there on the water.

For now, though, it should protect us against any chills.

“Ready when you are.” Destiny rolls her shoulders as she grabs her paddle.

“Not even close. You forgot this.” I tap her pack and show her how to stow it on the kayak so even if it does capsize, she won’t lose everything she’s brought. “Did you bring spare clothes and a sleeping bag like I asked?”

“Obviously. I’m not up for sharing one, dude.”

That wins her an instant scowl.

“And the first aid kit?”

She sighs. “Yes, Mr. Foster. I went over the list you sent me three times like a good student. Oh, and I added some flapjack. Homemade.”

“Flapjack?” I frown. “Pancakes?”

“No, no. This is a British thing, I think. My stepmom introduced me to it a couple years ago when we were camping. Syrup and oats, all packed neatly in a bar.” She sees me make a face. “Don’t be a dick until you try it. I must’ve hiked more than five miles on a couple of these bars before I even noticed.”

“Sounds as exciting as low-sodium porridge.”

Shaking her head, she rifles around in her overstuffed bag and pulls out this abomination.

“Quit grumbling and try it. It’s high-calorie and slow-release, and it’s actually pretty good for an on-the-go bite.”

I stare at the ziplocked bag in horror. It sags with the sticky oat mixture, barely separated into pre-cut bars.

“This is flapjack? This baby food turned to stone?”

“It’s great for ages five and up. I’m pretty sure it’s even good for high and mighty businessmen with an emotional maturity not a day over two years old,” she says, wagging a finger. “Trust me.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Miss Lancaster. Someone needs to keep a cement-free stomach if the other person gets sick.”

Before I can blink, there’s a hard brick of sweet-smelling oats in my face. She holds it under my nose.

“Less talking. More chewing. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little fiber?”

Fucking hell.

If it’ll shut her up, I suppose one measly bite of this sugar-gruel won’t kill me.

I sink my teeth in like a wild dog and tear off a piece, chew mechanically, and swallow.

Huh.

Not terrible.

Thankfully, she has the good sense not to gloat, even when I grudgingly take the piece she snaps off and wrap it in foil for later.

“Now that we’re all fueled up…” She tucks the rest back into her bag and fastens it so it’s waterproof again before slotting it into her kayak just like I showed her.

I think it’s an act of defiance more than anything—proving she doesn’t need to be told twice.

She’s not afraid of a challenge, and she’s certainly not holding anything back.

Ignoring how much her weird attitude amuses me, I hold out her paddle.

She takes it, fingers brushing mine, and I ignore that too.

“This is your greatest tool when you’re out there on the water. Treat it like an extension of your own arms.”

“Yes, sir.”

I glower.

“See these rubber rings?” I nudge her hands into place so she’s gripping the right spots. Awareness jolts up my body when I sense her skin against mine.

Dummy, get a grip.

Don’t let the oats go to your head.

Destiny freezes.

I clear my throat, knowing this entire endeavor depends on us trusting each other.

“Sorry,” I whisper raggedly.

“No, it’s fine.” Her voice is taut with concentration and she doesn’t look at me. “Is this right, bossman?”

“Yes, but don’t grip it so hard. Loosen your fingers a little.” I demonstrate on my paddle, showing her what I mean and leading her through the motions with the right grip.

She mirrors me almost flawlessly, though her movements are still a little stiff.

“The paddle is part of you,” I say.

“Um, maybe not yet.” Her eyes narrow as she assesses what she’s doing, then glances up at me. “Why don’t I look like you?”

“Practice. You’ll find the right movements after a few hours on the water. For now, let’s try something else.” I leave my paddle where it is and stride around her until her back is almost touching my chest.

Then I lean around her, my hands beside hers.

Of fucking course, our thumbs brush.

Just the lightest touch, and it’s still too much.

Ignore. Ignore.

Destiny inhales sharply, and I guess she’s uncomfortable because she takes an involuntary step forward.

Well, why not?

She does have a massive fucking idiot here who keeps invading her personal space.

We don’t have that kind of relationship.

