The waves battered Fletcher as she crunched herself into a ball, shimmying her bound feet up the beam until her fingertips could reach the mooring rope. She swore the sharks’ eyes trailed her movement, and she picked up the pace for good measure.
“What happened up there?” Waylon changed the subject. “And why does my head hurt like a bitch?”
“That would probably be a traumatic brain injury. Say what you want about Jackie, but she’s got a mean backswing. During a brief hostage situation, I found the lockbox, and she wasted no time stripping the key from my hands.”
A breath rushed out of Waylon, like he’d been punched. “So, we’re stranded?”
“Well, I—”
The knot around her ankles gave, and with one quick shift of the current, Fletcher sank beneath the waves. She spun. Lost. With too little oxygen. Until eventually, kicking, Fletcher broke the surface and spat out a mouthful of water.
“Come again?” Waylon asked.
The water hadn’t lost its fight, towing Fletcher this way and that. Every time she opened her mouth, more ocean water snuck in. Her head bobbed beneath the surf once more.
Waylon shook out his hair, the drenched curls clinging to hischeeks. Enjoying this a little too much, if you asked Fletcher. “One more time.”
Like Poseidon was playing a sick joke on her, another maverick wave crushed the jetty. Salt water stung in every crevice of her sinuses as Fletcher coiled her arms around the dock to keep from getting carried away.
“Seriously?” she asked anyone listening—Waylon, the sea, the slice of daytime moon hanging in the sky, controlling the tides and clearly laughing at her.
“Let me guess, another patented Fletcher Spence plan.”
Was he smiling? Fletcher couldn’t tell because another wave splashed into her face.
Fletcher huffed. Wiped the salt from her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak once more, expecting it to summon another jarring swell, but the ocean stilled, if only briefly. Fletcher took the opportunity to say, “Yes, I have a plan. Step one: dry land.”
“Easier said than done,” Waylon grumbled, still fighting the knots behind his back.
Swimming with smooth strokes, Fletcher muscled toward Waylon, careful not to stir up the wake. The loose folds of khaki around her hips dragged against the tide, weighing approximately ten thousand pounds.
Finally, she latched on to the beam behind him and muttered an apology as she anchored her legs around his thighs so she didn’t drift off while untangling him.
“I know it sounds crazy when everything has been so horrible, but I’m kind of glad I came here.” The skin of his neck pebbled against her words. Fletcher focused on the knot in the rope rather than the knot of nerves in her stomach. “I guess nothing gives you the perspective you need like thinking you might die at literally any second.”
Waylon scoffed in disbelief. Fair. Dying wasn’t off the table yet, anyway.
“I’m not afraid to go after what I want anymore. Well, Iamafraid. Exceptionally afraid, really. But I’ve realized that some things are worth doing scared.”
When she finally unleashed his hands, Fletcher swam around front, and Waylon’s free arm caught her hip. She was close enough to feel his breath against her cheek.
“Like what?” he asked.
The odds that Waylon forgot she’d nearly handed him to Jackie on a silver platter in exchange for a job were slim, but even if he didn’t, he deserved to know the truth. She knew what she wanted. If he didn’t want the same thing, that would be okay.Shewould be okay. Falling was the risk you took to fly.
“I’m going to get us out of here,” she told Waylon as she loosened the ties around his ankles. “You don’t have to forgive me. You definitely don’t have to say thank you, since I’m responsible for at least sixty percent of the fuckery we’ve encountered this afternoon alone. But I think I’m falling in love with you, so I’d really like for you to not die right now.”
For a long moment, he watched her, eyes trained downward as she pried her fingernails between the coils of rope. In the blue of his stare, every fleck of emotion he buried deep swam to the surface. She would understand if he didn’t believe how she felt, let alone if he didn’t feel it back. The rational response would be leaving Fletcher for shark bait.
Waylon thought. Then said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about the company, about my dad’s letter. Not much else to do when you’re held hostage, I guess.” A laugh trickled out, nervous. “I thought I would gladly live the rest of my life without another mind-numbing all-hands meeting about OKRs or ROIsor whatever acronym they’re shoving down your throats this quarter.”
“KPIs. End-of-year evals are coming up. Gotta keep an eye on your key performance indicators.”
Waylon’s eyes rolled back into his skull. “Exactly. I’m sure someone else will be a much better CEO than me. But, I don’t know, I’ve been thinking, maybe I don’t have to turn my back on everything entirely. I’ve been so hell-bent on pushing my dad away, but the company’s the only real tie I have left to him. All I ever wanted was to make my own legacy, but maybe they’re the same thing.”
“You could do it,” Fletcher whispered.
“Do what?”
