6

MAYBE IAN SHOULD HAVE taken Sierra up on her offer to leave twenty-four hours ago when she’d found him in the galley.

He hadn’t meant to be quite so flippant with his greeting. “Hey, Sierra. Ready for our three-day tour?” The look on her face didn’t exactly give itself to joy.

For the first time since getting on the plane, since racing down to Galveston to not only intercept her but with the apparently vain hope of helping her, he considered walking away.

Because Sierra was right. She didn’t need his help.

Except, it was his boat. And his crew. And his friends. And frankly, the fact that she so easily dismissed him tied him into a frustrating knot.

The knot inside only tightened when she put her hands on her hips, set her jaw, and practically glared at him in a way he’d never seen before.

Not just angry, but annoyed. “What are you doing here?”

And it hit him again, painfully, that Sierra no longer worked for him. More, nothing remained of the shadow of guilt and shame that usually hued her expression. Nothing but a downright vexation at the fact that he’d had the audacity to crash her party.

On his boat, no less.

So he said something even more stupid. “I’m here because I own the place.”

Her mouth clamped shut, and she closed her eyes, as if conceding.

And he’d turned into a jerk. So, “And I just wanted to make sure everyone was on their best behavior . . . for you.”

A pansy save, but she opened her eyes then, an enigmatic look on her face. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He’d glanced then at the bosun, a strapping ex-Marine who came with the crew. He stood just a little back from Sierra, as if ready to protect her.

His posture reminded Ian that yes, he did need to be here, making sure everyone was, well, on their very best behavior.

Sierra had let out a sigh and come into the galley, extending her hand to the chef, a woman with short blonde hair and thick arms. She wore a chef’s coat and met Sierra’s grip. “I read over the menu you sent,” Sierra said. “Did you get my allergy and palate recommendations?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the chef said, glancing quickly at Ian.

“Can you explain to me the change in orders, then?” Sierra asked.

“That was my fault, Sierra. I just know that Hayes likes red snapper, and Dex is a fan of Kobe beef, so I upgraded a few choices.”

She kept her smile but grabbed him by the elbow. “A word? On the deck?”

He’d never seen her this way, and he couldn’t avoid the sense of being dressed down as she hiked out of the galley, across the dining room, through the sitting area and the double doors to the deck.

Out of earshot, where the sky arched dark and wide, the glittering lights of Galveston in the distance. The scent of brine and seaweed lingered in the air, and the heat, tempered by the cool sea breezes, warmed his skin.

Sierra stood in the moonlight, the glow of the ship illuminating her expression, the wind catching her dark hair and whipping it around her face. She pulled a strand out of her mouth, pushed it behind her ears.

She was still wearing her traveling clothes, a sleeveless shirt, leggings, and flip-flops.

For a brief, unbidden moment, he wondered if she’d brought a bikini.

Oh boy, maybe his presence on this trip was a bad idea.

“Ian,” she said in a tone that sounded very reminiscent of the days when she’d tried to talk sense into him, “once upon a time, you trusted me. You let me into every corner of your life, let me plan it, anticipate your needs. You thought I was capable.”

Oh no. “Sierra, of course I think you’re capable.”

“Well, then, why are you here? I can only believe that you don’t think I’ll treat your friends well.”

“What? Hardly. In fact, I’m here because—”

And, full stop. Because the next few words out of his mouth would only confirm for her—and frankly, him—how desperate this trip south suddenly appeared.

What did he think, that she’d fall madly in love with Hayes and suddenly appear in the wives section of the Texas Thunder stadium?

Okay, maybe.

Or that Dex Crawford might unleash his cowboy charm on her and . . .

Oh boy. Yes, indeed, Ian was a desperate, even jealous man.

Sierra was staring up at him, her gaze accusing as he stumbled into the silence.

“Yes?”

“I just . . . I just want to make sure the yacht . . . runs well.”

This seemed to appease her because Sierra caught her lip between her teeth, as if assessing him. Her voice softened. “Nothing’s going to happen, Ian. We’re going to be fine. This isn’t Gilligan’s tour—we’re not going to encounter a rogue storm, go down in the middle of the Caribbean, and end up on a desert island.” She wore a smirk.

“Funny. I know, I just . . .”