Even if I thought we should, I’ll never go there.

Especially because that one second slip was enough for me to notice the coconut smell of her hair, fresh and inviting and lethal. One more temptation calling me to my doom.

One more feature I shouldn’t notice, let alone dwell on with the same damnable stickiness as her oat brick in my stomach.

“I’m lacking sleep,” I rush out. “I didn’t mean to—”

I stop.

To what? To touch her?

For fuck’s sake, where is my mind?

“For making you uncomfortable,” I finally finish.

“Huh? No, it’s nothing like that.” She stares at where my hands were just seconds ago. “I’m pretty sure I got over cooties with guys in gym back when I was in ninth grade. Just show me what you need to.”

Bad, bad idea.

Still, I move onward, positioning myself behind her, forcing my brain to think of nothing but kayaking and sea otters.

There’s no woman here.

No Destiny with her fruit-scented hair and sunny smiles and handfuls of curves that want to take my soul.

This universe is otter-centric.

Nothing else matters.

Otters, man.

“You need to move from your core,” I strangle out, moving the paddle like my life depends on it.

At first, there’s an easy resistance in her arms, but it soon melts away and she’s gliding with me.

Her back knocks against my chest.

By some miracle, my dick doesn’t go off like dynamite when her ass brushes me.

“Like this?” she whispers, so focused on the task.

“Better. Swing lower next time.”

We try it again. This time, I stop leading and she picks up the slack.

“Good,” I say.

To my surprise, she doesn’t toss the praise away like a rotten apple.

She just nods, and when I glance at the side of her face, I see how severely focused she is.

Holy fuck, why does she have to be so unbearably cute when she’s on a mission?

It’s like all her energy flows into this one thing with laser intensity.

That’s too familiar and too close to home, something that’s served me well.

I can practically see the way she zeroes in on what she’s doing, every iota of her being aligned with this.

I can feel the innate power of her body.

Her movements are fluid, yet strong.

If I ever thought she only posed for pretty, calculated photos without any real effort in the field behind them, I was wrong.

This girl works out.

Her core is strong enough to make the journey without breaking her, if we take it slow, even if she’ll be working new muscle groups I will myself not to imagine.

“This is good. Keep it up,” I tell her.

It’s anything but good.

I should move the hell back now, knowing she’s making progress.

We’re still too close, practically touching.

The reason I can feel her strength is because her back is fully pressed against my chest.

When did she move closer?

Or was it me?

Regardless, I feel the way her chest swells with low, steady breaths. The pinch of her shoulder blades, their movements, the softness of her hair skimming across my hand.

Her fingers brush mine again, but she doesn’t seem to notice anymore.

Me?

I can’t stop noticing, and though I’m supposed to be the responsible one, I don’t shift my position.

She’s a tall woman, even if she still has nothing on my height, but here in my arms, she feels so delicate. Small and fragile and unbearably precious.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” she says warmly.

The unexpected delight in her voice catches me off guard.

My body catches up with my sex-drunk brain, and I drop my hands, stepping back.

“If you think you’re ready to head out, we can make some decent time.” My voice is tight, but if she notices, she doesn’t comment.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready for the kayak now.”

I talk her through a few more basic safety tips as we prep, like not letting go of her paddle, and how to get in and out of the kayak safely without tipping over.

Basic stuff, everything she needs to know.

“Do you usually teach kids? Is this your spiel?” she asks when I’m done.

“What?”

“Do you think I’m just clueless?”

“What?”

She strides over to the kayak and eyes it for a second before climbing in, hands braced on the sides and feet sliding inside. She bends her knees, finds the right position, and glances up at me.

I didn’t need to know that in the sunlight, her eyes almost look more turquoise than true blue, like the sea above the sand.

“Sorry, that was harsh, but… I think you’ve seen my pictures. Did you notice I spent three weeks in the Boundary Waters canoeing and again in Montana last year?” she asks dryly. “But thanks for the lecture about how to get in a boat.”

“Safety first,” I mutter. “This is technically a corporate outing. You’d better believe I cover all my bases.”

