Conquest: Billionaire Jackson Braun Series - Book 1 (The Maiden's Voyage Trilogy) by Cassie Carter (1)

 

“I’ve never seen one this big before,” I gaped, in awe of the massive ship that bobbed calmly in the ocean before me. Bold black script emblazoned ‘The Conquest’ on its foreboding hull.

Actually, it was a mega yacht to be exact, if you’d like to get all technical about it. I mean, where I’m from, Nowhere, Middle America, people don’t often get too particular about that kind of stuff. But this technicality was a little more than just something.

In all my twenty three years, I never spotted one of these grazing at uncle Jack’s farm, not once. And now I’m halfway across the country at a bustling marina in sunny Miami, waiting for the go ahead to meet my illusive new boss, a Mr. Jackson Braun. I’d say it’s not much to write home about, landing a job for mysterious young billionaire, but I’d be lying.

“A statement I’ve heard far too many times,” said Doreen, almost speaking to herself. She was a chunkier black woman, in her mid fifties, whose bouncy mound of curls mimicked her personality to a 'T', save for the high level of sass. You could tell she was a veteran in the hospitality industry, by her nice skirt and blouse, let alone her personality.

I was lucky enough to have her as my coordinator, and confidant, for the time being. She supposedly assisted Mr. Braun in many aspects of his daily life, which he cared not to address.

“Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” I murmured, trying to repress my anxiety, while I watched her direct busy shipmen past me.

“Don’t worry,” she said, shooing the notion away with her hand, “you’ll be fine.”

My smile waned, as I reminded myself about the situation I was in. Really though, I should’ve known my Bachelor's in Journalism wasn’t going to get me much out of college. So I guess I should be thankful for the opportunity. It’s not often that your mother’s best friend’s cousin’s niece is able to get you a job, but I guess that’s how it happens these days. Besides, maybe I can nab some hot story and turn this non career into something, right?

A door slammed down at the end of the dock, gaining my attention. A sleek limo had just pulled up, the driver exiting swiftly.

“Oh, good,” Doreen said, turning her attention to the limo. She clapped her hands at a few deckhands nearby. “C’mon boys, wrap it up, the captain’s here.”

“The captain?” I echoed, looking back to the limo and finding a tall, slender, middle aged woman, in a neat pants suit, step out. She wore shiny silver bracelets that bounced sunlight at us from afar, and a big pair of black aviators under her short brown bowl cut hair. A cold scowl lashed out with contempt at the world before her.

“That’s the captain?” I said, incredulously.

“No,” Doreen said, “that’s the captain.”

I looked behind the woman and spotted him.

A tall man, in a perfectly fitted navy blue suit stepped out of the limo. His immaculately toned biceps bursting through his sleeves as he pulled his jacket closed and buttoned it. His rose his head toward the docks. Even from a distance, his clean shaven face, smoothly chiseled jaw, and slightly sunken cheekbones were only underscored by a pair of dark eyes under an intentionally tossed, yet tightly cropped mess of short brown hair. A slight grin flashed across his face, as the woman said something to him.

My heart fluttered, as I turned inward, looking over my presentation. A modest black business skirt, and this little white sleeved blouse. Jeez, I look like a mess. I brushed my long hair in front of me and stared down at my several weathered brown bags of luggage on the ground.

This isn’t any way to make a first impression, especially on a guy as handsome as this. I hung nervously on his every movement as he walked in our direction.

“Jackson,” Doreen yelled out to the man playfully. “Nice of you to show up on time,” she added sarcastically, pointing to her wristwatch.

“Time, Doreen,” he said, his voice smooth and alluring like a fine wine, “is meant to be spent.” A cool grin swept over his face. 

“Ahem,” the frosty woman coughed beside him.

“Well,” he smirked, “not to all.”

As the two women engaged in light conversation about preparations, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was even more gorgeous up close. I was awestruck.

Just then, he turned his attention to me, giving me the one over before we locked eyes. For a brief moment, I could feel myself lost in their darkness. Swallowing me. I exchanged a glance of my own, sizing him up and down. I bit my lip unconsciously at the whirlwind of thoughts I was having, and flashed a smile.

He sent one back, ever so slightly, as I sheepishly averted my gaze downward. That’s when I noticed it. My nipples were as hard as diamonds and poking right through my white blouse. A wet t-shirt competition would’ve revealed less!

As the blood rushed to my cheeks, embarrassed, I rushed to cross my arms, covering up, and acting casual. But he had surely beaten me to it. He exhaled, as his smile expanded, almost holding a laugh back inside.

“Oh,” Doreen said, “this is the new assistant,” placing a healing hand on my arm and jarring me back to reality. “Miss Melanie Brooks.”

“Right,” the woman stated, in a frigid demeanor. “Let’s get going, we have business to attend to,” she added, shooting Jackson a side-eyed glance visible through her sunglasses.

But he just continued gazing at me, as I stood awkwardly by the wooden ramp up to the ship. I gulped, not knowing if I was about to be fired on the spot for my…behavior. His eyes tracked down my body, subjecting me to his whims, his specifications of an ideal. Specifications which I couldn't have matched. I was waiting for it, just let me know, and get it over with.

“Can I help you with those?” he brightened, pointing to the bags at my feet.

“Uh,” was all I could muster, in what sounded like a drunken stupor. And that was the only thing I could say anyway, as the woman started up again.

“You’re not a concierge,” she hissed. “Come, you must be prepped for the merger.”

His expression sank a little, as did my own.

Just then, she turned and stamped her feet up and over my luggage, which I’d just noticed was sitting right smack dab in front of the wooden bridge to the ship!

I danced around them, trying to shove them out of the way with my legs, before giving in to their weight. Embarrassed at my failure, I bent to pick them up.

“Sorry,” Jackson whispered in my ear, rattling the canal with sensitive vibrations as he scooped up my luggage before I had the chance.

A dam broke inside me. Like my panties had just been tossed into the ocean beneath my feet.

“No need,” I flailed my arms frantically, but he made no movement to halt as he ascended the ramp. “But thank you, Mr. Braun,” I said. It almost sounded dirty hearing the words in my mind play over. Like I was some sort of mysterious call girl to the billionaire. 

“Jackson,” he corrected as he continued upward, his tight butt bobbing from side to side. It almost made me wish I'd brought more luggage and had it waiting back at the bottom of the ramp.

“And it's my pleasure.” He lead me to the deck, where he set down my goods, before twirling to face me and extending a hand. “I look forward to having you as my new assistant, Ms. Brooks.”

“Uh, Melanie,” I squeaked, shaking his hand.

“Melanie,” he repeated, and smirked, before turning and leaving me flushed.

I looked down at my luggage with somber thoughts, and suddenly wished I’d brought more panties with me.

“You okay?” Doreen asked, coming upon me.

“Uh, yeah,” I stuttered, thinking how to avoid little messes downstairs from every time I would walk by Jackson. “Just a little seasick.”

“Don’t worry, you’re in good hands with Veronica.” She patted me on the back. “Just don’t get on her bad side,” she added with a chuckle.

“I think I already have,” I groaned. “You’re not coming?”

“I mainly settle his affairs here, international waters aren’t my thing.”

“Wait,” I raised a brow, “where are we going?”

“Lisbon, love,” she bore a toothy grin. “Hope you got all your shots!” She chortled in her personal humor.

My face drooped at her candor and she realized it.

“Don’t worry,” she patted my arm. “You’ll be fine, hon.”

Suddenly, the clomping of footsteps came racing down the dock. We both looked up to gauge the origin of the sound.

A short boy, very tan, with dark slicked back hair and wide eyes was huffing as he rocketed toward us. He couldn’t have been much older than I. Rolling along with him was a big suitcase, which he lugged behind, as he gripped for dear life onto the carrier bag slung over his chest. He came to a halt in front of us and let his carrier bag hang down against his black slacks, dipping onto the ground as he bent over, gasping for air.

“Just in time,” Doreen whooped and adjusted a missed button on boy’s deckhand vest, smoothing it out in wrinkled perfection. “Can you help Melanie get accustomed? She’s new here.”

“Sure thing, Miss D.” he croaked in fragments. He turned his childish eyes up to me, gleaming as soon as they took me in. “Hi,” he extended his hand, “Carlo.”

“Hello,” I said, shaking his clammy hand, which was sweatier than I ever could’ve imagined, or thought possible. However, the worst sign was when his hand went limp like a wet…well you know the phrase. Not exactly the ideal of masculinity, but just being a man is good enough when you’re stranded on a boat with uncountable women and an unattainable god at the helm.

“Can I get those for you?” Carlo hunched over and pointed to the bags.

“Oh,” I stepped back, caught off guard. “Sure, thanks.” I reached down to take one bag, before he snagged one of them. The lightest one. I fumed inside, as he sprinted down the deck.

“C’mon,” he hollered, “I’ll show you to your room!”

Ugh, I know I can’t be picky, and it was a nice gesture, but he knew what he did. Oh well, as least I’m stuck with carrying a hundred and ten pounds of luggage instead of a hundred and fifteen. I looked at Doreen one last time, whose cheeky smile stretched wide.

“Pleasant sailing.” She nodded, giving a little farewell wave.

And that was the moment I knew this little journey would be anything but smooth sailing. But I sure as hell was going to make sure I came out of it on top...hopefully in more ways than one!

 

 

“And here it is,” Carlo leaned in, his voice cracking as he slid the sleek white cabin door to the side. It receded into a crevice in the wall, save for the handle locked at the hilt. “Your humble abode,” he announced, waltzing in and raising his arms in grand gesture.

I crept in, slowly examining the curtains draped over a small glass window upon the door, as I tugged it gently from its hidden crevice. A two-way looking glass. Half the curtains remained drawn, which I immediately zipped across the pane for privacy, before snapping the door back into its open mode.

The sound of rings clanking together and scraping across a metal pole turned my attention back to the room. Carlo, kneeling atop my petite bed, had pulled back the curtains to reveal a tiny port window. Soft summer light dusted the room.

I found a light switch nearby the door and flicked it on, illuminating the room by small ceiling panels, thus one upping my new work compatriot at the same time. I twitched in slight annoyance as he remained kneeling on my bed in his soiled shoes, his dumbfounded expression unaffected.

“Is your room laid out differently?” I asked, admiring the small bed and even tinier nightstand.

“No,” he stated, his voice monotone.

“Oh.” I shuffled my feet in place for some time, as I waited for him to get up.

“There’s the bathroom.” He pointed out, gesturing to his left.

“I gathered as much,” I chuckled, peering into the bulging cylindrical semicircle that attacked me from the right. Inside was a small toilet, sink, and shower. “Thanks.” A thin smile garnished my lips.

“Alright, yeah, no problem,” he lauded his acts, lingering in awkward form near the bed.

“Well,” I exclaimed, turning to grab my bags from outside the door, “I better get unpacked.” When I turned back around, he was standing closer to me...much closer!

I jumped back, and stumbled against the wall. “Yes?” I blurted out, attempting to catch my lost breath. Really meaning, this is creepy, what the fuck are you doing way past the yellow tape of my personal space!

“I...” he muttered, fiddling with his hands by his waist. “I was just thinking, wondering,” he continued, bouncing his gaze between his hands and my face as he crept closer. “If you were going to give me something, ya know, as a thank you…”

“My friendship should be enough,” I said dryly, perhaps in too heavily of a mocking tone at that. I tried to move to the side and put my things down, but he pressed his hand against the wall beside my head. I was starting to regret the sarcastic offer by now.

He licked his lips, his breath stagnating out, almost taking a sardonic humor in my reply, while his gaze looked elsewhere.

I glared, eyes widened like a cornered animal, while he slowly retreated after recognition.

He threw up his hands, in confused gestures. “It’s a joke...a joke,” he quipped, backing toward the door. His laughter, and facetious grin was unbecoming of his actions.

I knew he was serious though. I’ve seen more heartwarming tendencies from Heath Ledger’s Joker.

He continued his fractured chuckling, until he backed into a figure, who’d just settled behind the open door frame. Soon, his expression turned to fear.

“Back to work,” the cold voice of Veronica cut him down like a dagger through the heart.

“Uh, yes ma’am,” he said, bowing and dipping out of the room. He shot one final glance at me, grimacing, as he turned outside and disappeared. Eerie silence followed him down the hall.

I stood deathly still as Veronica glided into the room, bringing that ghostly chill with her, one that you'd rightly expect from one of the undead.

“New girl,” she started up, “let me be clear about your duties.” She kept her long bony fingers firmly interlocked by her waist. “Everyday, you will rise at 6:30 sharp, and conduct work until we have nothing left for you, whenever that may be. Make sure you are dressed appropriately,” she continued at rapid pace, slanting her eyes at my skirt. “Being his assistant, you should report to him first, and myself second. However, you will report to my office first,” she stopped, raising her eyes vehemently. “Understood?” 

“But don’t you work for him?” I said, stating the evident truth, while trying to take her down a notch.

Her face scrunched up ever so slightly. “I work for his father first, and then for your…boss.”

“Oh.” I moaned, looking at a woman sick of being a glorified babysitter.

“Oh?” she snapped, her tongue razor sharp.

“Uh, yes, ma’am, understood.”

She gave a stern nod, eyeing me carefully, before turning round and sweeping out door. Suddenly, she halted as if she met a wall. “Oh,” she spun back and walked to my nightstand. My eyes followed as she pulled open my nightstand drawer. “From time to time, Mr. Braun feels it necessary to address his employees with various issues and requests through a note system.”

Inside the drawer was a full floral notepad and several pens.

“Please do your best to meet his requests, and feel free to leave notes of your own if you have any concerns for him. He is a very busy man, but finds it crucial to make time to personally attend to the system,” she added, with a scowl.

“Hmm,” I nodded, lifting the notepad from its spot and flipping through it. Bright purple tulips flew along the pages as if dancing in windstorm.

Instantly, Veronica seized my wrist, her frozen hand near burning my skin. I stopped, turning my frightened gaze upon her.

