I hated Sydney. I didn’t belong here, and the likelihood of me moving here was a heavy lump in my gut. I didn’t want to be here. Not for these two weeks, not for this merger, not for anything.

The grey and gloomy city through rain-splattered windows empathised with my mood.

I didn’t want to be here.

I wanted to be thousands of kilometres away on a white yacht surrounded by miles of blue. Blue water, blue skies, blue eyes…

This Sydney deal was big, and I’d been here as an analyst with Paulington, with my boss Gerard Soto, for two weeks finalising the details. Bull & Keo was the biggest fish in the corporate pond, and they wanted me to stay. They made no attempt at hiding it, jokingly telling Gerard I could do better with them. They wined and dined me, under the pretence of business with Paulington, though trying to entice me to their side of a very lucrative line.

They offered me a shitload of money, and they offered me a choice of locations. Sydney, Singapore, Jakarta. I could take my pick, be a part of their global team and conquer the world.

It didn’t get any bigger than this.

It was everything I’d worked my arse off for. It was an offer other people would kill for, and I should have grabbed it with both hands. I shouldn’t have hesitated. I shouldn’t have told them I’d need time to consider their offer.

My brain was telling me take it, take it, take it. My heart was yearning for something else.

Someone else.

Someone else who hadn’t replied to my text. Someone else who had told me I was gutless, who had let me walk away.

I’d sent other texts…

I’m sorry.

I was wrong.

If I could just stand on that jetty one more time…

He didn’t reply to any of them. Of course he hadn’t. He’d been brave enough to say it to my face.

I stared out the window, heavy-hearted and lost, not interested in the deal that was now done, the way people shook hands and offered congratulations, clapped each other on the back and smiled.

“Well done, Mr Jenner,” I was told. I was cheered, thanked, congratulated in a mindless haze, and was whisked down to the King Street Wharf, to a fine-dining restaurant on Darling Harbour. I was surrounded by Italian suits, French champagne, and Cuban cigars, in the midst of hollow conversations and empty promises. As we were seated at the long table to fit all twelve of us, the wealth and power surrounding me were staggering. The men at this table influenced economies.

A bubble of panic began to expand in my chest.

A hand clapped my arm. “Get used to the accolades, Mr Jenner. When you work for us, this will be your new normal.”

Fucking hell.

I didn’t want this.

I didn’t want exotic countries, extraordinary opportunities, expensive suits in executive apartments. I didn’t want any of it.

I looked out across the harbour, at the cruise ships, the water taxies, the yachts…

A fresh glass of champagne was put in my hand, and I couldn’t even speak. I was about to have a full-on panic attack in front of everyone. My lungs squeezed. My heart beat out of rhythm.

“Mr Jenner? Everything okay?”

I looked at the concerned faces at the table.

Breathe, Stuart.

But I couldn’t quite seem to manage it, and the bubble of panic expanded a little more. I was losing it. I needed fresh air and…

What did Foster say? There would be a moment and I would know. My tipping point moment—when I knew I would leave—would be crystal clear and pointedly sharp. In that moment, you’ll know, he’d said. Because if you don’t walk out, you’ll die.

Jesus. He was right.

I tried to breathe but couldn’t quite manage it. My chest felt tight, my ribs too small.

“Excuse me, Mr Jenner,” a waiter interrupted. “This is for you, with the message, ‘Looks like you could use a shot.’”

He slid a bottle of Alquimia Reserva de Don Adolfo Extra Añejo tequila in front of me.

Foster’s tequila.

I shot my gaze to the waiter. “What? Who…?”

“At the bar,” he replied with a polite smile.

I didn’t even realise I was on my feet until I craned my neck, looking, searching…

And there he was. Sitting at a table, leaning back like he owned the place, wearing cargo shorts and a polo shirt, his leather deck shoes, and a shit-eating grin.

Foster.

I almost cried with relief. My eyes burned. My heart sang.

I’d never wanted anything more.

In that second, that moment, everything was crystal clear.

I wanted to go to him, to crawl into his arms, and never leave, but I couldn’t seem to move. Like he somehow knew I was stuck, he shot to his feet and casually walked over. He was so incredibly underdressed, yet with the confidence he exuded, he could have very well owned this place and everyone in it.

He walked to the table, glancing around at the faces looking back at him. “Gentlemen.” Then he nodded to some in particular. “Jack. Carlos. Larry.” They stared at him like they couldn’t place his face in those casual clothes. I guessed they were only used to seeing him wearing sharp tailored suits.

Then Foster bowed his head. “Mr Shimizu. Always an honour.”

