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Guess Willow would be chatting with Ronan on the platform first.
Ronan had his trophy fish, though he’d netted the wrong class.
No.
Calista was not cool with giving up and had a narrow window to talk to Ronan. This was her shot, not Willow’s. Calista kicked upwards, out of reach of Willow’s short arms, and grabbed onto the stick. The pole jerked with the weight of two women and angled down.
Ronan began lifting, and the weak aluminum bent with their combined weight, like a straw lifting two heavy lemon wedges from a glass.
Willow waved her hand at her in a jerky motion, indicating Calista should let go.
Hah.
Calista could, that would be the gracious move. Like when some late attendee at the yoga studio shoved her mat right against Calista’s, and Mom had her scoot over to make room, but this wasn’t a Zen moment. Her pulse was amping up, not mellowing. Calista narrowed her focus on the problem. She hadn’t even begun to use her advantages, two of which were tenacity and a knowledge of mechanics.
Calista ran her palm along the metal pole until she felt the ridge where the extension fit inside the base. Tapping her fingers along the top, she found the white button that connected one end of the pole to another, the same as on her pool cleaning equipment. She pressed down. Nothing happened at first, and then the bottom of the pole holding the basket loosened, disconnected, and sank, carrying Willow to the seabed.
Satisfaction floated through her as a small piece of her world righted. Calista clutched the net-free pole, and Ronan lifted her. She was going upwards at a smoother pace now. She let Ronan do the work, her shoulders relaxed, and breathing calmed.
Willow gained her flippered feet, the net stuck to her backside. Fists clenched, Willow looked up and around, and then at the fish tube. Willow moved there, ran her hands against the side, hit the feeding hatch, and jumped back.
What was Willow doing? Calista tightened her grip.
The newly released fish swarmed into the water, circling Willow’s body, and then darted outwards. The multi-colored sea creatures filled the lower tank in an instant. Their speed and momentum were relative to their sizes and ability to wiggle.
No. Calista shook her head, and revulsion jolted through her.
The dancers, who had been high kicking in a chorus line, stopped and formed a protective group huddle.
Calista couldn’t stop swiveling her head. So many fish. This was the oddest moment of her life. More surreal than when her financial advisor had told her there were Snowers’ shares for sale, and she had put in a buy order.
The water swished over her with increased agitation. Calista paddled with her free arm and kicked. Please pull faster.
Willow swatted at the water and backed up to the glass wall, her movements jerky and angry. She reached behind her and struggled to detach the net from her backside, looking like an awkward tennis player.
Customers surged forward to peer into the tank, camera’s high. Willow’s efforts were comical and despite all the fish, and an urge to get out of the tank, Calista’s lips were twitching.
Above, Ronan was still reeling her up, and the guys beside him had the freedom to laugh. Liam had his hand over his mouth, his shoulders rocking. Kiernan was pointing and leaning so far over the side, he was in danger of falling in. Around her, colorful fish swam near and too close, ending her humor. She wanted out, and kicked harder, straining her muscles to move.
The worker, leaning over the tank, shook his head and waved his arms upwards, signaling everyone inside the tank to swim up and get out.
All the dancers were kicking their flippers, heading to the surface. With their strong legs, they were fast. The whole crew reached the top just as Calista did, their hands, arms, then heads broke clear of the water. The dry, chilled air hit Calista’s skin. Around her, there was a mad scramble by the dancers to climb out of the fish-full water. The men at the top were using both arms to pull the women from the tank.
Ronan focused on Calista. He braced the pole against the pier and reached down, gripping her upper arms. With his big, firm hands, he lifted her out of the water and settled her onto the thick railing.
Cold air fully washed over her, and Calista grabbed the rough ledge. She swung her flippered feet around, so her back was to the water, and she faced Ronan. With his supportive hand on her elbow, Calista scrambled over the ledge and upright.
Chills wracked her body. The music from the club boomed through the air. Above that came the high soprano screeches of the dancers’ exclamations. They were all shoved together on a platform too small for this many people. Calista wanted to strip her goggles which were fogging up and take out her mouthpiece like the others were doing, but she didn’t want to reveal her identity in the middle of a crowd like this.
Dang it, Calista had wanted to speak with Ronan, but not in front of everyone. She kicked off her flippers.
“Hi, I’m Ronan,” Ronan said in a deep voice.
Pleasure flashed through her and Calista reached for her mouthpiece, but the crowd, the noise, and the situation stole her words, and she dropped her hand. Before Calista could think of a way to ask to speak with Ronan privately, a dancer shifted and bumped the pole, causing the end to clatter, and the side shoved into Calista’s hip. Ronan released her to move the equipment to the wall.
Good thinking, a multi-million-dollar player tripping because fishing gear was left out would not look great on her ownership bid. The best thing to do was get out of here.
The worker raised a large canister. “Take a scoop of their feed and toss the pellets in. Watch your hands if you want to keep your fingers.”
Nope, but great distraction. This was her break. Heart pounding, Calista jetted to the exit.
Downstairs, Calista did a quick shower and an even faster change of clothes. She was escaping while she still had her anonymity.