“Remember discretion,” she whispered through gritted teeth, “when complying with his wishes. They are not job demands. But I will know,” her face turned grim, “If you do something unworthy of your position.” Her grip tightened briefly. “Am I clear?”

I nodded curtly, my eyes widened like a deer in the headlights as she relinquished my wrist.

“Good,that is all.” And with that, she was gone.

I rubbed my wrist soothingly. Was there anyone on this ship that wasn’t crazed or high strung? I wondered. Besides that gorgeous billionaire of mine…at least as far as I know.

Suddenly, Carlo walked briskly past the front of my door, converging upon Veronica.

“Oh, excellent,” she said, addressing him from out of sight. “Since you two already seem to be acquainted, give her a quick tour of the ship.

“Uh, yes ma’am,” he stuttered. “Sure thing, ma’am.”

“And I stress quick,” she added, before her jet black stilettos echoed away down the hall.

We both stood there, awkwardly, aware that the moment shared mere moments ago was still very well lingering in the room. Finally he broke the silence.

“Well,” he rubbed together his rough hands in contemplation, his oafish grin returning, “shall I take you on the grand tour?” He stepped aside and allowed me through the doorway, bowing with a chauffeur gesture. “It may seem confusing at first, but it’s not as big as you think.”

Great, I thought to myself. The absolute last words you ever want to hear from a man. And the way things are looking, they may be the last words I hear too!

 

 

“Not bad, huh?” Carlo raised his brow up and day in what appeared to be some pantomime dog show, as we passed an extraordinary library, lined with bookshelves stacked to the ceiling. A ceiling that stood nearly two stories high, featuring a beautiful desk and study in the center. A large floor to ceiling glass wall behind the desk allowed a perfect view of the oncoming ocean, yet still remained hidden below deck.

Besides the massage parlor, spa, and the grand ballroom, which I'd only heard about so far, the library was my favorite area yet, and we’d only completed the lower levels of the ship.

“Who has time to read all of those?” I said, my mouth gaping in amazement, as we continued on, rounding the steps leading to the next level.

“Oh, I’ve seen him in here a lot at night,” Carlo smirked. “Though, I’m sure he wouldn’t like anyone to know that.”

I didn’t know being a well-read man was a bad thing,” I groaned, my tongue dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah right,” Carlo chortled. I'm not sure though if he agreed, or even understood my sentiments, Which gave me even greater doubts about him. Maybe I'd been wrong though. Maybe he’s not a psychopath, just an braggart. The kind of idiot who grunts after squatting a five pound kettle-bell and drops it on the ground. So the worst kind.

As we climbed the deck, I admired the seas around us.  We were already far off the coast, Miami now a distant mirage. I could feel the salty sea air burning in my nostrils, as the ship effortlessly cruised along the gentle blue waters.

Once we reached the top, my jaw dropped at the sight of long pool and cabana bar, topped off with a grill and everything. I could already imagine his body glistening wet and dripping as he stepped out of the crystalline water.

I shook my head vigorously, trying to pull myself out of the daze. I had to focus on work, I reminded myself, just like the dozens of other workers and shipmen who we'd passed on the tour. And some even at work cleaning the cabana right in front of me.

We continued on to a glorious open aired dining room, draped in white trim cloth, whose pristine elegance radiated from the sunlight caressing it via open flowing windows. It was massive; carrying the demeanor of a five star establishment easily, with the impeccably dressed wait staff rushing around to prove it.

I gawked at a freshly caught fish being delivered on a platter to the kitchen, along with a slab of steak. How could one keep their figure and live here? Then I remembered, of course, I wouldn’t be eating here. There must be some cafeteria located in dungeon somewhere that I’ve yet to see.

“Mmm,” Carlo licked his lips. “I wonder what we’re having tonight?”

“We’re?” I repeated, praying his use of language was implying what I thought it was.

“Yeah, the boss lets us all eat here and have whatever we want. He won’t have it any other way.”

Amazed, I contemplated if this aspect was more alluring than Jackson himself. After seeing the food up close, I'd have to see more of Jackson to compare. I chuckled quietly to myself.

“Though the sea bass was a little salty last time,” Carlo commented, his tone serious.

Jeez, I thought to myself, a free food critic and connoisseur. How on earth did such a talented and worldly man end up here?

Carlo flagged me on as we passed a plethora of other rooms and what appeared to be a captain’s control room, though not my captain's room. That was before we came to a set of steps leading up to another level, the highest one on the ship.  A cautionary strand of rope held as a deterrent, stretched from bar to bar of its handrails.

“Well,” Carlo clapped his hands together, “that about wraps things up,” sporting a mock game show host voice. “I hope you enjoyed Carlo tours—“

“Wait,” I said, cutting him off. “What’s up there?”

“Oh, that,” Carlo looked upwards, his nose crinkling with unease at my interest. “That’s the top deck, we’re not allowed up there.”

“Why not?” I asked, putting on my best, ‘I don’t know what I’m about to do is wrong’ face.

“I want to see the view from the top,” I added, dipping under the rope and hurdling up the steps.

“Stop!” Carlo reached forward, grabbing air, and rambled flurries of discontent that were left in my dust, as I hopped up the last step to the top. The natural wooden floorboards creaked loudly under my clomping feet.

The overlook was small, but not without a wondrous view over the ship and the beautiful waters surrounding it. An old wooden door sat off to right, leading to god knows where behind it, but presumably a big enough space.

To the left, stood an old ship’s wheel. Its nicked and battered wood was time worn and seemingly battle tested. Who knows how old it was, but saying it was an antique would be generous. Obviously implanted from its original location, it no longer served a purpose other than remaining a figurative property of the helm. Clearly though, that was important to a certain someone.

I put a hand on its calloused and worn protrusions, and gave it a spin. He really took this captain thing to heart, I thought. Though I wouldn’t mind having the opportunity to call him that myself.

Carlo’s frail beckoning sounded in the background, begging me to come down. I blocked it out, immersing myself into the crashing of the ocean waves and my own personal fantasies as I gazed off into the horizon. It was mesmerizing, as the shore seemed a distant memory now. I closed my eyes, enraptured by its majesty. For the first time in my life, I could feel that amazing sensation, one that I’ve dreamed about my entire being. Freedom.

“Beautiful,” a familiar voice sounded from behind me.

I whirled around, my eyes rapidly blinking as I soaked in the reality of my situation.

Before me stood the suited man of my dreams, leaning casually against the door frame of the now silently opened chamber. His ocean blue eyes sent shivers down my body, like the cold water splashing against the hull deep below.

Am I in trouble now? My eyes quickly scanned to see no sign of Carlo, before turning back to my captain.

“Hmm,” I attempted to lean back casually but stumbled, and ran a hand back through my hair to try and regain my not so subtle lack of footing. I didn't. “It is...”

“Yes,” Jackson said, his expression cool and collected, “the seas as well.”

My eyes flicked wide for a moment, as I felt my face burning hot. Did he just call me beautiful?

Trying to disguise my cheeks, I jerked around and focused back on the wheel, poorly I might add.

“Late 13th century,” he said. “Supposedly, used by a band of men raiding the Brittains."

“Uh,” I spewed in bewilderment, as I turned back to him admiring the imposing frame moving toward me.

“The wheel,” he said.

“The Normans,” I fired back.

“Impressive,” he flashed a grin and moved in closer. “You know your stuff.”

“But,” I stuttered, “If you could buy any kind of wheel you want, why pirates?”

“Because,” he leaned forward, as I shied my head downwards. “They take what they want,” he affirmed with quiet bravado, as he draped his hand on mine over the wheel. It was cold, and tingled, as he guided the wheel inward.

He came around me and grabbed my other hand, placing it upon the wheel, leading me from the backside.

I nuzzled the back of my head into his thick chest, as he tightened on me. His body felt dark, but oddly comforting behind me.

“Well, Miss Brooks,” he whispered, “do you like to take what you want?”

“Mhmm,” I said, nodding my head instinctively, as I felt his hands slowly moving up my arms.

“How much do you like to take?” his lips brushed against my ear.

“As much as you’ve got,” I purred, biting my lip, while his hands reached my shoulders. I knew he could feel my breathing intensifying, just as I could feel his heartbeat quickening through his chest.

“Um, excuse me,” another voice rang from the level below.”

I opened my eyes, praying for no crowd to be amassing, whilst almost wishing for it to a degree. Yet below, remained Carlo, his eyebrows splintered in dissatisfaction, but hiding it the best he could.

“We better get going before Ms. Stone gets mad,” Carlo admonished me, before slightly drifting away at my nod.

I felt Jackson’s hands slide off my arms, much to my dissatisfaction.

“Well, Melanie,” he said, taking a step back. “If what you say is true, you can always take a look at my notes, and see if we can’t get you on the right path.” He grinned. “I'd like to know how a history buff, turns into a personal assistant.”

“Yes Mr. Braun,” I expelled word vomit. “Err, Jackson, I mean.” 

“Good,” he said, brandishing his pearly whites. “Keep in mind, some people are willing to bend over backwards for me.”

“I’ll bend anyway for you, sir,” I chirped, immediately turning even rosier after recognition of my own words.

“That,” he added with a frown, a hint of sadness perhaps,”is not my desire.”

I peaked inside as he slipped back into his cabin, spotting what looked to be a large ordinary looking bed in what looked like an old shipmaster's quarters . And then, that tight butt, before it squeaked out of view.

I clenched my fists in anger at Carlo, and even more so at Jackson. At this rate, I’m going to run out of panties in a matter of days! And even worse, I steamed, I was so confused by Jackson's hot and cold mannerisms. He seemed so flirty mere moments ago, and then changes his tone instantly. It's like he wants me to chase him! Well it's working!

Looking back at his secluded little room, I said a quiet farewell to my Captain and went off on my way.

A heavily perturbed Carlo waited for me at the bottom of the stairs. His scrunched up face, and crossed arms emphasizing all that needed to be said.

“Thanks for the tour,” I said, “maybe that’s your true calling,” hoping to get back on his good side. Perhaps then he’d forget what he saw today.

I saw a smile perk up around the corner of his lips, before he swallowed it back down. “Let’s just get to work,” he whined, tromping ahead of me.

And work we did, as I found throughout the rest of the day. The amount of sheer paperwork was colossal. You’d think I'd heralded more correspondences, and verified more invoices than a dozen corporations combined. The work was draining, especially with the bloodsucking, slave-driving monster Veronica breathing down your neck.

Occasionally, I would catch sight of him, which brought my heart rate up to a suitable level again, but only in passing. I began to wonder if I really was just an assistant to Veronica after all.

As I shuffled into my room at the end of the day, and kicked off my shoes, I tried to remind myself who I worked for. Was it worth it?

I threw myself down onto the bed, and came to rest. My head rolled toward the nightstand, where my eyes fell upon the still slightly ajar drawer. Suddenly, I felt blood in my veins again…and in other unmentionable places.

My heart racing, I reached over and dragged myself to the drawer. I peered inside the darkness, and lifted a detached note. Majestic longhand script in blackened ink danced lightly across the pale yellow sailor notepaper incurred with harshly frayed edges.

I adjusted my eyes, under the dim ceiling light, saturating the moment with mystery, as I began to read.

“Who are you?” It stated. “What do you desire?” “Tell me your thoughts and fantasies, and may they be delivered. Show me yourself, and I will show mine.”

I fanned my face in embarrassment, before realizing no one was around to see it. Such a bold way to start out a letter, but I’m not disapproving of it.

The note was layered with questions about me, wanting to learn about my life, and who Melanie Brooks truly was. Was I ready for something like this, whatever it was?

“Perhaps,” the note finished. Signed by 'The Captain.'

A shiver ran down my back and I kind of liked it. I swooned and fell back down on the bed again, muddled in deep thought. But that deep thought disappeared after a brief tumult in the depths of my erotic machinations.

After a moment's hesitation, I rolled back over, snatched a pen from inside the drawer and tore a sheet off of my floral patterned notepad. I unsheathed the pen cap with my teeth and scribbled fastidiously, before grinning proudly at my work.

I capped the pen and tossed it back into the drawer, sealing the note inside. A pretty easy decision if you ask me, I smiled and shut my eyes.

“O' Captain, my captain.”

 

 

At first, the notes flooded in, day by day, letters of a secret passion and intrigue. The things he wrote to me, the things I wrote to him, both were enough to get any woman flustered, even a hardened one.

However, our notes shared something even more tender, a wanted desire to learn more of each other. I was amazed at how far we had come in such short time, learning that his notes shared a poetic voice, as well as intuitive direction. We were learning plenty about each other already, but it was more on the surface, and I still desired more, which I could feel he did as well.

Never explicitly did he ask me to do anything, or be someone I wasn't, which still surprised me. His words at times spoke like a man courting a woman, but retreated just as easily via the next note into more pointed discussion. It was definitely not the vibe I got from the first note.

This left me even deeper into the whirling air of confusion that surrounded us, especially due to the fact that I hadn't often conversed with him in person through our time so far.

A little over a week had passed since we last spoke alone and it had seemed like an eternity since that first day. And I was his assistant!

Furthermore, I hadn’t received a note from him in a day now. An unusual occurrence when you’re usually left to find pages upon your return.

This was more than enough to rattle me. The thought of him getting tired of me plagued my mind. I almost expected Veronica to charge at me at any moment and and heave me overboard like a professional wrestler over a jobber.

Still, I can’t give up. I feel like I’m so close to something...something real and unexpected. His mystery just enraptures me in something indescribable. I just have to think of a way to reach him.

Luckily, whilst below deck, I was told by a coworker to go to the pool, as a command from Veronica the tyrant. If something was going to go down, this would be it. I can’t lie, in a way, I wish she would call me out so I could beat her over the head with my heels and free everyone from her reign of terror.

Either way, I made my journey up to the main deck. As I rounded the dining space, and came upon the cabana, my nostrils inflamed by an alluring scent coming from something currently being whipped up by the white clad chefs at the grill. A mixologist stood to the other side, concocting some intricate looking drinks as well, which caught my attention a little quicker than I would've hoped. The sights and sounds alone were enough to send me reeling, but the view ahead of them was even more enticing.

