“The best thing I’ve ever done,” he says, climbing up beside me, kissing the corner of my mouth.
And for the first time in years—and for the first time since Ricardo's betrayal—I let myself believe that I’m more than just the help.
That, maybe…I belong right here.
In this moment.
With him.
7
CAPTAIN OF CONTROL
ROARKE
Three days after the terrace incident—as I've been calling it in my head to maintain some semblance of professionalism—the morning sun bakes a path through my office windows.
I'm supposed to be focused on the investor roadshow presentation.
Instead, I'm staring at quarterly projections while replaying the way Mia tasted.
This is a problem.
My phone buzzes with the scheduled call from Ariana Bristol-Reeves, Connor's wife and the PR mastermind supposedly saving my company's public image.
I straighten my tie and answer on the second ring.
"Ariana.Thanks for taking the time to discuss the Cannes strategy."
"Of course!The roadshow timeline looks perfect, and the venue at the Carlton is ideal for—" Her voice cuts out momentarily."Sorry, my assistant is trying to get my attention about something.Where were we?"
"The Carlton venue," I prompt, though I'm distracted by the sound of Mia's laughter drifting from somewhere on deck.She's probably teaching Isla another show tune.Or helping Captain Feathers perfect his Hamlet insults.
"Right.So about the sailing component?—"
"The what now?"I snap to attention.
"The sailing race?For the promotional footage?We discussed this in last week's briefing materials."Papers rustle on her end."It's actually brilliant PR—showing you personally demonstrating the luxury sailing experience.Very authentic, very?—"
My coffee cup slips from my suddenly nerveless fingers, crashing to the floor and splattering dark liquid across my Italian leather shoes.
"Roarke?You there?"
"I'm here."My voice sounds foreign to my own ears."I think there's been a misunderstanding.I don't sail anymore."
"Oh."Pause."But according to our research, you're an accomplished sailor.Multiple regatta wins, including?—"
"That was before."I crouch to clean up the coffee, trying to keep my voice level."Before my brother's accident.I don't race anymore."
The silence stretches long enough that I wonder if the call dropped.
"I'm so sorry," Ariana says finally."I didn't realize.We can absolutely adjust the strategy.Maybe charter footage instead, or?—"
"No."The word comes out sharp.Hard."Let me review the materials again.I'll call you back."
I end the call and sit heavily in my chair, staring at the coffee stain spreading across my carpet like spilled blood.
Sailing.