Her smile fell. “I promise you, I have my entire life riding on this gig. I’ve thought of everything—from food to sleeping arrangements to activities. Every detail is mapped out, and nothing bad is going to happen. Please, go home.”

He felt like a cad. So what if Hayes tried to charm her with his football stats. She barely watched the game. And as for Dex, well, she knew his best friend pretty well. Knew Dex’s charming, playboy reputation.

Yes, Sierra was much smarter than he’d given her credit for. “Sierra, I know you can do this—”

“No, Ian, you don’t understand. I’m going to get this funding, no matter what it takes. Which means I’m going to treat your friends like royalty.”

Her words, however, wavered.

Huh.

As if she knew it, she folded her arms across her chest.

It was the telltale swallow that rattled him.

“Sierra, are you okay?” Because it appeared like she might be about to . . . cry?

She looked away.

What? And worse, did he cause this?

He softened his voice, took a step toward her. “Sierra, I’m not here to make a mess of your plans. In fact, I want to help. Let me be your assistant.”

The words sounded funny, even to him, and she reacted the same way, her eyes growing big.

“No, that’s not a good . . . No.”

And because he had her flustered, and blinking away any hint of tears, he pressed it.

“Why not? It’ll be fun. You be the boss this time. Tell me what to do. I’ll even call you sir.”

“I never called you sir.”

“A few times, yes.”

“No—”

“You did. And Mr. Shaw, even after I begged you not to, Miss Rose.”

And finally, finally, the smallest of smiles edged up her face. She shook her head.

“What?”

“You’re going to put on an apron, carry out caviar on a tray?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Sure.”

“Help Dexter clean the fish he catches?”

“Into perfect steaks.”

“Swab the deck?”

“What does that mean, anyway? Swab.” He’d taken another step toward her until he was so close . . . wait. Her eyes glistened again, and she suddenly looked away and wiped a finger under them. He couldn’t seem to get anything right. “Sierra,” he said again softly. “What’s the matter?”

She drew in a breath. “Nothing. I’m just being silly.”

He stifled the urge to tuck his hand under her chin, turn her to face him. Oh, baby. “You are not silly.”

Her gaze hung on him and he swallowed, his chest thundering because her eyes were so amazingly beautiful. Still possessed the power to haunt him.

“Remember when you asked me to stay and watch the sunset, so many years ago?” she said.

Vividly. He nodded.

She looked away, just as he’d nearly surrendered to thumbing away the wetness under her eyes. “That’s when I thought, maybe, we had more than just a working relationship. That we could be real friends.”

“We . . .” He took a breath. “We were.”

She swallowed.

“I’m still your friend, Sierra,” he said, his throat suddenly thick. “I know I’ve been a pretty lousy one, though. But I do care about you.”

And that sounded so thin and paltry compared to the wave of feelings in his chest.

She smiled, however, and he held back.

“I just . . . oh, I don’t know. There’s so much riding on this, and I’m feeling pretty overwhelmed. I mean, PEAK could very well go under, and with Jess’s near disaster, on top of my house burning—”

“Your house burned?”

She made a face. “I had it burned—you know, to save costs on cleanup. I’m underwater at the bank. But I don’t know . . . something about watching it burn. Memories, you know, just . . . gone.”

He did know, because he had memories of that house too. Sitting with her on her front porch, nearly declaring how he felt about her after kissing her the night before. Instead, he’d apologized. Promised that it would never happen again.

He couldn’t count how many times he had returned to her front porch in his mind for a different ending to that scene.

“I’m sorry, Sierra. That’s . . . that’s rough.”

“It wasn’t like the house was repairable. But it’s so final. And now with Willow and Sam getting serious . . . My mother thinks he’s going to propose.”

Clearly Ian had been too wrapped up in his own problems to notice.

“I’m super happy for her,” Sierra continued. “It’s just that everyone has someone—even Jess has Pete. Or hopes to.”

Wow, he needed to catch up.

“And I have PEAK. That’s it. Just the team. And if I don’t raise this money, then . . . well, we’re running on fumes anyway.”

They were? “Just how in the hole is PEAK?”

Sierra had walked out to the railing and stood gripping it as she stared into the water. “Enough that Sam is thinking of absorbing the team into the Mercy Falls EMS system.”

No more PEAK. And just like that, Ian saw his legacy vanish.

He swallowed past the boulder in his throat.

“We can’t let that happen,” he managed.