Jackson stepped out of the pool, in slow motion. He was an Adonis, his body masterfully chiseled like a Michelangelo, though with a visibly larger package pressing through his tight blue swim trunks.

He ascended like a god, the water cascading down his taunt round nipples, and streaking down his sharply toned six pack. My mouth went dry just thinking about how parched I was for this tall glass of water.

I lingered, watching in awe and hesitation, while Veronica approached him from the side, her arms crossed with displeasure.

“I don’t believe you understand the importance of this issue,” she snapped.

“Please,” Jackson said, dry and disinterested, as he grabbed a white towel from a pristine lounge chair, “tell me again.”

“The date draws nearer,” she closed on him. “He has tolerated your follies, time after time, but this would be inexcusable.”

“Oh yes,” Jackson groaned, toweling off his wild mound of matted hair. “This merger is the the pinnacle, everything else is just a farce to him,” he sighed. “Port Allure is just an aside to this grand production of his.”

“You know your part,” she rebuked him, “don’t screw this up. We've seen this far too often from you. Keep this up and you will enjoy none of spoils of your family.”

“Like I care,” Jackson turned away, hurling his towel at a nearby lounge chair and sat upon one closer to him. “Neither does he,” Jackson said laying back. “I’ve got my own ventures to engage in. He’s never been my sole supplier of wealth, though you still find it hard to believe.”

“Not at all, Mr. Braun,” she cracked, “You just focus on other things. Just don’t let those things end up in the morning papers,” her tongue lashed.

Perhaps his reputation is befitting of him, I thought. I mean, he is a handsome billionaire, what should she expect. But what was this merger they spoke of? And his relationship with his father seemed shaky, at best. I couldn't help but feel my journalistic sensibilities clawing forth. Perhaps I'd get to follow my aspirations after all.

“Um, excuse me,” I chimed in, striding cautiously toward them. Their eyes turned upon me. “You wanted to see me?” I said to Veronica, trying to keep my eyes off the gorgeous body beside me. He showed no interest, or at least feigned it in her presence…I hoped. He was more focused on the tall and splendidly dark looking alcoholic beverage that was delivered to the little table beside him, where a manila folder sat idly.

“I did,” Veronica said, her scathing eyes turning toward me, full of animosity and venom. “Have you confirmed all the appointments and specifics on the itinerary?”

“Yes, ma’am, it took all night. Though I did allow myself some…personal time.

“As it is,” she ran over my words, “you’ll have to start over. There has been a change in schedule. “I’ve taken the initiative to cancel the sightseeing day in turn of a more promising meeting with a prospective client. They need expedited assistance in the delivery of certified construction vehicles to their location, along with personnel. That is something we will give them.”

“Oh...” My face drooped, less interested in the specifics and more in the notion that my work was a waste of time.

“I’ve taken the preemptive steps to include their information here.” She snaked around deck chairs to retrieve the manila folder next to Jackson. “Organize the specifics of his needs as a person, and set up a plan for how it should be addressed, before making further contact with their people.”

She reached down to grab the folder, but Jackson snatched it before her. She grasped at air, and returned a clenched fist to her side.

“I’ve also taken the liberty of looking everything over, and I’d like to compliment you on your fine work,” Jackson smiled.

“Uh, thank you sir,” I stammered, my face reddening.

“I can’t say I’ve had much input myself, but I expect you’ll be able to meet their needs appropriately,” he skimmed the folder, before extending it in my direction.

“Of course sir.” My voice trembled with excitement, not quite understanding what he was driving at, until he the folder touched my hands.

Jackson shot me a sly wink, and suddenly I felt as though there weren’t only client related materials inside. The kinetic energy traveling through the packet from his fingertips to mine, how bold! This was perhaps the only time I’d actually had a desire to sift through pages of work.

I stood gazing into his eyes a moment longer, lingering in his presence for as long as I could, before Veronica broke the silence with her frumpy foot tapping.

“Well,” she needled, “get to it,” shifting her body back toward Jackson. “Preparations take time,” she added with a snarl, “which you surely seem to have enough of.”

“As much as I’m allowed,” I fired back, as I whipped around and headed on my way. I mentally fist-pumped at the timely retort, a win for team me!

I also happened to catch Jackson’s lips forming a delicious grin, as I twirled around, and ventured away from the intense glare that was assuredly following me from the Daughter of Sam herself.

As much as I knew my words would come back to haunt me, I could focus only on the words within my hands now. The ones stemming steamy branches of heart and soul inside the packet I held so firmly.

And with that firmness, that determination, I headed straight to my cramped office space, where I’d worn off at least 75% of my butt already, in hopes of finding a hint to his thoughts and feelings.

I blushed hard at my taboo thoughts as I sat down and got to work. It seemingly took hours, my vigor draining, as I plowed through the packet. Scheduling, confirming, slaving, pleasing, blood offerings...the typical duties of a personal assistant.

I’d almost given up searching for the illusive note, until I noticed tiny letters on the last page, almost imperceptibly small.

“This isn't me,” it wrote, “I don't normally do things such as this. It was wrong. I'm sorry. Come find me when you can and I shall explain.”

I sank back in my seat, aghast of what I'd just excavated. It couldn't have been true that this was all just some big mistake. There was something between us, there had to be. Twiddling my thumbs, I sat in excruciating mental pain, wondering what the problem was. I had to figure it out. I had to talk to him. I had to...get a message to him. And I knew just how.

 

 

 

“We need to talk about this,” I said, facing my somber reflection in the bathroom mirror. Ugh, I crumpled into my hands. What is there to even talk about, he'd sure wonder. We just sent playful love notes back and forth, I reminded myself. Well...they couldn't be considered real love notes at this stage, could they?.

“Gah!” I bellowed, spinning away from the revolting image in the mirror. I'm getting ahead of myself. Wasn't this just a job, and a childish infatuation. I'm sure it was just the same with him too.

Pacing back and forth in my room, my thoughts raced. I halted, staring at the note I'd just written upon my bed. It sat, beckoning me to the nightstand to retrieve it and tear it to shreds. Suddenly, my confidence was draining.

I stormed the nightstand and pawed at the note, glaring at the words which sounded so sappy, needy, and whiny, stabbing my brain cells. Scanning it, I fell upon statements such as; 'I want you, and I know you want me, but I need to know what we can be,' and 'I need to know more about you and what you want. I understand if this was just something fleeting, but if there can be something more, please tell me.' Signed, 'Yours, Melanie.'

Way too many 'I's in there, I slumped onto my bed in thought. If he had any interest before, that will have completely dwindled after this. “No,” I grunted, “I can't give him this.” I barely know anything about him, besides the fact that he can write fancy, wordy letters.

I sighed heavily. Might as well let him see it, just let things take their natural course. I feel like I'm just not in my element around him. My eyes could've burned a hole in the note if there was enough sun around to gleam off of them, as I sat in quiet discontent.

All of a sudden, a banging came at the door. I jumped like a cat on a hot tin roof, while the door slid open. I turned to face the dressed down version of Carlo. I plaid navy shorts and a sleeveless white shirt.

I crumpled the note in my hand instinctively, watching his eyes turn down and track it, before it slipped behind my back and released into the drawer.

I almost didn't even have the time to be annoyed the fact that he'd just barged in. “What's up!” I said, a little too excitedly, trying to seem natural and failing. “

What's going on?” his brow raised, dragging out his words with painstakingly languid effort.

“I don't know,” I chirped, waving excessively at the door with my free hand, while leaning back against the drawer and closing it. “You're the one that just came on in here, you tell me!”

His eyes still lingered on the drawer before trekking up to my heavily beating chest. “I was just wondering, if you'd wanna do something?”

My brow furrowed. “Like what?”

“I don't know,” he shrugged, “something?”

“Ya gotta give me more to work with here,” I chuckled awkwardly, crossing my arms over my breasts.

“Want to,” he started up, stuck in thought momentarily. “Sit by the pool, or something, and talk?”

“Isn't the pool closed now?” I remarked pointedly .

“Nah,” he shooed the thought with a laugh, “It's always open. Sometimes, I even go skinny dipping.”

“Oh,” I snickered, “that's an image.” I recognized the mistake instantly.

His face lit up. “So you're interested?”

I guess I was safe, I laughed to myself. “Uh, no,” I followed up, trying to hold back stifling laughter.

“What are you laughing at?” he frowned.

“Nothing.” I wiped away tears with the back of my hand. “That's just a little fast for me.”

“Oh,” he groaned, his face turning dark.

Choking down the rest of my laughter, I noticed his brooding silence. “It's nothing,” I reiterated.

“So you don't wanna do something?” he questioned, his voice monotone.

“Uh,” I gulped, “maybe another time. I'm kind of tired, ya know?”

He nodded silently. “Yeah...another time.”

“Cool,” I said, shifting clumsily in my position as I waited for him to leave.

After what seemed like an endless moment, he turned slowly and sauntered out of the door, letting it slide back and slam closed.

The dead silence hung in the room, an ominous air about it.

“Phew,” I wiped my sweaty forehead, not even aware of the beads that were trickling down it.

I turned back to the drawer, tugging it open slightly to peer in at my crumpled note. Reaching in, I smoothed it out and laid it flat.

Seeing Carlo reminded me that it's not easy to find a man who makes you feel something special, on any level. A tender smile surfaced at my lips. I might never know what I could be missing out on. But I knew I wouldn't miss Carlo!

 

 

 

With morning came an unrelenting barrage of uncertainty while I stalked the various deck floors of the yacht, my confidence now fleeting. I couldn't help but imagine the note would be received and go horribly wrong.

I frequently pictured Veronica's unearthly scowl plastered across the face of every crew member, standing in lines to bid me farewell from their now accursed voyage.

Trying to shake the images from my head and get back to my duties, I sorted through client documents whilst awaiting my historic fall. To make matters worse, Veronica hadn't even shown up to our drab office yet. As if I needed any more signs that my time was surely up.

She was probably screaming at Jackson right now, about how bad an influence I was and to make me walk the plank or face her ungodly wrath.

My thoughts kept defaulting to Jackson and what was he thinking? Was he mad at me? Did he feel anything for me at all? The desire to find out was crushing.

Outside, the sun was beating down on us, attempting to melt everything in this office, myself included. This was the real sign that it was time to head out. I would stick to this faux leather rolling chair no longer.

I stood up in defiance and made way for Veronica's separate office space from my desk. Pushing back her door, I slipped inside to leave my work before heading out. While placing the manila folder neatly on her immaculate mahogany desk, I couldn't help but notice an open folder spread wide, and inviting a glance.

'Henry Braun' was printed on a tab the top, and frequently throughout the papers. Jackson's father?

Bending over for a closer look, my journalistic eyes scanned the files, which appeared to be tax documents pertaining to 'Braun Industries.' They service construction needs, importing, and exporting, among a host of other incorporated ventures.

Pages upon pages, I sifted through, with expansive, figures, massive. They were mostly of company expenditures, and revenue, but something just didn't add up.

The numbers didn't make out to the total revenue, and a quarter weren't even listed on the tax forms. Also within the stack was documentation for a company called 'Coastline', based out of Lisbon.

There's something odd going on here. I could almost feel my journalistic juices beginning to flow. Maybe this boat ride isn't over just yet.

Hearing the main office door crack open, I flipped the folder shut, and dropped mine atop it. I scampered out of Veronica's office and deftly brought her door to a close behind me.

I sighed relief as I spotted Old Ms. Perkins shuffling in and affixing her broad black spectacles over her eyes. She was Jackson's typist, with probably as many years on the job as the company has been around for. A kindly woman, but slow as molasses. She remained unaware even of my presence before her now.

As she turned around and spotted me, she jolted back in surprise, clutching her chest through her loudly patterned sun dress.

“Goodness!” She choked, “you startled me, dear.”

“I'm sorry Ms. Perkins.” I trotted to her and helped ease her down into her seat. “I didn't mean to.”

“You never mind that, dearie,” she said, raising her glasses and and taking a laboriously heavy slouch into her rolling chair.

“Can I get you anything else before I head out?” I asked, a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, already leaving?” She pouted momentarily. “No, I'm quite alright, thank you.”

“Okay,” I nodded, with a smile. I turned to leave, but immediately thought of something else, and spun back. “Oh, do you know anything about a company named Coastline?”

“Coastline?” She said, a hint of forgetfulness in her voice.

“Uh-huh,” my cheeks raised in anticipation.

“That's who we're going to meet with in Lisbon. They have places from Spain to South Africa, all along the coast.”

“Is that who the merger is with?”

“Well,” she looked up, her face scrunching in thought, “I'd venture to say yes.” She smiled warmly.

“Got it,” I said, sending back a smile of my own. “Thank you Ms. Perkins,” I added, before heading to the door.

“No problem, my dear, no problem.”

But what was the problem? I wondered.

 

***

 

I spent the rest of the day looking around for Jackson and trying to avoid Veronica at all costs. The feeling of impending doom had subsided, but not enough to make me want to risk a potential meeting with the wicked witch.

Night was coming, and I still hadn't found any sign of Jackson. As I aimlessly traced the halls, I came upon the library that Carlo had shown me during the initial tour of the ship.

Peaking inside, I spotted Jackson flipping through a book, deeply engrossed as he leaned back against the beautiful oak desk in the center of the room. Walls of books encircled the warm study, though not by any means diminishing the large looking glass behind him, letting in the light, or the darkness, from the outside world. 

Taking a breath and reminding myself to be myself, I knocked and crept inside.

“Hello,” I squeaked, tiptoeing in. His gaze turned upon me with a gawking expression, before he flipped his book shut. “What are you up to?”

Jackson's gleaming eyes peeled up. “Just sifting through some old books,” he said, approaching a sliding ladder attached to the wall, and nudging it down along the rails. “From when I was a boy.” Thumbing a spot in one of the shelves, he replaced his book upon it.