The small Japanese man obviously recognised him immediately because he stood and bowed as well. “Mr Knight. What brings you here? I thought you were no longer active.” As soon as Mr Shimizu said his name, quiet gasps went around the table and heads whipped around in his direction.

Foster grinned. “I’m just here to do what white knights do best.”

“And what’s that?” Larry Sterling asked from the head of the table. He didn’t look particularly pleased.

Foster smirked at him. “A friendly takeover bid that outbids the black knight. I don’t believe a hostile takeover is necessary here.”

Sterling barked out a laugh, and it might have worked if not for the hint of fear in his eyes. “And pray tell, Knight. Just which company do you intend to make a bid for?”

“I don’t want any company,” Foster replied smoothly. He looked right at me. “I’m here for something a little more personal.”

I let out a laugh, and my lungs burned and my eyes watered like I’d been held underwater and had just broke the surface.

Foster stared right at me. “What do you reckon? Want to sail around the Whitsundays with me? Forever?”

I answered with a quick nod. “God, yes.”

He grinned. “I’m double-parked,” he said, nodding toward the harbour. I looked outside and could see a crowd gathered on the wharf around his yacht despite the drizzling rain, marvelling at its beauty.

I grinned at him, every cell in my body buzzing.

“You ready?” he asked.

I nodded. “So ready.” I looked at all the faces staring at me, some confused, some furious. “Thank you, gentlemen,” I said. “It’s been great and all, but I would like to respectfully decline your invitation to join your team. I’ve had a better offer.”

I grabbed the bottle of tequila, gave them a parting nod, and when Foster held out his hand, I took it. The warmth, the strength, the familiar touch filled me with something new, something exciting, something right. And together, hand in hand, we ran out of the restaurant, into the rain, across the wharf, and stepped onto his yacht.

His home.

“Get the moor lines,” he said as he kicked the engine over.

I bent at the back and wound in the lines, tying them off like he’d showed me. I stepped down in the cockpit, grinning. Foster’s smile matched mine as he stood at the wheel, steering us away from the wharf. I slid my arms around him and tucked myself into his side.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whispered.

“It took me seven days to sail here,” he said, looking over the bow, navigating the harbour.

Seven days? “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

“Once I decided I was coming for you, I didn’t stop. I dropped my last clients back at base and couldn’t stand the silence one more second. Not one more second without you,” he said. With one hand on the wheel, he kissed me then. I clung to him, savouring his lips, his tongue, his touch. With a hum, he drew back and looked ahead again as we continued to sail, but he smiled. “I called your office to find where you were, expecting Brisbane. They said you were in Sydney, so I figured I was halfway here. Anyway, was my entrance back there not exciting? Romantic?”

I snorted and held him a little tighter. “I’ve never been so grateful to see anyone.”

“You looked like you could use a little bit of help back there.”

“I was drowning,” I murmured into his neck. “That was my tipping point back there. My leave or die moment.”

“I know,” he said with a smile, still looking ahead, but his arm around me tightened. “There were some pretty big names at that table.”

“I didn’t want that life. I didn’t want any of it.”

“I know.”

“Every second since I left you felt like the world was closing in on me.” I looked up at him, at his square jaw, his eyes. “You saved me back there.”

He kissed me again, pushing me against the wheel, and before we could get carried away, he pulled back with a groan. “We won’t make it out of the harbour at this rate.”

“Then drop anchor,” I suggested.

“We have to be back in Cairns harbour in eight days.” He licked his lips, almost nervous. “Are you sure you want this life?”

I met his gaze so he could see the honesty in mine. “Never been surer.”

“What about your clothes, your bags at the hotel?” he asked like he’d just thought of them.

“Fuck it,” I said. “I won’t need any of it where we’re going. And we’ve got eight days to figure out what to do with my apartment in Brisbane. And my car.” There was so much to think about, but I really didn’t care.

As we approached the heads out of Sydney, Foster had me raise the main. The seas were rough with high swells, but the stormy weather meant the wind was strong, and we were soon sailing, flying on the water, north to where we needed to be.

He laughed as I took my suit coat off and threw it on the cockpit floor. I toed out of my shoes and pulled my socks off, then pulled off my tie, undid the top two buttons of my shirt. I held my tie up in the wind, letting out a long “wooooooooo” into the wind as I stood with Foster at my side. We were wet from the drizzling rain but we were headed out of the storm, to brighter skies, calmer waters. To where the azure waters met white sands, to where the only thing better than seeing the sunset was watching it rise. Where the only thing hotter than the tropics was the man standing beside me.