“Fair enough. It’s not safe if I wind up dying of boredom over super basic stuff, though.” Her grin eases the sting, and she points at the water. “Okay, Captain. Onward.”

Miserable little dork.

It’s infuriatingly adorable.

“We’ll practice in the shallows until I’m sure you’ve gotten the hang of it,” I warn her.

“Ugh, fine. I guess if it doesn’t take all day…”

“That’s completely up to you, Miss Lancaster,” I throw back.

Her jaw drops before she realizes I’m joking.

Then she smiles, bright and unrestrained.

Fuck, I didn’t need to know how beautiful that is.

Especially not today.

We push on fully away from the shore and the shallows.

For a second, she looks unsteady before relaxing, just breathing and dipping the edge of her paddle into the water. It’s calm today, so the waves don’t offer much resistance.

“Don’t hunch your back so much,” I say.

She straightens, and immediately her technique improves.

“There. Now just follow me.”

She glances over with a grin like she wants to bust my balls again but doesn’t commit.

We practice close to shore first, getting her accustomed to paddling as efficiently as possible without overexerting herself too early. Pacing is critical.

She picks up everything quickly, and soon we’re moving down my personal checklist.

“One last thing,” I say.

“There’s more?” Destiny groans.

“You need to know what to do if your kayak capsizes, Miss Lancaster. Anything might happen out here.”

“Okay, Foster. Fill me in.” Despite the attitude, it’s clear she’s enjoying herself. “Are you going to capsize?”

“That’s only happened twice, and never seriously. Because I don’t panic.”

I explain how to extricate herself and her gear if, for any reason, she finds herself upside down. Panicking doesn’t seem like her thing, but I talk her through a few basic techniques to prevent emotions from sinking her in the moment.

To my surprise, she doesn’t offer a wisecrack in return.

For once, she just listens, and when I show her how to rock her boat and use her weight to flip it, she nods.

Then, without another word, she flips her boat and goes under.

Shit.

I should’ve known this dramatic little brat just had to test it out.

Fine, let her.

I watch while the bottom of her new kayak glistens in the sun, waiting impatiently.

After a solid minute, I start to worry.

She hasn’t come up yet.

I allow ten more seconds for signs of movement, and then I stop thinking.

I’m up, plunging in after her, cutting through the water until I find her sleek black form, grasping her waist.

She’s not stuck, thank God.

All that matters is that she’s safe and I’ve got her now.

She struggles a little from the shock of my arms grabbing her, then she must remember what I told her if she ever needs an assisted rescue.

She goes limp as I drag her to the surface.

The air is cold and biting as we tread water that suddenly feels far less friendly.

Her body presses against mine, fully molded, and I’m holding her so tightly she couldn’t escape if she tried.

The warmth of her body seeps through her wet suit—even through mine—and I can’t make my arms unlock from around her waist.

Fuck, if this was her idea of a joke, I’ll send her packing on the spot.

I’m close enough to see the diamond beads dripping from her eyelashes.

She looks at me, no sign of a smile on her face.

Her hands are splayed flat against my chest. I wait for her to apply pressure, to push me away, but she doesn’t.

Fuck.

I didn’t think it was possible for her to be any sexier, but drenched like this, with water against her parted mouth, she’s pure nectar.

For a long second, there’s silence.

Only our breaths, panting and frantic, this crackling charge like the air itself waits for us to breathe again, the space between us seared.

Then she breaks into a nervous laugh, swiping her wet hair back from her face and pushing back from me. Her face is pink now.

“Oh my God. I… I thought it would be easier than that. I’m sorry.”

I look away before I can’t.

“Are you all right? You scared me shitless.” My voice is hard. Adrenaline thrums through my veins.

She laughs harder then, wiping her wet face clean.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine,” she splutters. “I can swim. You saw me.”

“I saw you go under, Miss Lancaster. Do not bullshit me.”

“I was coming back up. I was trying. The kayak, it was just heavier than I thought.”

“I told you it would be,” I growl.