I ambled toward him, and removed the book that he'd just replaced. My eyes danced across the heavily worn cover and lettering, my palms caressing its grainy texture. “You read Moby Dick when you were a boy?”

He bellowed laughter. “Something about it just called to me. Perhaps it was the sea. I'm still not sure.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Surely not.”

“How about now?” I examined the dusty yellow pages.

“I'm still not sure,” he chuckled, snatching the book from my hands, and placing it back into its rightful spot.

I looked around the massive collection, admiring its breadth, the pure depth of what loomed before me. “How do you organize it all?”

“Well, I have everything placed in the order I received them.” He pointed to a lower spot along the wall right by the door, spiraled around the room with a pointed wave. “Just keep going up from there.”

“You actually remember the exact order you got them in? My brow raised as I crossed my arms in disbelief.

“No.” He looked up to his painted ceiling of constellations, a smaller reproduction of the Grand Central Station ceiling in New York City, but just as awe inspiring. “But I remember the points in my life when I got them. And that's what matters most.”

“Must've had a lot of time to read,” I laughed, running my fingers across the roughshod bindings of decades old literature as I passed by.

He nodded slowly to himself, trying to force a grin almost. “My mom,” he started, “she loved books, used to read a story to me every night. It was 'our special time', she used to say to me.”

Jackson's eyes wandered as he reminisced, a thin smile crossing his face, which brought a warmth to my heart.

“Not even he couldn't take that away from us.” he added, gritting his teeth. “I'm sure he never even noticed. Maybe he just didn't care to try.”

My heart sank just as quickly as it had risen, my face contorting with displeasure.

“I used to read to her every day in the cancer ward,” his expression turned grim. “Some days I couldn't tell if she was asleep, or not, but I just kept reading. Her face looked so calm, her smile so peaceful. It was still our special time,” Jackson said, brandishing welled up tears. “I thought something like that would change him...if not for her, then for me. I always tried to rationalize that he was too busy to visit.” He brushed the corner of his eye, whisking away sadness. “I'll never know why a woman like her stayed with a man like him. I just pray it wasn't for my sake.”

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” I praised, resting a calming hand on his shoulder.

He nodded softly, his mind adrift elsewhere. “She was.” Shaking the thoughts from his head, he returned from the void. “I'm sorry,” he started up, “for everything. What I was doing just isn't me.”

“I'm not sure it's me either,” I smiled. “But it didn't feel wrong either though.” I turned, looking up into his beautiful bright eyes longingly.

“No,” he said, gripping my arms and holding them tenderly, as my hand climbed up to caress his face. “It didn't,” he added, looking deep into my own eyes.

“So you got my note then, huh?” I questioned, drifting along in the depth of his eyes.

His head tilted in confusion. “What note?”

“Uh,” I mumbled, “It's not important.”

“I agree,” he nodded after a moment of recognition. “We don't need those anymore, we're past that and on to something better.”

“Uh-huh,” I affirmed, my eyes falling to his succulent lips.

“I must commend Veronica on doing such a good job of finding you.”

I blushed, as I closed on him. “I wouldn't give her all the credit,” I grinned. “But I do need to talk to you about her,” my mind swung back to the Coastline documents.

Suddenly, the door squealed behind us, drawing Jackson's attention. “Speak of the devil, and she will appear.”

I whipped around to find Veronica brooding by the door. A scowl was draped across her face, while her arms bent firmly digging into her hips. It was an authoritative stance to be exact, one that I dreaded seeing.

“Ms. Brooks,” she fumed, “I should believe you know that work hours are over.”

I fell silent, trying to grasp words that were out of my reach.

“It's alright,” Jackson took over, “I have her working on an organizational project for the library.”

“Is that right?” Veronica said, vapid skepticism coating her tongue. “Ms. Brooks has more pressing information to discuss,” she denounced curtly. “With me.”

Veronica's glare turned upon me, cutting past my useless chain-mail of stiffened facial expressions. I could feel my temples clamming up with beads of sweat as I nodded, taking a weary step toward the firing squad.

“Contrary to popular belief, Ms. Stone,” Jackson growled, staring Veronica down, “Ms. Brooks works directly for me.” His face turned dark. “As do you.”

Veronica's face squished inward, her cheeks twitching with an unrelenting malice that she could hardly keep in check.

“Is that not why Henry assigned you to me?” Jackson added. “To keep watch over me and assist me as I require.”

“Your father instructed me to make sure you don't screw anything else up, that is all,” Veronica hissed.

“Remind yourself whose payroll you're on right now.” Jackson strode forward, his feet pounding the glossy tile floor. “Not his,” he added, his voice deepening, grave and unforgiving. “Know your place, Ms. Stone, or you might find yourself without one.”

The two met at a standoff of glares, each statuesque in their places of opposition. Veronica's ire shifted to me briefly before she revolved and exited the frame, her heels clacking harshly down the hall.

Jackson lingered shortly, stewing at the phantom specter of Veronica at the door, before turning and making his looking glass. Silently, he gazed out at the dark sea beyond.

I tried to muster up the courage to say something, but felt a hint of something that I hadn't felt around him before. Fear. I could feel pain within him, especially when he talked of that man, Henry...his father. The raging fires burned inside. And for a journalist, with all the words in the world at her disposal, I could find none to quell them.

Turning to leave, I looked back at him, so wanting to put a hand on his, kiss him, and reassure him, but knowing full well that he was one with the black of the sea right now. And nothing could pull him from those waters.

 

 

Once morning came, I scurried to compile my thoughts on what to say to Veronica during our meeting. I'd been ordered to meet in the dining room with her and the rest of Jackson's personal staff, regarding the client details, promptly at 8:50am. I had felt safe after the events from last night, but one could never feel too safe around her.

However, that didn't mean there was nothing to worry about, as the thought of the missing note took space in my brain. It was the note which I'd left for Jackson, though it was not in the drawer after I returned from the library last night to check. It nagged me, like an open wound, stinging with every breeze of this salty sea air. Perhaps I'd misplaced it...I hoped.

As I peaked into the dining room, I found Veronica seated, and Veronica alone, her glare beckoning a difficult conversation.

“Sit,” she commanded, eyeing the seat across from her. “Leave us,” she instructed one of the servers and a chef, who nodded and quickly retired from the room, snapping the sliding doors shut. A heavenly glow from the scorching morning sun cast down through the soft translucent curtains.

I pulled the chair back, scraping the floor with a shriek and sat stiffly into it. “Ms. Stone,” I squeaked, “shouldn't we wait for the others?”

“No. Everyone is here.”

“Ah,” I nodded, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, and feeling like I'd just stepped into a set up from The Godfather. In other words, not good. “You'd like to discuss my client arrangements?”

Veronica stared blankly, running her serpentine tongue across her lips like a mob boss ready to talk down a lowly pickup boy before inevitably snuffing out what little of his inconsequential existence was left.

“Your notes are very well organized, with a noticeable eye for detail.” A slight smirk crossed her face, while my widening eyes sent across a different message. “That is...” she held in thought for a brief moment, “something not often seen in your younger generation.”

“Uh, thank you,” I gulped, trailing on her words. “I was always taught that details make the story.”

“That is..” she hissed, “correct.” A thin smile appeared on her lips. Casually pawing the table, she revealed a small cigarette box, and delicately drew a cigarette. Her gaze turned back up to me. “Cigarette?”

“Oh, no thank you. I don't--”

“--No, no, your generation has gone away from such things. A blessing really.” She popped a cigarette in her mouth, and flicked open a small silver lighter, illuminating the dancing shadows around her face. The embers burned, tearing away the knotting paper to reveal the twisting cancerous twine inside.

“When I was growing up, everyone wanted to be like Olivia Newton-John. The way she walked, talked, did her hair. Grease created a generation a smokers.” She took a puff of her cigarette, and held for a moment before releasing a cloud of smoke that glimmered in the morning sunlight like stardust. “But I still wanted to be someone, not just everyone. When I joined Henry's team, just as the company was starting out, I could feel the true potential, see the full picture of what he was working for.” A soft smile came across her lips. “You can admire an image, or a personality, but that doesn't mean they're right for you.” She held out her cigarette, quietly inspecting it, before turning her piercing gaze to me.

I nodded, immediately thinking she was trying to surreptitiously tell me that Jackson wasn't good for me. At this point though, I was starting to wonder if maybe there wasn't a little truth to that thought. The beaming smile and the brooding darkness juxtaposing in my mind over and over again.

“You remind me of myself,” she softened, wetting her dried lips with her tongue. “You want to forge on and make your own path. I see it in your work, you're not just some regular woman. You have drive, purpose. Your strategies, your action plans, they have something.”

I felt my face lifting as I warmed up to her sentiments. It felt as the the light was shining down through the windows was actually beginning to fall upon me. I thought back to everything that I always wanted to do...to be. From playing house in my backyard, to reporting on-scene stories for my mom and dad in the basement, it was in me, it was in my blood. I had to tell a story, even if it wasn't my own.

“Isn't there something you want to do?” She leaned forward on the table, coaxing it out of me. “Someone you wanted to be?”

I grinned sheepishly, and looked down at my trembling legs, before looking back up to her with jubilant anticipation. “Well, I went to school for journalism...but things just haven't turned out as expected.”

“And why's that? You're a bright young girl.”

“The internship didn't really do much, just a hard field to really get your start in, I guess.”

“You really need a big story,” she affirmed, “to make a name for yourself.”

“Yeah,” I responded, unthinking, “that's kind of the way it works out.” I looked back up to her and saw, only for a flash, a bewitching face, filled with terror, rage, and fury. It was gone in an instant, but left me with chills running down my spine. It was then, that I realized I'd made a terrible mistake.

She smiled warmly, attempting to mask her emotions again. “Perhaps it would be best for you to go and strive for those ambitions. It's the only way you'll ever work to achieve them.”

“I have to fulfill my duties here too. For Jackson...”

“Jackson,” she piped, “doesn't need anything but respect for those around him,” her voice shuddering with poorly sustained ire.  Easing back into her seat and taking another puff, her chest rose up and down rapidly, as she tried to calm herself.

“We really don't need you, dear,” she added. “We would make sure you're rightly compensated for the rest of the journey and your flight home as well.”

I was taken aback, my face twisting with disgust and confusion. “I don't want to go home,” I said, my voice changing to match her own aggressive tone.

“Humility, is an asset you should learn to utilize,” she grimaced. “I'm only thinking about what's in your best interest.”

My heart quaked with defiant rage in the beat of a instant. I stood from the table abruptly, my hands slamming down against it, and rattling the good china layered upon it. “You don't know what's in my best interest!” I yelled, knowing it was not the right thing to do, but I wouldn't let myself be bullied, that's what my father taught me.

“I complete all of my work on time, I give it my all, and I treat everyone right. I want this job, and I will work for it,” I argued, not bothering to soften my brazen tone. “So please...let me try.”

Veronica's eyes flicked rapidly, as if slowly processing the events, while her robotic, unfeeling mind, tried to comprehend the most logical response. An intolerable air filled the room in brief silence.

“Perhaps,” she finally cut through, “I was a little too..hasty in my thoughts,” she nodded to herself. “Your work has truly been of quality, and you do deserve a chance. Just make sure you stay focused on your work.”

She collected her folders, and ground her cigarette into a nearby ashtray before rising and skirting past me to the door. As she exited, she halted by my side and whispered in my ear, before disappearing. “Just don't make the same mistake I did.” And then she was gone.

I stood motionless, taking in the events that just unfolded. Relief washed over me, even if fleeting, as my mind washed adrift in wonder. What was she talking about? Or who? It wasn't Jackson. She seemed to speak glowingly of Henry, his father. Is it possible they...? No, I shook away the thoughts.

At least I was safe from her...for now. Still though, Jackson lingered in my thoughts. We had been growing closer, learning more about each other every day. I could still feel my heart skipping beats whenever around him, but did he feel the same?

Regardless, at least my note to him hadn't come into Veronica's hands, so things couldn't be too bad. It's time for this trip to turn itself around, I smiled to myself, finally converting some positively exuded mental energy into the physical. I finally know what I want to fight for. Or so I hope!

 

 

It was pitch black when I first heard a rapping upon the door. Dazed, I rolled over to check the time on my small clock radio gripped to the nightstand. '1:03' it flashed, perhaps a little too brightly for my tired eyes. I hissed in retreat, like a vampire at the beach on a Sunday morning. “This better be important,” I grumbled to myself, as I slouched out of bed in my silky pajamas.

A tall shadow lingered beyond the curtains of the window at the door. I yawned and hoped for the best, approaching, and reaching for the handle. Sliding it slowly open, I found the radiant face of Jackson, his hair tossed and matted.

“Morning,” he chirped, a bright smile forming at the corners of his perfect lips.

“Barely,” I said, unable to placate another yawn and raising my hand to cover it.

“C'mon,” he chuckled, “take those off.”

Suddenly any sign of sleepiness had been wiped from my face for something more in line with shock. “What?” I stuttered.

“And get in your swimsuit,” he added, “you didn't let me finish.” He brandished a coy grin.

It was then that I noticed a white towel dangling around his neck, his shirtless body looking even more inviting in the dimly lit halls. He wore a small pair of plain blue swim shorts, which hugged him in all the right places. I was lucky he couldn't see me blushing in the dark.

“Wait,” I winced, still rubbing sleep from my eyes, “it's the middle of the night, what's going on?”

“Oh, you'll see.” Rigid dimples formed at his cheeks.

“Give me a minute,” I grunted, sliding the door closed and diving to my dresser, looking for the best outfit I could find. A hot little red bikini that surprisingly still fit alright, even with the egregious amount of food I'd scarfed down on this trip so far. Hey, a girl's gotta eat.

Right now though, I was more hungry to find out what plans Jackson could have in the middle of the night, and they sure as hell better be worth losing sleep over!

 

***

 

I followed Jackson down the endless halls toward the back of the mega yacht, which all funneled to a small basement door with nothing else remotely near it. It would feel highly ominous if I wasn't with Jackson.

