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She didn’t look fazed. “What kind of rescues do you get called out to?”
“Drifting boats, foundered boats, missing fishermen, crashes, storm survivors.”
“So basically when a boat goes ass up, literally or metaphorically, you’re the rescue party.”
Her description worked for him. “You bet. Here’s the thing. Whatever we choose to do outside of the office, when we’re in the office, I’m in charge. I run the ship and you take orders. I need to know you can accept that.”
She looked at him, her face not giving anything away. He told himself he didn’t care if she was ticked off or not. They needed to get some things clear, and who was running the show at Deep Dive was one of them. Because while they’d been lovers and he’d like to think he knew something about her, he wasn’t kidding himself. Mia had plenty of secrets. Saying she liked to be in charge was an understatement, because she was bossy as hell. And honestly, he didn’t mind when they were in bed. He had plenty of demands of his own, and as long as everybody had a good time, he was fine. When they were in the workplace...well, all bets were off. His world. His rules.
“You’re blunt,” she said finally.
“We’re not colleagues, and search and rescue can’t be a democracy. Sometimes, someone has to give the orders and someone else has to follow. I’m your boss.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
“Right.” He’d never heard a woman sound so unconvinced. “How medieval of you. So I’m the one taking orders. Okay.”
“Okay?” Somehow, he’d expected resistance from her. Mia absolutely loved being the one in control.
“Okay, but only in the office. Anywhere else, orders are off-limits.”
Her gaze was one hundred percent challenge. Just as he was brainstorming a dozen different ways to show her exactly who was in charge here, Daeg joined them, schlepping an oversize gear bag. He wore a bright red T-shirt sporting an I love my accountant message and a goofy grin that had Tag wondering if the loving in question was a recent occurrence.
The man was a lost cause. “Nice shirt.”
Daeg patted his chest. “Now you’re just jealous.”
“Dream on, buddy.”
Daeg looked over at Mia who, having reorganized the papers on her new desk into three equidistant piles, now had her head bent over the W2, printing her information in neat block letters.
“Is it bring-your-girl to work day? I didn’t get a memo.”
“Meet Mia, our new office manager.”
He made the introductions, and Daeg grinned at him. “So this is Mia, the mystery fiancée. Congratulations on the engagement of convenience. May the island gossips remain blissfully ignorant.”
* * *
MIA WASN’T SURE how she felt about the alliterative name, but it seemed like a nice first. She’d never been a woman of mystery before. Since her previous roles had been as the buddy and the boss, this was a welcome change.
Apparently done teasing her, Tag grabbed Daeg and the two of them settled around a large conference table with a large box of green plastic soldiers. Not playing, she quickly realized, but sketching out the beginnings of a disaster-recovery training exercise Deep Dive would be leading in the coming month.
She also met Cal, the founding member of Deep Dive, as well, but he was quickly sucked into the training preparations. The rumble of male voices filled the command center as they pushed the figures around, comparing various scenarios. Planning also seemed to require a great deal of good-natured arguing about the relative merits of the different scenarios.
While the guys plotted world domination or superhero rescues—the two seemed suspiciously similar—she organized the office filing system and sorted bills. She also made lists of necessary office supplies. Somehow, it was no surprise to discover the guys had a FEMA-worthy collection of emergency provisions and a gazillion dollars worth of computer hardware, but no staples or butterfly clips. She’d bet if she checked the office fridge, she’d find energy drinks and bottled water, but no coffee creamer.
Mia was happily lost in creating to-do lists when the door slammed open, and an attractive woman came barreling in. Of average height, she had a great body and honey-colored hair. Based on the T-shirt alone, the woman had to be Daeg’s fiancée, which meant, thank God, she was taken. Her pink shirt announced I’m the accountant your mother warned you about.
Tag shoved to his feet. “We just got our cue to leave.”