She looked up at him then, and a smile tugged at her mouth, found her eyes. “Really? We?”

Anything for the way she looked at him. And right then, he realized.

He could fix this. Yes, save PEAK, but more importantly, become real friends with Sierra, the kind who weren’t obstructed by a boss/employee relationship. Where she depended on him, laughed with him.

Let him back into her world. Maybe even stood at the rail and watched the sunset with him, not because he’d asked but because she wanted to be with him.

So, he ducked his head, saluted, and offered a slow, easy grin. “You’re the boss, baby. Call me first mate.”

Words that just might get him into trouble now twelve hours later, because here he was about to step out of line as their first guest, his old pal Hayes Buoye, came aboard.

If possible, Hayes had doubled in size. In bulk, arm girth, and presence. His charm hadn’t dimmed, either. He was just as handsome, with his mocha skin and his dark brown eyes.

His voice was smooth, nauseatingly charming as he said, with a touch of Southern twang, “Why, Sierra Rose, you’re looking every bit as beautiful as your name. As usual.”

Then he leaned over and gave Sierra a hug.

Ian stood there, wanting to shove a hand between them. Maybe remind Hayes whose ship he’d stepped onto.

Especially when Sierra hugged him back, then turned to Ian. “Would you carry Hayes’s luggage to his stateroom, Ian?”

That was what they had Kelley for. The comment nearly broached Ian's lips. Instead, he managed an “Aye, aye” and chased it with a tight smile.

But when she met his smile . . . okay, yes. He’d play nicely.

For Sierra.

Sierra longed to believe that Ian meant his words from last night.

“You’re the boss, baby.”

They found her tender places, lit a long-simmering hope that yes, maybe someday they might find equal footing.

Even a way to be friends again.

She probably shouldn’t have treated him quite so harshly, but the fact that the man had flown down from Montana to babysit her—it felt like a slap.

Five years she’d worked for him. Dotted his i’s, crossed his t’s, and generally polished every corner of his life until it shone. She knew how to cater to the ultra-wealthy, how to disappear into a corner, reappear when needed.

And sure, these were Ian’s friends. All of them, at one time or another, had visited Ian on his ranch or met him at some gala event, during which they’d met Sierra.

She’d talked to them on the phone, written emails to their assistants, and probably knew their preferences better than Ian did.

Of course she could handle this, and his weird pause after she’d reminded him of that fact had her unnerved.

What did he think she’d do—beg his friends for help?

Okay, if it came to that, but . . .

And then she’d done the unthinkable and unraveled in front of him. Oh, how she wanted to rewind that moment, push pause, pull herself together. But he’d been standing there looking so determined to help her.

His softly spoken words didn’t help, either. “We can’t let that happen.”

We. He’d lumped them together, like a team.

Ian and Sierra.

It stirred up every forbidden hope, every errant dream.

He only added fuel when he suggested she call him first mate.

Um, never. Because despite Ian’s eagerness to help—from arranging flowers in the staterooms to showing up like Johnny-on-the-spot to greet his guests and carry luggage, she knew he was only playing a game.

But he played the game very, very well. Like his quiet acquiescence when she suggested he carry Hayes’s bags.

Or later when he and Kelley did a maintenance overview of the fuel and oil levels on the Jet Skis, then checked on the life raft, tucked inside a square box in the stern.

Admittedly, Sierra had allowed herself a moment of appreciation as Ian worked. He wore a baseball hat backward, a pair of aviator sunglasses, a loose tank, and a pair of cargo shorts. Just another deckhand, his arm muscles flexing as he moved equipment.

He’d looked up once, grinned, offered a thumbs-up.

Okay, this might work.

Sierra pushed her way into the kitchen where “Cat” Cordello was just plating the apple chutney and baked Brie appetizer. “This smells delicious. What’s the ETA? The guests are assembling for a toast before we’re away.”

She liked Cat. The cook had taken Ian’s upgraded changes and woven them into Sierra’s menu without a fuss.

Probably because she also secretly knew who was in charge.

That put a fine point to the charade. What was he doing here? Ian was no more her first mate than she was Captain Hook.

And really, he wasn’t her friend, either. Could never be because, well, she would never be in Ian’s league no matter how much she longed for it. He simply looked at life differently. Money and opportunity came to him as natural as breathing.

