Caught Between Two Billionaires

I manage to steer clear of him for the rest of the day, taking a nap after brunch and giving him the cold shoulder at dinner.

Our cabins are on the same level, sandwiched between the galley above and our parents’ master bedroom below. Thankfully, he keeps his promise and leaves me be, even stepping aside to let me pass when I head back to the observation deck at midnight. I take a deep breath, making sure no part of me brushes against him.

The wind tugs at my hair as I step out of the hold, its salty coolness a welcome sensation.

I grip the cold metal railing, letting it anchor me. Why does Christopher get under my skin so much? In my pocket, I have a couple of joints and a lighter. I light one up to help me relax, because I’d rather not delve into the answer to that question.

With a practiced move, I swing my leg over the railing and hoist myself up. This has been my favorite spot since I was six years old and my nanny would doze off in the room next door. I can pretend the yacht isn’t here, pretend it’s just me and the ocean, swaying back and forth. The motion gently bounces me, my ass against the metal bar.

The weed enhances the experience, making it feel more like a meditation. The more hits I take, the more it feels like the whole world is swaying, and maybe I’m the only one sitting still.

“Do you have a death wish?”

The question comes from the darkness behind me, and I startle, almost slipping off the rail. I manage to catch myself, gripping the metal bar with one hand and the joint with the other. Survival and sanity, the two most important things in life. “Do you always lurk in the shadows?”

“Whenever I can.”

I snort, a sound that’s friendlier than I’d like it to be around him. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

He steps forward and extends his hand. “You’re making me nervous.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” I say, ignoring his hand and taking another hit. “You get good grades. I get into trouble.”

“So the death wish thing…”

“Pretty spot on,” I say, wishing he would go belowdecks. And wishing he wouldn’t. There’s something complex about him, the way he makes me want opposite things at the same time. “I don’t want to die, but I want to live. People call that having a death wish.”

With obvious reluctance, he pulls his hand back and rests his arms on the railing a few feet away from my ass. His eyes are focused on the dark horizon, but I can tell he’s still watching me. “This is what living means? Falling into the ocean with no one around to save you?”

I point at the choppy water. “The captain dropped anchor before dinner. We aren’t even moving. What do you think is going to happen?”

“Head trauma. Hypothermia. Drowning.”

“For your information, I’ve been coming up here alone for a decade. No one ever comes with me. Haven’t fallen overboard once.”

“Then statistically speaking, you’re overdue.”

“Wow, you really are my dad’s successor.” Part of me is glad to have company on one of my nightly reveries. The other part of me feels the distinct intrusion of having a stranger in my space.

“What?”

“Go back down and play with your calculator.”

There’s a pained pause. “I can’t. Not when I know you’re up here, getting high and hanging off a two-hundred-foot yacht. If something happened to you—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” The sea chooses that moment to bump bump bump me, my ass a full two inches off the rail with every tug of the yacht. I’m holding on tight so I don’t go flying, not forward or backward, my perch secure.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather paint a mythical creature on the observation deck?”

“I know you’re mocking me right now, but no. I don’t have enough paint for that.”

“Can you just sit on a deck chair like a normal person?”

“Do I look normal to you? Don’t answer that.”

There’s a flash of white teeth. That’s how I know he’s smiling even though the rest of his face is in shadow. The smile is there one second and gone the next, as fleeting as his presence in my life but oddly significant. “I’m sorry I called you a poor little rich girl.”

“Are you just saying that so I’ll get off the railing?”

“Is it working?”

“No, but I appreciate the effort.”

And oddly enough, that was true. Not many people have ever cared enough to follow me up to the deck at midnight, to make sure I didn’t fall into the ocean. Definitely not one of the stepsiblings, who would probably have given me a little push to get rid of the competition for the inheritance.

It makes me want to prove myself to him, to convince him that I’m worth saving even if he apparently already thinks so. “Medusa wasn’t for attention. I mean, she was, but not because I wanted Daddy to pay for a new science lab.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“This girl got roofied at a party.”

He sucks in a breath. “Harper.”

“It wasn’t me.” I glance sideways to see his black eyes staring at me, so hard and fierce it almost seems possible that he can go back in time and rip the balls off a frat boy. What would he say if he knew my past? “It wasn’t me, I swear. I wasn’t even friends with her.”

After a searching look, he turns back to the ocean. “A girl got roofied.”

“Everyone knew about it, like the next day. One of the football players slipped it in her drink, and then the football team, I mean the entire football team, took advantage of her.”

“Christ.”

“They suspended the guy who brought the roofie to the party, one of the players, but not the one who gave it to her—the quarterback. And not the rest of the team. A big game was coming up. You can’t play a game without all your players.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

I hand him the joint, watching as he takes a hit, his lips brushing the same spot mine just did. “The honor society organized a protest, and everyone who participated got suspended. Despite all that, not a single word about the party made it to the local papers. The morning before the game, there was supposed to be a big pep rally with the cheerleaders and the school’s donors. The press was invited. The janitors even stayed late to polish the floors. Real press, from a newspaper that couldn’t be bribed to keep quiet.”

He hands the joint back to me. “So you painted Medusa.”

“She was violated by Poseidon, who just so happened to be our school mascot.” I blink back unexpected tears. I don’t know why it’s making me cry now, when it didn’t before. Not when I had to walk down the hallway next to boys who would harm me given the chance. When I had to wear my skirt a certain length and style my hair a certain way, as if I was the reason they were monsters.

“Did everyone turn to stone?”

I glance down at the water, where I can see more white caps against the dark. It seems rough for such a calm night. “The reporter took photos and started asking questions, but he didn’t get the full story that day. A week later, the story was published. The entire team was suspended. The headmaster was ready to suspend me too, but Daddy flew down and smoothed things over.”

“The science lab.”

“Which means I’m no better than those players, using my family’s money.”

His voice is so soft I have to strain to hear it over the gentle lapping of the waves. “You’re plenty better, Harper. Don’t ever doubt that. You’re fucking gold.”

My heart stutters. I should know better than to fall for a line, but this boy has me all twisted up. I’m ensnared by his eyes, which are somehow darker than the sea beneath us and infinitely more profound. I’m drowning in them; that must be why I don’t see it coming.

Lurch.

Dip.

My hand finds cold metal, and for a moment, I feel a wave of relief—until the slickness of sea spray coats my palm, and my grip slips. For a split second, I’m suspended in mid-air, my gaze still locked on his, my shock mirrored in his dark eyes.

And then I’m falling.