“Well,” Jackson said, turning with heightened eyebrows, “this is it.” He opened the door, and stepped back, ushering me through with pursed lips.

Walking in tentatively, I felt a breezy night chill, and hugged my shoulders for warmth. In front of me was a large outdoor staging area, almost like an underground garage with a ramp that led down into the open water. A trail of dark waves moved away from the boat into the all engulfing sea, with the expansive sky peering down on us through a large opening above.

“Welcome to my playground.” Jackson bore a childlike grin, putting a warm hand on my shoulder and pulling me in by his side. He watched my gaping jaw drop further as I looked around. “See anything you like?” he added with a cheeky grin, before taking my hand and giving me his own guided tour.

We walked under expansive floodlights, surveying his toys. There were various playthings; jet skis, paddle boards, kayaks, surfboards, even a small motorboat. I was in true awe of the amount of vehicles in his sea cave.

“It's amazing,” I guffawed, my jaw still grinding against the floor where it was left at the entrance.

“Thanks.” He traced the neatly designed trim on his college tuition equivalent of a motorboat with loving affection.

Footsteps echoed along the metal floors behind us as a port and stout old man, with thinned brown hair and a thick graying mustache sauntered out of a small office in the back. He wore a light blue jumpsuit that looked rather worn, over probably many years of usage.

Jackson turned and spotted the old man, a grand ole' grin adorned, which the man shared as well. “Not as amazing as this old sea dog!” Jackson trumpeted, moving in and firmly patting the man on the back. “Sal, thanks for coming down.”

“For you, Jackson,” Sal squawked with a thick Italian accent, Brooklyn to be exact, “anything.” A brash smile formed, “Ain't that what I'm supposed to say,” he followed, his language a little broken.

Jackson and Sal broke out in laughter. “You've got it down pat,” Jackson said.

“Name's Sal,” Sal responded, slapping Jackson on the chest with the back of his hand, exuding a hearty chuckle.

Jackson grinned. “Well Sal,” he motioned toward me, “this is Melanie.”

“And a beauty she is,” Sal exclaimed, extending a hand. “A pleasure.”

“The pleasure's all mine,” I smiled, accepting his handshake.

“And a charmer too!” Sal hooted.

“Careful now,” Jackson taunted, cracking open a nearby locker and removing a pair of life jackets. “I think he's got a crush on you.”

“Oh no,” Sal said, “My wife kill me, Maria, god rest her soul.” He placed a hand over his heart and looked to the heavens.

“I'm sorry,” I quieted, resting a hand on his forearm.

“Such is life,” Sal said, “I'll see her soon,” he added. “But I can't leave my adopted son here to break all these toys, with no one to fix 'em.” Sal sent an exasperated, but warm expression in Jackson's direction.

“What would I do without you,” Jackson yelled out from within the office.

“What're ya digging around for?” Sal yapped. “I'm the mechanic, let me do my job.” He sighed and walked toward the room, peaking his head in. “I don't come to your office and tell you how to do your job.”

“The key,” Jackson's muffled voice came through.

“I'll get it,” Sal yammered, “go get your stuff ready, alright?”

Jackson ducked out of the office, his life jacket loosely draped over his shoulders. “No patience in kids these days,” Sal hollered behind him.

“Don't have time for patience,” Jackson fired back with a grin as he moved toward a long stainless steel container near one of his vehicles.

I hovered around him, watching as he flipped the latches and cracked it open. Attempting to peer over his shoulder, I was unable to see what he pulled out, so I stepped back and feigned disinterest as to not have him catch me intrigued. The worst thing to give a man.

Just then, a clacking rang from the floor along and caught my eye. A wakeboard sat in front of my feet, still rattling a little bit. Thick black cords wobbled out of the container, their length curling up like a boa constrictor, with handles like its head.

Jackson then removed a pair of water skis and placed them alongside the wakeboard, before snapping the container shut. Looking back up at me, his lips puckered sheepishly across his face, before he scooped up the wakeboard in his arms. “You seem like more of a ski girl.

I laughed nervously. “I've never been skiing,” I admitted. “Of any kind.”

“I guess we'll cross that off your bucket list then,” he grinned.

“Who said it was on my bucket list?” I responded, brandishing a coy grin of my own.

“Found it,” Sal yelled, hustling back out toward us,  a small golden key raised triumphantly in the air. “No need for thank you's.”

“Thanks Sal,” I said, quick enough before Jackson could say it.

Sal chuckled and grimaced, “oh Maria,” he growled in pain, mockingly biting his knuckle, followed by a robust laugh. I tried to maintain a straight face, but it was far too difficult with him.

“Sal,” Jackson said, snatching the key and walking closer to the ramp. “Has the ship speed been taken down a few knots?”

“You know me,” Sal said, “took care of it with good ole' Harry just a bit ago.”

“Good ole' Harry,” Jackson agreed, muttering to himself as he focused on placing the key into a small circular panel implanted on ramp's landing. He inserted the key and twisted a half turn to the right. A loud clicking noise affirmed its position, before Jackson popped open a metal panel and pressed a flat red button inside.

It only took a moment before four steel poles arose from the metal landing, and halted at hip level. They lurched and locked in, before Jackson removed the key and tossed it to Sal, who slipped it securely in his breast pocket before attending to supplies on the floor.

Immediately, Jackson began affixing the cords to the erected pole, making them tight and rigidly locked in. I could feel a sense of dread washing over me, like the dark waves lapping the metal walkway mere feet below us. That feeling cemented itself once I saw Jackson pick up his wakeboard and head to the ramp.

“You're...” I started, stopping almost instantly in thought, while tried my best Nostradamus impression. “You're not going out there?”

Suddenly, a metal drumming sounded, as more floodlights breathed to life, illuminating the meditative darkness of the waters just beyond the ramp. The waves tussled and turned roughly, while streaming away from the ship.

“We've decreased the Conquest's speed, it'll really only take us a couple hours off our ETA at that,” Jackson said. “Don't fret.”

“It's not that,” I charged him and pulled him around by his muscular shoulder. He turned into me, examining my features with confusion. “It's dark, it's cold, it's dangerous,” I pined.

“Perfect conditions,” Jackson beamed, and stepped down the ramp into the treading water. He dropped the board by his feet, the metal rattling throughout the garage. It floated briefly with the incoming tide, before the water receded back down the ramp again, leaving it stationary once more. Clipping both feet into their locks, Jackson was ready, the long cord and handle raised by his side.

Oh god, I thought to myself. It was really happening. He was going to go out there and get himself killed for some stupid thrill...and I was gonna let it happen.

If Veronica didn't fire me for standing up to her, she'd surely axe me for letting our boss get whisked out to sea!

“Don't you worry yourself, little miss,” I felt a friendly hand rest upon my shoulder. It was Sal. “I've seen him do this plenty of times, kid's a natural.”

Famous last words of anyone doing something stupid.

Inaudible moans of terror escaped my mouth, while I fiddled anxiously with my fingers. I hoped Jackson hadn't heard them, let alone Sal, which was not assuaged when Jackson turned and saluted me. 

Suddenly, Jackson stepped back and was rocketed out to sea.

“Oh no!” I gasped audibly. My heart wrenched as his cord zipped down the ramp, ripping through the water like a savage eel chasing an escaping prey. With a snap, it pulled taunt on the pole, the metal dinging quietly, but remaining steadfast.

I put an errant hand on my chest, breathing in as I grasped for an unused pole to prop myself up on. Sucking air in and pushing it out, I tried to avoid hyperventilating the best I could. I love excitement as much as the next girl, but this...I don't think so. I couldn't even begin to look up, as I was sure, in the humming that droned from the loud machinery at the back of this ship, that Jackson's screams were lost in peril to the ocean.

“Woo hoo!” The sound of a voice echoed out from the water. When I looked back up, I saw Jackson, weaving in and out of the waves, riding them with ease. His pecs and thighs glistening under the floodlights. He was one with the crests and peaks, the ocean alive within him.

Jackson's face, even from a distance, was radiant with a passion I hadn't yet seen before. He was distant, in some far off land where things couldn't hurt him, where he could be free. Free from his responsibilities, and his demons, like a small boy in a world of make believe.

I could feel relaxation beginning to seep into my body, bit by bit. What I didn't expect, however, were the workings of joyful expression filling my heart. Something which I almost wish I could've kept in check.

I wouldn't want to let him see me proven wrong. Well...there was still time for that actually. Any minute now he could stumble off the board and be devoured by the sea. Right now though, I had the feeling I wouldn't be seeing such things...hopefully.

“How do I look?” He yelled.

“Like you're having fun,” I cried back.

“That's the goal!” His bright white teeth reflected underneath the artificial light. “It's better with two people though!”

That sinking feeling, the churning within my stomach, began revving up again at that very instant. “Uh,” I stuttered, “I don't think it's for me.”

“I thought you had something you wanted to talk to me about? Show me how much you want that conversation.”

I could see his slight smirk from all the way on the ramp, and that was more than enough to set me off.               Trying to use that to get me into the water irked me significantly...probably because it was working. “It'll be too cold!” I blustered.

“Then don't get wet,” he fired back.

Too late for that, I thought to myself, my gaze lingering on his gleaming ocean sprayed features.

“Sal,” Jackson barked, landing a wild spin in the air off of a foamy wave. “Help her out.”

“You got it boss man,” Sal gave a thumbs up and turned to me. He already held the pair of skis in his hands. “You sure you wanna do this?”

I stood motionless for a moment, my lip curling in a wild mix of spite, admiration, fear, and sexual frustration. I nodded furiously. “Yeah, gotta keep that smug grin off his face somehow,” I returned, with an uneven smile.

The tension left Sal's face. “Don't worry,” he said, getting to work wrapping the cords into one of the poles. “I let nothing happen to you,” he added, nodding toward Jackson as well, “and he won't either.”

I sighed, wondering what the captain of the titanic told his crew before they struck the iceberg.

“These poles,” Sal claimed, “they can capture and release, so they can let you go out slowly, and they can pull you back in too,” he demonstrated, yanking one cord out and letting it lock into its distance before letting it recede back with another tug. He patted the top of a pole proudly like his very own trophy. “I can operate from here too. They're top of the line, very safe.”

“Then why,” I asked, my mouth dropping open, “did he just dangerously catapult himself out there like that?”

“Eh,” Sal said, matter of fact, “he's a showoff, can't help it.”

Well I sure as hell would try! I thought to myself, now infuriated that he intentionally put me into a minor, yet brief, state of panic earlier.
“Boys will be boys around women,” Sal said resetting the cord. “Especially ones they like,” he grinned.

I could feel my ears warming up. Did he like me still, or even at all? He had been much more carefree since the yelling match with Veronica. He seems looser in general, which could only be a good thing. But still, I need that conversation with him, I need to discuss a few things. I drifted in thought back to our night in the library and even Coastline.

Sal nudged me from the back, I caught myself with my left foot before anything could happen. “Hey!” I rebuked him.

“Good,” he said, pointing to my left foot, “you're gonna want to bend your knees a little like that.”

I squinted, trying to follow his reasoning.

“I know,” he said, “not a good way to show it, but it makes it stick.”              

“Oh,” I chuckled to myself and strapped on a life vest, “I guess It does make sense.” Sitting down, I strapped my feet to the water skis, watching my billionaire enjoy himself to the fullest like a wild dragon of the seas moving in and out of its humbled waves.

“Okay,” Sal said from behind, “you ready?” I rose to face him and nodded, accepting the handles. “It's easy, we go slow.” I bobbed my head in cautious agreement. “Hold on tight, keep the line right about here,” he motioned to his midsection, “and keep your legs a little bent, but straight too.”

I tried to keep myself from freaking out at all the instructions in conjunction with the rushing waters mere feet away.

“And relax too,” he added, bellowing heartily. “Got it?”

“Got it...I hope.”

“The resistance is set to high. You can keep walking back at your own pace, and it'll go back with you.”

“Okay,” I mumbled. With help from Sal, I shakily eased back on the cord and inched down the ramp, my skis scraping against the metal.  I felt chills as the cold water lapped my ankles, while I shifted further down, stiffening my legs a bit.

In an instant, I found myself being pulled back toward the water, much quicker than I expected. “Whoa!” I yelped, and held on for dear life, as I slid down the ramp and flew back along the water. It was surreal, watching the boat distance itself from me, as if watching from outside my own body.

Shivers etched themselves along my back, as cold spraying water misted my extremities, coating me in a shiny speckled glaze. The floodlights didn't blind me, as I expected, but made the darkness around me feel all the more like some secluded stage. I could almost feel the lingering hand of some sea creature waiting to tear me back from its warm circular glowing light and drag me to the depths of its underwater lair.

Somehow, I was able to maintain myself, and keep along with the boat, as I continued my recession. Abruptly, the motion stopped, cords locking into place.

The refreshing blast of air and water whooshing by my face, helped me regain focus and find much needed composure, as I held kept myself steady. I could feel the full weight of my teeth bearing down on my jaw, and released pressure at the sound of a reassuring voice.

“See,” Jackson said from beside me, his radiant grin illuminated against the night's sky behind him. “Isn't too bad!”

I forced a grimace, before a smile came. “You were right.” I started to finally to relax and enjoy the fresh and salty ocean air racing past me.

“Ooh,” he said, “it pained you to say that, didn't it?”

“No.” I shook my head vigorously, my hair whipping in and out of my eyes in front of me and luckily obscuring part of my reddened face. “I'm just awaiting this oh so valuable conversation I was promised. Seems we get interrupted too much.”

“Well,” Jackson lounged back with a one handed hold, “this is really about the experiences, ya know?”

“Sounds like a cop out, Mr. Braun.”

“Tough to have a serious conversation on the water.” He glided easily over a larger wave, that rocked me, but didn't deter me. “It's a team building activity.”

“Is that how it'll go down in the expense reports,” I fired back sarcastically.

“This is off the books. This is my own money.”