While she was really one bad turn of luck away from living in her car.

Besides, with friends like Noelly Crawford in his airspace, Ian would never take a second look at her. It just took his reaction when Noelly followed Dex aboard for Sierra to realize that truth. In fact, it suddenly became abundantly, painfully clear just why Ian had changed his mind and headed south.

Or maybe all his rich friends greeted each other with a kiss on the lips.

Although Vanessa hadn’t exactly popped him a full-on kiss, had she? She’d simply kissed his cheek.

She’d done the same to Hayes, who’d changed and was lounging on the top deck near the whirlpool in his deck shorts and a tank that did little to hide his magnificent football physique.

Noelly had all but ignored Sierra when she stepped onto the boat—with Kelley’s help. Not Dex, however, who made her feel as if he were actually glad to see her.

Sierra wasn’t sure if Noelly would join them, her invitation extended through Dex. But she’d prepared her a room anyway, knowing that anywhere Ian would be, Noelly would probably also show up. Sierra would simply have to avert her eyes to Noelly’s flirting.

Ian had carried Dex’s suitcase to his room but hadn’t returned.

Probably changing into his lounge clothes, ready to assume his place with his friends. After all, it was his boat, as he’d pointed out.

Oh, what was her problem that she expected so little from Ian?

Cat handed her the tray of Brie. “You’re all set. I’ll send Kelley and Erica to the deck with drinks.”

“Thanks,” Sierra said and headed out to the back deck.

She stood for a minute, however, at the double doors, just assessing the group.

Ian Shaw possessed a magnificent and generous bunch of friends. Not only wealthy, but beautiful.

Vanessa White, the head of the White Group, a charity conglomerate that ran the funds of some of the biggest corporations in the world, wore a white sundress, a stunning contrast to her dark skin. Half Asian, half Puerto Rican, Vanessa bore the exotic beauty of an international model, her lean body nearly as tall as Hayes’s.

Seated on the bench, her legs curled up under her, blonde and model-gorgeous Noelly listened to Hayes talk. A smile played on her lips, and she curled a finger around a lock of her blonde hair that was tied up in a messy bun. She’d changed into linen pants and a bikini top.

Dex stood at the rail, his phone out. He lifted it to take a picture, and Vanessa waved, leaning in, her hand touching Hayes’s shoulder. Dex Crawford could make a girl stop in her tracks, handsome with his dark blond hair, the perfect length of golden five-o’clock grizzle, and pale green-blue eyes. He’d honed his body like a man with a trainer, and his open shirt revealed six-pack abs. He too wore linen pants, cinched at the waist, and tucked a bare foot onto the railing for balance.

Okay, she could admit a slight stirring of appreciation when Dex had pulled her into his arms for a welcome hug and kiss on her cheek.

She pushed through the doors out to the deck. “We’re almost ready to shove off. But the captain wants to welcome you,” she said as she walked out, holding the appetizer.

“The captain and . . . the owner of the yacht,” came a voice.

Sure enough, the man who could never come close to being her first mate appeared on the deck above her.

She knew it, oh, she knew it.

Ian Shaw couldn’t be common, couldn’t blend into the background, couldn’t simply stand aside and serve even if he gave it his best college try.

He looked regal and wealthy and every inch the owner of a ten-million-dollar yacht in his aviator sunglasses, the wind tousling his auburn hair. He exuded confidence as he came down the stairs, still wearing his cargo shorts, although he’d changed into a white T-shirt.

Sierra just stood there like a dumbstruck fan as he hit the deck and walked over to her.

She thought he’d move past her, but instead he stopped. “Let me carry that for you.”

Huh?

He picked up the Brie plate and walked over to his friends. “First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming, especially on such short notice. As you know, the search and rescue team I formed is in trouble, and Sierra and I are going to do our best this weekend to convince you to help us save it.”

He made the rounds, like he might be the purser, and Sierra just stood there without moving.

“You didn’t have to cajole us onto your yacht to get us to write a check, Ian,” Vanessa said. “But we’re glad you did.” She took a cracker.

“Yeah, dude. Just name the amount you need,” Hayes said.

“No, we need to make him work for it.” Dex leaned up from the railing. “Besides, what he isn’t telling you is that this is the maiden voyage of the Montana Rose.”

It was? She glanced at Ian.

