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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.
Iwanther 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.