“Yes, I see that now. I’m sure I would’ve made it, eventually. I have a life vest… I mean, even if I wasn’t coming back up with the boat, I’d have surfaced eventually.”

“Now you see why you don’t laugh off safety lessons,” I snap, though it’s fucking humiliating that I’m reacting like this.

I know she can swim.

I know she probably would’ve swam up eventually.

Still, she was under there for over a minute before I fished her out.

My instinct keeps screaming react.

To this, to her, I don’t know.

Yet the blood won’t stop roaring in my brain.

“Well, thanks for the help. You were so quick,” she says, treading water. I glance at her, and the first thing I notice is how dark her eyelashes look when they’re wet.

I look away again. “Try not to give me a heart attack again.”

“Hey, I mean it.” Her voice trembles, trying not to laugh. “It was very noble of you to worry…”

“Call me noble again and I’m taking you home,” I bite off.

She coughs and when she recovers, she’s all serious. “It’s nice knowing my safety means something. Especially on the water.”

The water, again.

Why does that mean so much to her? There’s a story in her eyes she’s not ready to share.

“You’re a human being. Also, I don’t want the lawsuit that would come at me if you drowned. Would your father hire a hit man?” I mutter.

“Only for guys who date me,” she laughs. “You’re safe and still totally at my mercy.”

“I’m starting to regret the rescue. I could still hold you under.”

She stares at me and her mouth falls.

“…was that a joke, Foster? Two in one morning? Who are you?”

“Call me Shepherd.”

Call me Shepherd? What the hell?

Apparently, I really want a lawsuit. Or maybe I’m vying for a bullet from her old man.

I’m definitely coming closer to welcoming harassment charges with every word out of my mouth. Just begging history to repeat itself.

Maybe my ruthless asshole of an uncle was right when he said I had a self-destructive side. Once, I was young and stupid and went driving after smoking my weight in weed.

It wasn’t long after he had my father whacked for the insurance money, and Mom was buried in the bottle and long Sunday dinners with her sister. I only found out the truth years later, long after he was behind bars.

I was barely in the game yet, only dabbling with what he’d let me do, driving trucks with contraband TVs and laptops and kitchen crap they knocked off from corrupt dock workers.

Uncle Aidan seemed honestly concerned when the cops he bribed picked me up.

Right up until we got back to my parents’ empty place. Then he smacked me across the back of the head so hard my vision stayed blurred until the next morning.

“Don’t let me catch you trying to blow yourself up again, Shep. Ever. The older you get, the more you fuck up, you fuck me over, too. Now stand up like a man.”

Miserable fuck.

Ironically, I’d wind up being a key part of fucking him over a few years later, just not the way he expected.

“I don’t have much use for comedy,” I tell her, brushing over the Shepherd moment. Hopefully she forgets. “We’re here to field test my drones, Miss Lancaster. And to find your damned otters.”

“Don’t Miss Lancaster me, Shepherd. Not after you saved me.”

Shit.

So much for forgetting.

Her expression also tells me she doesn’t believe a word I say.

If only she had a clue what was running through my head.

When you’ve lived a pitch-black comedy of a life like mine, the only humor you have left is dark and depraved.

She nods and swims back to her kayak, at least, which has floated to a stop a few feet away. I collect her paddle and mine and haul myself over as she turns the boat upright.

Annoyingly, she’s mastered climbing in on the water almost as gracefully as she does everything else.

I want to hate it.

I want to keep hating everything about her sunny, self-righteous little ass, and the fact that she’s here excelling at everything I’ve taught her, making me seem like I’m overreacting.

It feels like the sky is falling.

Or maybe I’m the one going down flat on my face.

It might explain this familiar dizzy feeling of everything spinning out of control.

I’m used to that shit.

The trouble with falling is, there’s always a hard landing.

“Thanks,” she says when I hand her the paddle again. “I appreciate what you’re doing. Even just for agreeing to this, really.”

“Whatever. It’s basic safety protocol.” I won’t meet her eyes and let them drag me down. “Now let’s get going so we’ll make some progress before dark.”