He didn’t look at her, just shrugged. “All work and no play—”

“We’re going to play this weekend, though,” Noelly said, her eyes sparkling. And the way she looked at Ian, almost hungry, had Sierra wanting to back away slowly.

That, or . . .

No, really, she couldn’t push Noelly Crawford overboard. Because Noelly was probably the one person who could hold her own with Ian Shaw. Who deserved to be in his circle.

In fact, they made a beautiful couple. Even the Instagram audience agreed, given the likes.

Ian set down the platter and glanced at Sierra, frowning. Nodded for her to join them.

Kelley and Erica came through the doors carrying already opened bubbly champagne, followed by Captain Gregory, a thick-built man with the sea in his eyes.

Erica gave a double take at Hayes as she handed the man a flute of champagne. Yeah, well, Hayes was an attractive man. And Erica, with her bobbed brown hair, freckled nose, and warm smile, looked every inch a cheerleader.

But the help shouldn’t mingle with the guests, and Sierra needed to remember that. Hopefully Erica would too because the last thing Sierra needed was trouble below deck.

Captain Gregory shook the guests’ hands and gave a short rundown of their trip.

A quick round-trip down to Cancun, then back to Galveston. “We’ll have time for some fishing tomorrow, and a day of snorkeling once we anchor off the coast of Mexico.”

Then he invited them to raise a glass.

Noelly slipped her arm through Ian’s and tugged him to stand next to her.

Ian looked down at her and smiled, such warmth in his gaze that Sierra nearly missed the captain handing her a glass. She shook her head. Hired help and all. Besides, it wouldn’t last long in her suddenly roiling stomach.

She looked down, took a breath. This was about raising funds for PEAK. Nothing else mattered.

Captain Gregory raised his glass. “Mark Twain once said, ‘Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than those you did. So, throw off the bowlines. Sail away from safe harbor. Catch the wind in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.’ Ladies and gentlemen, let us catch the wind. To a safe voyage.”

“A safe voyage,” they echoed, and Ian raised his glass along with the rest of his chums, the beautiful people.

The people with whom he belonged.

The captain left them on the deck, and Sierra was about to follow Erica back to the galley when she heard someone call her name.

Not Ian, but Dex. He came over to her, holding his champagne. He slid his glasses down his nose, caught her in his beautiful gaze. “So, what fun do you have planned for us?”

She noticed a few other heads had swiveled in her direction, so she returned to the group. “Tomorrow is a travel day, so it’s mostly relaxing on the boat. But Erica is a trained massage therapist and she’ll offer you on-deck massages. And if you want to fish off the stern, Kelley will fix you up.” She didn’t look at Ian, didn’t want to silently suggest that maybe he could help.

“Then, the next day, we’ll anchor off Isla Mujeres, a little island off Cancun, and do some jet-skiing or snorkeling. We’ll head back that night, get you back into port by late Monday afternoon.”

“Unless we mutiny and decide to head for the high seas,” Dex said.

“It’s entirely possible, with Ian at the helm,” Vanessa said.

Sierra glanced at Ian, frowning.

His eyes had widened, and he shot what looked like a panicked expression at his laughing friends. Then he turned to Sierra, deadly serious. “None of that was my fault. Dex was the one with the keys.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ian looked away, staring out at something across the wharf. He shook his head as if in disbelief.

“Oh, Ian, you never told Sierra your secrets?” Vanessa said.

Then Hayes turned to her. “Hasn’t he told you how we met?”

She shook her head.

“We’re Ian’s study group from Stanford.”

“More like his students.” Dex sat down on a deck chair. “Actually, I was his student, and Hayes was in my calculus class—”

“Why they had me in calc, I’ll never know. I studied psychology and coaching,” Hayes said. “But I was failing, badly.”

“And I never had a hope without Ian,” Dex said.

Strangely, she understood Dex’s words more than she wanted to. Sierra shot a look at Ian, who now cleared his throat.

She had always wondered how he’d met this handful of affluent friends. She never would have guessed that he might’ve been helping them with their homework.

“So, I got Ian to tutor both me and Hayes, and one night, late, he says we need a break. Suggests we go to the pier.”

“I just wanted us to, I don’t know, maybe get something to eat,” Ian mumbled, still staring away.

“So, we’re walking along the pier, and there’s hundreds of boats moored there, and suddenly Dex has this brilliant idea to borrow one,” Hayes said.