“Speaking of,” I responded after a moment, my eyes bouncing back and forth between the ship and Jackson, “what's Coastline?”

Jackson's brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Just doing my due diligence.”

He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my legs, before moving painstakingly up to my chest and eyes. “You're very focused on your work.”

“What can I say,” I grinned, I'm thorough.”

Jackson held silent for a moment. “They're our destination. They're the big merger that's been under wraps here. It's big game hunting,” he continued. “How'd you find out about them?” His eyes narrowed. “I don't remember mentioning them to you.”

I froze, my lost voice adrift in the waves. “Uh, Veronica must have mentioned them to me...I think.”

Jackson remained quiet. I began to feel anxiety creeping up the nape of my neck. Suddenly, an idea struck me. Finally feeling in control of myself, I tilted my body to the side and angled my skis, lifting some water and jettisoning Jackson with a misty spray.

“Hey!” he yelled, trying to save himself with a little too late arm shield.

“I thought we were here for the moment, the experience,” I said, give my best cheshire cat grin.

“I'll get you for that,” he brandished a snarky grin of his own.

“You'll try,” I coaxed him, realizing that we actually were learning more about each other through this experience, which was actually more fun than I ever could've imagined.

I think I had finally gotten my answer in the darkness of the night, under the spotlight, given our ultimate stage time.

He curved his board and scooped along the water, splashing me with a thunderous bang. I wobbled on my skis. The throbbing number pounding in my head, as I tried to keep steady.

Suddenly, a warm sensation enclosed around my hand, and I felt steady again. Looking down, I found Jackson's hand interlocked with my own. My heart was adorned with a tingling sensation as well, while I looked up and locked eyes with him. He exuded an unfeigned calm, a peaceful, natural happiness.

I think we had both found our answer.

 

 

Besides the rip roaring excitement of water skiing on the Atlantic ocean in the middle of night, and holding hands with Jackson, nothing else happened that night, much to my chagrin. Even a kiss would have been the perfect way to top off the evening...or morning, that is.

Surely though, it wouldn't have been as passionate with a surly old crooner such as Sal hovering in the background. Regardless, I could think of no better a time spent with my slowly less mysterious billionaire bachelor. Well...maybe a few other things would be nice too. A mischievous grin crossed my face.

“Looks like someone's being bad,” a voice cut through my longing daze. It was Ms. Perkins, brandishing a mild mannered smile of her own. “Is it a boy?”

“Maybe,” I squeaked, playing along with her teenage whims and enjoying it. “Who wants to know?” I added, leaning forward on my desk intently.

“Well...it's none of my business,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Though it's quite obvious, the way he looks at you,” she chortled.

“Really?” I gleamed, enamored with outside perceptions of Jackson's intimate gaze for me and hoping to confirm it elsewhere. “It's not just me?”

“No dear,” she returned to her work, “I'm sure everyone can tell.”

I froze, dead in the water. Hopefully not Veronica, I thought to myself. “R—really?” I stuttered, slumping back into my stiff rolling chair.

“Uh-huh,” she nodded in affirmation. “That Carlo just pines after you, sweetie.”

“Carlo?” I burst out. “That Carlo?”

“Yes.” She stopped and looked up at me with raised brow. “Isn't that your sweetheart?”

“Oh no, no, no,” I stood up livid, jolting from my seat in unrest. “There's nothing between me and him. I can assure you of that!”

“Oh,” she croaked, returning to her writing. “Well he seems to think so.” Pausing, she looked back up at me. “Linda, from the kitchen, said that he said you've been sweet on him...” She quieted, in hesitation.

I could feel my brow diving into raging spikes. “And what?” I demanded.

“And,” she whispered, “and that you even tried to kiss him the other night, below deck.”

“What!” I raged, my face reddening and teeth grinding. “That's not true at all!”

“Oh, I'm sorry my dear...” She rose and reached for my hands to hold and console. “I didn't mean to upset you!”

“No,” I blared, storming past her, “this ends now!”

As I reached the door, it swung open, forcing me to halt in my tracks.

“What's going on here?” The hardened face of Veronica loomed before me, obviously already in a bad mood before entering.

I shuddered, taking a step back. “Uh,” I stammered, “just a personal problem. That time of the month,” I added, holding my stomach and wincing for effect.

Veronica's gaze turned to appraise Ms. Perkins, whose wooden face was carved in the features of one frightened, and caught in the act.

Ms. Perkins nodded profusely. “It's true,” she agreed.

“Perhaps I have some medicine to help ease that pain,” Veronica said, “in my office.” She strode by my statuesque figure. “Come with me.”

I looked to Ms. Perkins for help, but she offer end nothing, skittering back to her desk quicker than an ant from beneath a magnifying glass on a hot summer day.

I dragged my flats on the ground behind me as I followed the devil through the gates of hell, hoping not to scrape the hardwood floors that changed at her doorway from the mangy carpet that layered ours.

“Close the door,” Veronica nodded to behind me, as she got comfy on her throne, shuffling through some papers in front of her.

I shut the door behind me, and tentatively took a seat, smoothing out the crease on the front of my short teal mini skirt, before fiddling anxiously with my hands.

We waited quite some time, my seat growing warmer by the second. She must have been trying to test my limits, and it was working. Maybe she wanted me to admit to something, but I didn't know what it could be. Besides my relationship with her boss, that is.

“Now,” she started up, “what's the update on the client portfolio? Has everything been set up to the specifications? Have you made contact with them as well?”

“Yes,” I said, peering with determination into her unflinching eyes. “Everything is complete and we should be ready for the meeting.”

“Good, good,” she nodded, her eyes turning downward and darting over several documents, before riffling through a packet nearby. “And what of their accommodations?”

“I made contact and finalized them earlier this morning.” I breathed a sigh of relief at the straight forward nature, so far, and waited for her next rapid fire question.

“Hmm,” she mumbled, clicking a pen and circling something. Most likely just to raise my anxiety.

“And how's your relationship with Jackson progressing,” she stated, her narrow eyes glaring as they hung just above the rim of her down turned glasses like a viper waiting to strike its prey.

“I..” I stopped, startled. “My,” I corrected myself again. “Our relationship is going well,” I adjusted. “We are definitely working better, and I feel like I'm able to meet his needs, getting a good working understanding of what he requires and when.” I sat silently, awaiting her response and brushed a hand along my forehead, wiping away sweat from clogged pores.

“Is that so?” She returned her gaze to the papers at hand. “I'm sure you attend to him in many ways...or perhaps deckhands are more your specialty.”

I gritted my teeth, my eye twitching frantically. “That's--”

“That's none of my business though.” she cut me off, shuffling through some other papers and stapling them together.

I opened my mouth, but stopped. Maybe it's better if I let her think I'm interested in that jerk, Carlo. Just the cover I need to take the heat off Jackson and I.

“Well,” she droned on, “I think that should be it for now.”

“Okay.” I finally felt a little relaxation ease into my bones. “Thank you,” I added, picking myself up from the chair and turning quickly to lay a palm on the door handle.

“Oh,” she stopped me, her tone light, but not unforgiving. Apparently, I could sigh no relief, it seems. I halted, relinquishing my sweaty palm from my escape route, and turned to face her again.

She removed her glasses, her eyes cold and unrelenting behind them. “Where did you hear about Coastline?”

Silence permeated the room, as my face drooped with melting terror.

“I was told you've been asking about them.”

I turned and looked at Ms. Perkins quickly before looking back at Veronica, her figure seeming larger and more animalistic than ever.

“Jackson mentioned you brought them up. Asked me what I was discussing with you. The problem is...” her lips twisted to bear her ferocious gritted teeth, “I never discussed them with you.”

I looked down at her hands, which were clenching documents tightly between her steepled fingers on the desk, as she raised herself up slightly.  The paper edges bending up between the palpable rage.

“I heard you mention it on a phone call...when I was coming in to see you the other day...but you were busy.” I croaked, my voice shaky. “Perhaps it was Mr. Braun Senior,” I added, then realizing I shouldn't have connected another link to my chain of lies. “I just wanted to know what it was.”

Veronica's harsh gaze lingered on me for a long moment. “Well...perhaps.” She sighed and eased back into her seat, waving me away. “Now you know. And you will know more, once the deal is consummated.”

I nodded, twirling quickly to reach the exit.

“But until then,” she followed up, “you will ask no more about them. This is a private deal. And if there are any leaks,” she added, her tone scathing, “I will plug them, by any means necessary.”

I stood momentarily, embracing my own fears, before slamming the door behind me, and narrowly evading the wrath of Veronica. It amazed me as to how vulnerable she appeared that one morning to how she was now.

Nevertheless, I dodged another bullet, for the time being. However, Veronica wasn't wrong about taking care of leaks, and right now,I have to take care of a deckhand that has been leaking some of his own personal brand of news.

 

 

The hunt for the gutless, yet inadvertent saving grace that is Carlo resulted poorly. I scoured every last crevice of the ship for the shifty rodent. For someone with as big a mouth as he seems to have, it's truly astonishing how difficult he is to catch.

Arriving tired, and disillusioned to my room at the night's end, I cracked the darkened room and flicked the lights on. Even before illuminating the room, I could see glimmering sparkles bouncing off the dim hall lights.

I gasped at the glory of glittering cause, which was hanging right beside my full length mirror upon entry. Diamond studs trailed throughout the entirety of the thin meshing that was meticulously woven in to an elegantly slim fitting black dress.

Swooning, I was completely taken aback with its beauty.  I approached slowly, as if it were a wounded animal, drawing its last breath, and ran my fingers across its ultra soft fibers.

As I inspected the deep arc of the backless dress in the mirror, I caught the reflection of a white envelope atop my bed.

Turning around, I wandered toward it, finding my name perfectly inked upon the envelope in black script. I slowly lifted it, feeling such light weight in my hands. Fingering the opening, I quickly tore it and scraped for the card inside.

A small white invitation fell out, perfect calligraphy marking its lettering and indentations.

“Melanie,” it wrote, “You are invited to a private evening in the company of Captain Jackson Braun. Please make use these compliments, if you so desire. Please join me in the ballroom promptly at nine 'o clock.”

I could feel my cheeks growing hot, raising a hand past my dry lips. “Til then,” it finished, “Jackson.” His signature flowed with such savage grace, only marking me with greater desire for him.

Letting the invitation fall to the bed, I turned my attention to the dress, reaching for it with unhampered anticipation. Stripping it from the hanger, I ran my fingers across its diamond studs, in pure admiration, enraptured by their beauty.

It briefly distracted me from the sleek black Grecian leg wrap heels obscured beneath the dress on the floor. Though not too briefly, I grinned inwardly.

Suddenly, I remembered that I had spent most of the day searching for the resident town liar, and turned my attention to the clock on my nightstand. It burned '8:40' brightly.

I can't be late, the pressure's on! I snared the heels and ran to my wardrobe. If there was ever anyone you didn't want to disappoint on a ship, it was the captain!

 

***

 

It was 9:07 as I scampered through the gold trimmed doors into the grand ballroom, still amazed at how I was able to avoid Veronica, and anyone else on my way up. Luckily, I remembered the location from Carlo's brief tour when I first arrived. However, I never did manage to get a chance to see inside...until now.

The ballroom was wide with a brightly polished hardwood dance floor that was clear of any and all imperfections. Throughout the warmly lit space, extravagant gold fixtures adorned the walls and ceiling, such as a shimmering multi-tiered chandelier hanging down from the center of the room.

It was under this chandelier that one table sat, it's pristine white tablecloth matching with the spotless white walls surrounding it.

Airy string symphonies of a bygone era hummed over a speaker system, creating a welcoming and long cherished atmosphere.

Smoothing my dress, instinctively, I strutted toward the table, soaking in my elegant environment. Looking atop the tablecloth, I inspected a fine spread of china and cutlery that would surely cost a month's salary for the average citizen.

Taking one of the two seats available, I chose the one that gave me a view of the entryway, hoping to spot the man that I was supposed to be meeting there. I smiled at the thought of playfully jousting with him over his 'prompt' meetup time as discussed in the letter, which apparently didn't apply to himself.

Just then, the lights dimmed down to a romantic setting and my gaze turned to a heavenly glow at the door. The trim, black tuxedo garbed figure of Jackson appeared. He carried a rustically gothic, but beautifully antique candelabra, ablaze with three candles flickering his silhouette against the wall outside.

Entering slowly, like an old time film star, he strode gracefully across the wooden floor, his jet black oxfords clacking and reverberating throughout. Finally reaching me, his face looked oh so debonair under the candlelight.

“My lady,” he extended his hand to me, as he placed the candelabra in the center of the table, his voice silky smooth.

I extended my hand, which he grasped gently as he bowed to plant an effortless kiss upon it, tickling ever so slightly. I giggled briefly, much to my chagrin, and covered my face.

“You look ravishing,” he said, his face taking on the form of sedated pleasure as he took the seat across from me.

“And you look...” I gulped, with a small feeling of intimidation at how handsome and perfect he was...how it all was. “Amazing.”

His head raised, and tilted with a matter of fact acceptance of my compliment. “Why thank you.”

“I'm sorry, I'm not used to this type of thing.”

“What?” he asked, his face cool and unfazed.

“This...everything.” My hands gestured wide to encapsulate the entirety of the ballroom and the situation in general.

“That's quite alright. It can definitely be intimidating at first.”

“How many times have you done this type of thing?” I twirled my hair unconsciously, before noticing and putting an immediate stop to it.

“Not often, though I do enjoy getting some use out of this space when I can. Not enough galas in this day and age.”

A thud sounded behind me, turning my attention to a surreptitious pair of double doors in the back. Clanging sounds from the kitchen beyond could be heard as a few black clad servers swiftly exploded from behind the doors, carrying two silver trays to our table.

One server, who I recognized as Dan, a mild mannered man in his early 30s, placed a tray down in front of Jackson.

“The steak tartare,” he said, testing a faux french accent that was not working.

The top raised to reveal a beautiful assortment of vegetables and seasonings around the succulent meat itself.

