“Claire,” I bark into the intercom, “my office.Now.”
Five minutes later, she’s standing there with her tablet, looking like she’s been waiting for this shoe to drop.
“Where exactly is Mia?”
“Nice.Still.”
“And the family emergency?”
Her pause says it all.“She asked me not to share details.”
“Is she coming back at all?”
“Can’t say.”
“Can’t—or won’t?”
She folds her arms.“Both.”
The answer lands like a grenade to the chest.And maybe that’s because I already know it’s true.
If I were her, I wouldn’t come back either.
Not after the way I’ve been pushing her away.
I’m halfway through another frustrated rake of my hair when the words come out.“Have Captain Martinez and crew prep the speedboat.I’m going to Nice.”
Claire blinks.“Sir, the launch is tomorrow?—”
“You can handle it.”
“What if the investors?—”
“Tell them I’m on a personal recruitment mission.”
“You haven’t been at the helm since?—”
Since Daniel.
She doesn’t finish.Doesn’t have to.
For once, the thought doesn’t freeze me—it focuses me.
“Daniel used to say fear’s just proof the thing matters.”I steady my voice, feel the truth of it settle in my chest.“And this matters, Cee.”I meet Claire’s eyes.“Have the boat ready in thirty minutes.”
An hour later, I’m gripping the wheel of the speedboat, the French coastline streaking past like a watercolored postcard.
Salt air stings my skin, the hum of the engine in my bones.
For the first time in years, I’m not thinking about the accident.
I’m thinking about the woman who turned my orderly life into something chaotic, messy—and better.
By the time I dock in Nice and hail a cab, my hands have stopped shaking.
Her sister Bianca’s street is narrow, sun-warmed, with pastel buildings and window boxes spilling with geraniums.I take the stairs to the third floor two at a time and knock.
The woman who answers has a sharp bob, sharper eyes.