“No—my uncle had a boat in a slip there. I intended to take his,” Dex said. “He’d let me use it plenty of times, and yeah, I had the key.”

“Only, the key didn’t work,” Ian said, looking pointedly now at Dex. “And I tried to tell him that we shouldn’t go out, but . . .” Ian sighed. “There is not an outboard motor made, big or small, that can’t be rope started.”

This statement began a round of laughter that had Vanessa coughing, Noelly grinning, and Ian shaking his head.

“Let’s just say he got it started,” Hayes said.

“I told him that the sea was calling,” Dex said.

The motors of the Montana Rose kicked on, and the entire yacht trembled, began to hum.

She could have imagined it, but it looked like Ian stiffened.

“Only problem was, it wasn’t my uncle’s boat,” Dex added, now setting down his champagne as he bent over, laughing.

Sierra stared at Ian. “What?”

Ian wasn’t laughing. “Yeah. We’d just stolen a boat, and the worst thing was, I hadn’t a clue how to drive it.”

“I did, but . . .” Dex lifted a shoulder.

“He was drunk,” Vanessa said, rolling her eyes. “And the reason I know that is because it was my family’s boat they rammed into the pier.”

“They didn’t even get it out of the slip?” Sierra said.

“Oh, they did—took it for a spin around Alcatraz.”

“It was a beautiful night,” Hayes said. And as if caught in memory, he looked up.

Indeed, it would be a beautiful night over Galveston also. The sun hovered just above the horizon, and in the settling darkness, a few stars had risen, winking in the magenta evening. The wind smelled of the sea, fresh and mysterious.

Right then, the captain threw the yacht into drive, because they jerked forward, just a gentle lurch away from the pier.

Dex grabbed his drink. Hayes caught Vanessa as she lost her footing.

Ian had taken off his sunglasses and now ran his hand across his brow.

For a moment, no one moved, just watched as the Montana Rose slid into the harbor, parting the water like silk and heading into the trail of rising moonlight.

“Anchors away!” Noelly said, grinning. She leaned over and kissed Ian on the cheek. “Oh, this will be fun. The maiden voyage of the Montana Rose.”

“Really, the maiden voyage?” Hayes asked.

“You’d be shy to take out a boat too, if your last boating experience had you ramming the vessel into a pier!” Noelly said.

“I wasn’t driving,” Ian said tersely.

“Parking is hard in the dark,” Dex protested.

“When you’re drunk.” Ian looked at Sierra, solemn. “I didn’t realize he was so drunk.”

“You were the one turning green, holding yourself over the edge of the boat,” Hayes said.

It was then that Sierra caught Dex’s sharp look, first at Hayes, then at Ian.

Huh?

Hayes sobered then. “No, Ian wasn’t drinking. He was just . . . seasick.”

“It didn’t stop the cops from giving him a sobriety test when they showed up. And arresting us all for reckless driving.”

“And calling our house,” Vanessa said. “My parents were away on vacation, but I went down to the dock and found these losers, along with our damaged boat.”

“That’s when true love stepped in,” Dex said, glancing at Vanessa.

She rolled her eyes. “Dream on, lover boy. It was all Hayes and his sweet talk, offering me season tickets for life, wherever he played.”

She flashed him a grin then, and yep, Sierra spied something in it that suggested a hint of that true love Dex had mentioned. Especially since Hayes still had a hand on her back, steadying her. Maybe Vanessa had shown up for the trip to rekindle something with Hayes.

“And Ian promised to help me through my statistics class,” Vanessa said. “So I said the boys had borrowed the boat, and . . . well, the rest is history.”

Ian had said nothing, and for the first time, Sierra noticed his gaze on her. Solemn. As if waiting for something.

And with a jolt, a sort of awakening, she got it.

Ian wasn’t like his friends, with their trust funds and million-dollar legacies. He’d grown up the son of a hired man, on Dex’s ranch. He’d simply taken his brains and done something with his life.

A big something.

Maybe wealth wasn’t a state of income but a state of mind.

It could be that, at his core, Ian saw life the way she did.

She’d always thought that to Ian, life was about winning.

But maybe, like Sierra, he simply hoped to survive.

When he looked up and met her eyes, she didn’t look away.

Maybe they were in this together.