Jackson accepted it graciously, before Dan took off back toward the kitchen, shooting me a subtle wink along the way.

Richard, a lanky man in his mid 50s, placed a dish in front of me. “And for the lady,” he droned, “The lobster encrusted blowfish.”

“Thank you,” I looked to him as he unveiled a smooth cut fish with luscious looking lobster bits encrusted all over it. The aromas overwhelmed my nostrils, leaving my senses bellowing in ecstasy, while I examined the accompanying vegetables and couldn't begin to guess what they were.

Dan returned out of nowhere, bearing a tall bottle of wine in his hands. “Richebourg Grand Cru 1949. Will that suffice sir?”

Jackson looked up, slightly perplexed, “Yes, that will do just fine, thank you.”

Dan unveiled a corkscrew from his shirt pocket and popped open the wine with ease, gracefully imparting it into Jackson's glass. “And for the lady?” He turned, offering the bottle in my direction.

“Yes, please,” I bit my lip sputtering to get the words out quick enough, and moved my glass in his direction. He topped it quickly before crunching the bottle into an obscured silver ice bucket at the center of the table.

“Can we get you anything else?” Dan cupped his hands waitingly in servitude.

“No,” Jackson said, glancing at me to ascertain my interest. “We are quite alright, thank you.”

“Excellent sir,” Dan nodded curtly, before looking to me. “Madame,” he bowed. “Enjoy.” And with that, he disappeared back into the kitchen with Richard.

I looked over Jackson's face, which shared a similar expression to my own. One that was trying to force back a near boundless laughter.

“What was that?” I asked, stifling laughter, “with the wine?”

“Oh, that?” he scratched the side of his temples, almost embarrassed. “Well, I had a few ones I was eyeing earlier, but told him to surprise me...”

“And what's wrong with that?”

“Well...” Jackson held onto his breath in thought. “This isn't the best wine to pair with our meals,” he laughed.

“That's where you're wrong,” I grinned. “Any wine pairs with my meals.” I watched with pleasure as healthy dimples formed at the sides of his mouth.

“More importantly,” I added, my expression turning serious, as I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Don't you see something wrong with this?”

Jackson's brow furrowed as he inspected the table. “Ah,” disappointment marred his voice, “you don't like fish do you? I just assumed, we can get you something else--”

“No,” I stopped him, “everything's perfect,” I continued. “But..” I trailed off and looked back over my shoulder toward the kitchen.

Jackson's head piqued. “What? The guys?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, concern welling up within my eyes.

He relaxed back in his chair. “I'm not concerned about them,” he scoffed.

“But what if they tell someone,” my voice cracked. “Like Veronica?”

“They won't,” Jackson challenged, supremely confident, as he cut into his meat.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Well, one, they like me and they don't like her. And two, I'm paying them 1k each for this hour or so.” His silent laugh boomed, before he deftly engulfed some of his meal. “I think we'll be fine.”

“I guess,” I sulked, trying to sound optimistic, but failing miserably.

“They're all good people, they're like a family.”

“Even Veronica?” I asked, effortlessly tearing the tender fish apart with my fork and trying not to play with it in needful distraction.

“Yes,” he paused momentarily, “Even veronica.”

I near gagged on my fish at the thought of praise unto another beast from the depths.

“She may have her faults, and we definitely do have our scuffles, but she does mean well,” he noted. “She's always been more of a nanny to me than anything else.”

“The wicked stepmother role?” I chimed in, a shit eating grin plastered across my face.

Jackson smirked. “Not wicked, no,” his eyes raised to the heavens in thought. “Regretful, maybe...I don't know.”

I sat back in my chair, psychologically analyzing him. “I think you do.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “maybe I do.” He lowered his head, nodding almost somberly, clearly recalling events from a not too distant past. A mutual despair that could be linked with his patriarch, whose blood poisoned all who drank from his well. With dollars and tears.

I shook my head, trying to take my literary mind away from speculative thoughts and back to the present.

“What about you?” he asked. “What do you regret?”

I paused, taking another sip of wine, wondering if he'd ever touch his glass and stop making me look like a clinical case of the prototypical AA study group. It's not a problem if it's good, right?

“What,” I gulped hard and awkward. “Here? Nothing.”

“Is that right?” He asked, brandishing a cheeky smile.

“Yeah, I think.” I munched loudly on some form of vegetation most likely only found in uncharted regions of the Congo.

“Wonderful,” his sarcastic blade unsheathed, “you've had no other regrets in your life.”

He finally took a sip, freeing me from my locked inhibitions. Though that subtle smirk behind the dark red wine hung on the rim of his glass like his words on my ear, pressed tight and firm.

“Har-har,” I snickered.

“The finest of pirate prose,” Jackson fired back, forking another piece of soft raw meat.

I giggled. His humor was offbeat for a gorgeous billionaire, but with much more depth than I'd ever found in a man before. Not often do you see a six pack on a a middling historian, except maybe on one of those ridiculous romance novels. Which I might read from time to time, I admit.

“College,” I started up, his eyes following my lips. “I should've picked something else to major in.”

“What did you pick?”

Instantly recognizing the poor groundwork I'd laid, I lapsed, waiting for other majors to pop into my head that didn't have the word 'Journalism' in them.

“Writing.”

“What's so wrong about writing?” Besides that those damned words can really fill up a library fast.” He grinned.

“Let alone for the normal person,” I chuckled.

“What, I'm not normal?”

I laughed at him, his expression turning warm, as we shared in a cute pow wow emblematic of what our relationship was.

“Let's just say, it's not the most lucrative, or even most secure of fields.”

“What would you have done otherwise?”

Tilting my head in thought, my eyes focused on the dancing flames flickering about the candelabra in imperfect harmony.

“Business?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” His expression wobbled, unable to keep straight as he swirled wine in his glass playfully.

“What are you, my teacher now?” I chortled.

“I can be, but I already get summers off.”

My tight lips unraveled amorously. “Business,” I said again, regaining my composure.

“Business,” he scoffed. “No.” He pounded back the rest of his glass and let it clink back on the table. “Business is a shell game, none of it's real.”

“But I would've been secure doing it,” I said, trying to convince myself more than him.

“But would you have been happy doing it?”

I quieted, checking out briefly, wondering that same question to myself. Wondering if this lie was even worth it. I could just tell him the truth and hope that it's not enough to tear us apart. It's coming from a good place though, I reminded myself. Would it be worse if he found out now?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe's an awful lot to bank on a career.”

“What about the uncertainty of writing?” I fired back.

“It may be uncertain, but it's true. True to you.”

He laid down his fork, his head shifting back and forth in wild thought.

“You can be honest in writing, bare your soul, expose so many different parts of yourself, or the world. Uncertainty may not be desirable, but finding honesty within yourself...” he stopped in thought. “It's something just as rewarding as stability.”  Shaking his head, he tried to shove aside his serious demeanor. “At least you got the chance to try,” he added. “And you're story's barely just begun,” he smiled, painfully.

I sat back, taking in everything he said, his loss, his heartache, the pride that he felt for me. It was overwhelming and so very touching.

For the first time on this ship, I could feel my heart beating a different tune, the type that they write about in all those sappy books. Was it admiration for someone who could truly emote, or was it a different feeling altogether?

“What,” I coughed out of the rising warmth in my chest and stomach, “do you regret?”

He looked to the side, his eyes aimlessly scanning the floor. “So many things...a lack of purpose...” he trailed off.

“You do have purpose,” I encouraged him, resting a hand over his in the middle of the table. “You're integral to everything that Braun is as a company.”

Jackson's hand receded and reached for the chilled wine. My hand followed his and pulled it back, clenching it between my fingers.

“Am I?” Ugly creases formed at his lips. “Or just some puppet for his work...” he words dwindled off. “Just like everybody else.”

My face fell with his, in saddening harmony.

The tension lifted at the sound of a rolling cart screeching to our table from the kitchen.

Richard appeared, his expression unchanged from before. On the cart before him were dishes containing such alluring items as raspberry drizzled cheesecake, a cherry torte, and flan, amongst a host of other delectable treats.

“Would the sir or madame care to taste any of our house deserts this evening?”

I looked at Jackson, whose sunken expression had him unaware of Richard's presence. The moment of silence reminded me of the lovely music around us, that had turned into a smooth jazz number, before an idea struck.

“No, actually,” I stood, taking Jackson's hand in mine, awakening him from his brooding. “Just turn up the music.”

Jackson looked confused at first, but quickly caught on to the gesture. “Aren't you going to ask me?” He climbed to his feet.

I feigned a sigh and grinned. “May I have this dance?”

“It'd be my pleasure.” He beamed, returning to his suave normalcy.

As I led him to the dance floor, the lights dimmed even further, perfectly setting the mood for our close rendezvous.

Finding an open spot on the floor, which wasn't difficult, I turned to face him. I hung my arms around his neck, while he cupped my sides with his strong hands.

The dark earthy musk of his cologne stimulated my senses as I moved in closer. We were finally face to face, inches away, and it sent tingles throughout my body.

I closed my eyes, taking in the sounds, scents, and movements. Swaying in silent motion, our bodies merged into a hot beacon of passion emanating from the harmony of our souls and desires. A beautifully toxic, yet alluringly enigmatic potion which I'd drink forever, if I could.

“You light up my heart,” Jackson whispered into my ear, breaking the silence, and igniting my cheeks like a furnace. “There's something else I must share with you though,” he said, his hands traveling up and rubbing along my shoulders as he reached my hands and guided them down to his chest.

I opened my eyes and smiled into his, as I put a finger to his lips, halting him mid sentence. “”Let's just have this night. What'd you tell me about having experiences, huh?”

Jackson grinned from ear to ear, his rough hands pulling my body into his as he leaned in. I reciprocated, and closed my eyes, wetting my own lips before ours touched.

It was soft, warm, and tender, like a fire beating down a wooden door in a sealed room. It felt like an eternity, and then we parted, looking longingly into each others eyes.

I know it would be cliché to say it was magical, but sometimes clichés are just what a girl has to work with.

I embraced him, nuzzling my head against his burdened shoulder, wanting his strong arms to enrapture me forever and carry me to his captain's quarters, but knowing it would be a challenge to go unseen from this area.

Not everyone was on Jackson's special pay scale, I reminded myself, as I smiled and pulled back.

Blinking rapidly, I rubbed my eyes, as I looked back along the closed entryway to the ballroom. It appeared as though a shadow moved quickly away from the door. I wondered to myself if my eyes were deceiving me, especially with the flickering lights and the thrilling sensations. I'm sure it was nothing though.

I looked back into Jackson's passionate eyes an effortless smile crossing my face. Joyous thoughts flowed throughout my mind. I wish it would last forever.

 

 

Last night lingered longingly in my mind as I hummed to the office. It fueled my desire further for Jackson, who always left me wanting more.

Still though, I could feel my relationship reaching points I had never imagined before. Though the whole secretive element surely took a toll on things in its own way.

As I strolled toward the office, it door swung open to reveal a grim looking Veronica. She had a habit of pulling horrifying acts such as this, I had learned quick enough.

“Good morning,” I whistled, my voice extra cheery today.

“Why yes, it is,” a thin smile crept across her face. “And how was your night?” she added, squirming around uncomfortably in her place.

I was jolted with fear, but regained my composure, laughing off any possible notion that she could've known about my romantic evening with Jackson.

“Quiet,” I nodded to myself, “stayed in.”

“Ah. I see.”

There was an awkward moment of silence between us, as I waited to move past her through the doorway.

“Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Stone?”

“Well, actually, I need some more filing crates from the the storage room down below. Think you could pick up a few for me? A cart should be down there.”

“Uh, sure,” I shrugged, completely disinterested in the mission, but more than happy to get away from her for even a brief moment, which was a victory in its own.

“Excellent,” she perked up, “now be quick about it.” She twirled around and slammed the door behind her, motoring past me. “I have some very important conversations to hold and need you right back here while I'm gone.”

“Sure, no problem,” I moaned and turned to be on my way, knowing full well that I was going to take my sweet time getting to the storage area, especially after that comment.

 

***

 

The cobweb laden storage room was on the bottom of the ship, in the complete opposite direction of the office. It wasn't too sizable, but it's bland gray walls, and collection of shipping crates amongst a host of other throwaway pieces of scrap metal and other tools, made it feel much more like a cell than it should be.

Squeezing past several tall stacks of wooden shipping crates and pushing aside dense boxes of old cleaning products, I continued on with a tireless search for the organizing crates, and even the cart for that matter.

After a good 20 minutes or so, I dug my way through the mess and excavated exactly what I was looking for, though not nearly quick enough for Veronica, I'm afraid. Oh darn.

Upon finding my way back around the stacks, I noticed a shadowed figure at the door. I hopped back in surprise.

“Whoa,” a voice said, “didn't mean to scare ya there.”

I squinted, trying to focus my eyes, as a figure moved into the light. Tight lines of laughter dashed across the tan face of Carlo.

“Oh,” I groaned, “hey,” as I suddenly remembered my most recent mission, which was to pummel this rat for his lies and slander. “Good,” I added in thought, pushing the loaded cart to a stop in front of him, and making space between us. “I've been meaning to talk to you.”

“Have you?” His eyes lit up, while he rubbed his hands together excitedly.

“Yeah. I've been hearing some pretty crazy things lately.”

“Like what?”

“I think you know what,” I shifted my weight into an annoyed lean.

“Oh do tell,” he taunted, his snake-like tongue lashing out with a coy grin.

“Seriously,” I demanded, my voice gravely. “Stop telling people that stuff, it's not true.”

“What stuff?” he asked, the grin still ever present.

“That we're interested in each other. That we're kind of a thing.”

“What's wrong with that? It's better than people thinking you're a lesbian.”

“What?” My voice cracked at his wrong and baseless reasoning, at both statements really. “That's,” I started up, “no, that doesn't make any sense,” I sighed. “I want you to stop spreading lies, okay? Easy enough.”

His eyes grew dark. “Well, what if I was saying something like, I don't know, you and the captain had a fling, or something?”

“Carlo,” I admonished him, growing weary of his game, and slightly nervous at that. “Seriously, I've had enough.”

“Enough of what, though?” he chimed, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. The soft patterned edges of a familiar looking note. “Surely not 'enough of you'” he mocked, reading from the note. A contemptuous grin crossed his face.

My eyes bounced back and forth between his face and the note, slowly becoming aware of the situation, the plot lay bare before me. My eyes focused on the note.

Not just any note.

The note!

My hand spontaneously rose to cover my gaping mouth, in a terrifying moment of recognition. That was my last my note to Jackson!

“It was you!” I gasped. “You broke into my room that night!” I clawed at the note from behind the cart, but he stepped back evading me. “Give me that back,” I growled. “Right now!”

“Whoa, whoa,” he smirked, “getting a little aggressive now, are we?”

“I deserve that right. You invaded my space, and stole from me, you thief!”

“I did no such thing. Your door was unlocked, and I was looking for you and just happened to find the note in your open drawer.” A mischievous grin returned to his face. “I was just holding on to it for you...so it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands.”

“You have to stop, seriously. Just give it to me,” I opened my palms toward him expectantly.

“What would happen if Ms. Stone saw this?” He waved the note back and forth in front of my face. “What do you think she'd do?”

My heart sank at the thought of Veronica having the note as evidence and being able to jettison me after multiple warnings. Her wrath would be swift, and unpleasant. She could surely use it against me, even without the say of Jackson.

“C'mon,” I begged, softening my tone, “I thought we were friends.”

“I have plenty of friends.” He leaned back against the wall casually. “I want something more.”

I followed his eyes as they admired my exposed cleavage from leaning over the cart. Covering my chest with my hands, I straightened up quickly.

“Well...” I contemplated my options. “What if we, uh...” I trailed off in thought. Seconds boomed by on my internal clock, while pressure continued to mount.

“It really doesn't seem like you're committed to helping me here,” he started up. “I went out on a limb to protect you by safekeeping this note, and am risking my own job for you,” he added, turning to leave. “Maybe I should just show it to her.”

“No, no,” I clamored, rounding the cart and tugging at his arm. His gaze tracked down my hand, and I could hear his breathing change, nasal, guttural, animalistic.

“I mean, you have all these friends so why don't you just tell them that you have a special friend,” I shrugged, trying to move my shoulders in the cutest convincing way possible. “Ya know?” I stumbled across my words like a babe in the woods.

“Hmm...” his eyes narrowed uneasily.

“That you, uh...” I could feel beads of sweat forming at my temples. “That you have your way with me.”

Carlo's eyes emblazoned with fire as a malevolent grin rose triumphantly across his face, before he retreated to the door. “You have a deal!”

“Wait,” I beckoned, jogging to the door. “My note!”

“I'm holding on to this for now, just in case you get out of line, and I have to...” he paused with a giggle, “slap you around a bit.” He grinned, parading the note behind him.

I watched him jovially trot down the hall, with my sanctity in his hands.

Fuck me.

 

 

The day dragged immensely, after I was blackmailed in the supply closet by that rat Carlo. I was downed by that stifling feeling, like being squeezed into a mason jar and sealed in tight. I could feel sweat eking out of pores I didn't even know I had.

Jumbled thoughts flooded my mind, while I tried to reorganize my daily priorities and sift them into an action plan. I couldn't stop thinking about what I had said to Carlo. I had known the words were wrong when they came out of my mouth, but I had this sinking feeling that they would be my downfall.

The sideways glances and snickers followed and preceded me wherever I made my presence known throughout the ship. It was obvious I was perceived as the town slut. A notion I resented more than I ever could have possibly imagined. Did I value my relationship with Jackson enough for this? Would I eventually be tarred and feathered for it all, burn the witch to ashes they say?

Regardless, I had to find Jackson and give him the true story before it reached his ears, which seemed even more of a pressing trial since he couldn't be found anywhere the entire day. For someone with such a well known position and presence, he could disappear from the consciousness aboard this ship faster than a homeless man down Hollywood boulevard.

I even asked Veronica, who was at a loss about his whereabouts, and seemed to be unaware of the new position appropriated me...so far, that is.

After my work was finished for the day, I perused all rooms of the ship, asking for Jackson, from the spa to the dining room, but he was nowhere to be found. Dragging my tired feet from location to location, I eventually found myself back down by his library.

Peaking inside, I saw Jackson standing at his large glass window, admiring the dark seas. I knocked tepidly on the door before entering. He made no movement to turn and face me.

“Hey,” I squeaked, still warranting no motion of his. “Busy?”

He remained in silence. I could see his head turn slightly to the side, before it drifted back to the ocean, his hands tightly entrenched in his tight pants pockets by his side.

“Is everything okay?” I stuttered, creeping toward him.

“That,” his tongue clicked icily, “depends on how you define 'okay'.”

“Is something wrong?” I asked, my voice straining, as I moved quickly around his desk.

He spun around to face me, his eyes cut coldly by diamond. “You're the journalist, why don't you tell me.”

My heart sank, a feeling shared with my expression. “I...I meant to tell you.” The sorrowful words drifted haphazardly from lips.

“And what? Did it just get lost in the conversation?” He swiped a book off his desk and and carried it to a wall nearby. “Or did it not fit into your story?” He slammed the book into it's place.

“It's not like that,” I said, following him like a lost puppy. “I didn't know what you'd say. I thought you wouldn't believe me.”

“You couldn't have even given me the chance?”

“Alright, I didn't handle it as well as I should have,” I stumbled over my words. “But I'm trying to make it right now.” I took a deep breath, raising a hand to my throbbing forehead. “That was what I really majored in, when I was in college, not writing,” I added. “It's not like I have a job as a journalist or anything. No side gig for the New York Times,” I said, flighty sarcasm slipping into my voice.

“Sure, that sounds totally believable,” he shot back. “A journalist major who just happens to get a job as a billionaire's personal assistant. Totally checks out!” he said, storming back toward his desk.

“This was Veronica,” my eyes narrowed, “wasn't it?”

“Yes,” he shouted, “Ms. Stone, did communicate the information with which you so graciously withheld from me.”

My teeth gritted. “I knew it,” I growled, “she's been trying to break us up from day one!”

“Break us up?” Jackson said, whipping back around. “What, are we a thing now, huh?”

I gasped in astonishment. “What?” I gawked, “You don't wine and dine, and do everything we did if you just want to be friends,” I continued, “which I'm pretty sure is not what we both wanted.”

“Did that deckhand wine and dine you too?” He snapped back, baring his teeth.

I felt the daggers finally pierce my heart. His named drowned at my lips. “Jackson,” I said, my heart wrenching at the total turn of events. “It's not true,” I said, my voice stifling the sobbing. “That's what I came here to tell you about!”

“What,” he yelled, “that you fucked him right after our special night, huh?”

“No,” I fired back, “it's not true, none of it!” I closed in on him. “He broke into my room and stole one of our love notes, the one I told you about, that you never got.” I rambled on like a madwoman. “He only did it to get dirt on me. He's been after me ever since he spotted me and I think he wants more.” Tears streamed down my face in somber torment. “I'm scared...”

Jackson paused, shaking his head in disbelief. “Love notes...did you ever even care about me?” he panned. “Or was this all some big act to get close to me, just playing along. For the merger...or to make fun of me, the rich playboy.” Jackson washed a hand over his face, his stifled cries of anger and sadness blending together in monstrous agony. “I know what they say. What they think, the media, the papers,” he stopped briefly. “I wish they knew what I felt, what I think,” he looked away, his fleeting thoughts in anguish. “But that won't go in your article, I'm sure,” he added, his voice snippy.

I closed on him, reaching a trembling hand for his face, my tear-filled eyes rumbling uncontrollably. “I do have feelings for you, Jackson.”

His hand intercepted mine and brushed it away. “Just go,” he said, his voice cold and weepy. “I'll pay for your ticket home once we reach port.”

I felt my breath leave me, like I'd been punched square in the gut, my lifeblood seeping from the open hole it punched through me. I almost couldn't contain my emotion.

“Please,” he turned away and leaning over the front of his desk to hold himself up. “Just go.”

My endless sniffles cut through the shattering silence in the the library. I rubbed my red eyes, wiping tears and pain from them.

“You're a coward, Jackson Braun,” I said. “Maybe if you'd stop focusing on who everyone else wants you to be, you could be yourself.” He remained still. “You could finally put away all this untrusting anger and finally be happy.” His image looked distorted in my glazed over eyesight. “Maybe then, you could write something honest of your own.”

Jackson remained silent, as I turned my back and walked out of the room, knowing full well that the man which I shared such intense feelings for, might be moving out of my life for good. And there was no such worse feeling in the world.

 

 

Pacing the halls back and forth with fire and fury by my side, I faced an internal battle over what to do with my now destroyed relationship with Jackson, thanks to some grade-A home wrecking by a monster of my own design.

I asked all those who I encountered this late a night, which was a little more than a handful, if they'd seen the cowardly creature, but they were only able to point to his quarters, which were down a separate hall from my own.

Begrudgingly, I decided that it was time to clear the air, even if it meant going right into the heart of Mordor, with no ring or companions to keep me safe.

Traipsing down the darkened hall, I finally came upon the room that belonged to Carlo. A faint light burned behind the darkened curtains. I hesitated before knocking on the door with brunt tap.

Silence, and then scuffling came from beyond the door, before footsteps clomped toward it. I held my breath in anticipation.

The door slid aside, to reveal a flustered looking Carlo, in a black wife beater and plaid, loose fitting boxers. His frenzied expression illuminated upon seeing my face. “Well,” he grinned, “I see you got my note.”

“Huh?” I squinted, “what note?”

“Sure,” he scoffed, waving me in, “c'mon.”

“Ugh,” I sneered, “I don't know what you think is going on here, but it's not what you expect.”

His upper lip twitched in aggression. “You're the one that came here, at the end of the night.”

“Yeah,” I said, marching inside the door and watching him retreat back, allowing the door to slide closed. “This ends now.”

“What ends now? He placed his hands authoritatively at his hips.

“This whole thing,” I pointed downward, commanding respect. “It stops here.” I pointed at his chest and prodded him back with my finger. “You're going to tell everyone that you're lying, and you're going to tell Veronica and Jackson the whole thing.”

He grabbed my finger and pulled me closer to him in one swift move. “You're gonna tell Ms. Stone what you've been doing with the captain? I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

“Well you aren't me! And I won't let you blackmail me any longer!”

“I'm just helping you to realize what you want.” He approached closer, pulling my hand, forcibly down his stomach, toward his...lower parts. “It was obvious from the beginning that you wanted me. Trying to use the captain to get me jealous...well it worked.”

“Ew,” I lurched back, relinquishing my hand from his tight grip. A red hand print burned upon it. “I never wanted you, and I never will! You're a delusional creep!”

His eyebrows turned downwards, his cheeks filling with red hot rage. “Take that back,” he growled. “You'd be lucky to even get with a guy like me”

“I'd never want to get with a guy like you. Shows how much you know me, I'm nothing like that.” I turned and stomped toward the door. “I'm done with this.”

Suddenly, a hand latched out and gripped my wrist. “No,” he mumbled low roar, “you're not.”

“Let go,” I stewed.

His grip tightened on my wrist, his fingers diving into its fleshy crevices, while his glare remained unmoving.

“You're hurting me,” I cried, trying to yank my arm away. He released his grip, allowing me to slowly recoil.

“Don't ever come near me again,” I showed my teeth, as I soothed my wrist.

He stood motionless. Leering with those cold, unhinged eyes of his. Those eyes followed me, as I stepped back to the door and pulled it open, before slipping outside and hastening down the hall.

I could feel those eyes still following me, as I trotted toward my door and escaped into my own den of safety, locking the door behind me.

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I flipped the lights on, and walked toward my nightstand. There was a nagging feeling, an ominous one, that I should look inside my note drawer.

Slowly approaching, I placed a hand upon the drawer, and pulled it open. Inside sat a small torn piece of paper. I picked it from its place, and turned its blank top over to reveal the words that I dreaded so much. 'I want you, and I will have you.'

Choked cries escaped me, raising a hand to cover my mouth, as I sank to the bed. I was scared. So very scared. And the only person who could help, didn't even believe me. The person I trusted most. The tears wouldn't stop flowing that night, and at this very moment, I could only pray that I'd be alive to feel tears another night. If I'd make it that long.

 

 

The tears were dry by morning, but their salty taste still lingered on my cheeks. A pitiful reminder of the sorrow infesting my mind, and scorching the final day of the trip with the fires of eternal torment.

Tomorrow morning we would be docking and I would be parting ways with the man whom I'd grown so accustomed to having in my life. A thought I couldn't even begin to bear.

What made matters worse was the note I found scrawled by Carlo in my room. I ran through the options all of last night, as to how I should address the issue and kept falling back to one option, though it was my least favorite.  

With barely an hour of sleep granted me and no coffee in my belly, I awoke roaring like a wired dragon ready to burn down the nearest village at the sound of a pin drop. I was already late for work at that and ready for Veronica to chew me out.

However, I had my own choice words for her. Those would come just before I begged for her help. I just hoped she'd listen.

The stymieing humidity must've made my matted and frizzed hair as lunatic as my expression upon barreling into the office and stirring Ms. Perkins from a brief slumber at her desk.

“My goodness!” she awoke, her eyes blinking frantically as they readjusted to the light. “What's going on?” she stammered. “What's the matter?”

I steamrolled ahead toward Veronica's office, while Ms. Perkins wheeled out, peaking a head in my direction.  As I reached Veronica's office, I peered in, finding it dark and empty.

“She's not in right now, dear,” Ms. Perkins added, caution layered in her voice.

“Where is she?” I demanded.

Ms. Perkins shrugged, wide-eyed, leaning back in her chair as I came storming by again. “I can--” she started, but I was already on my way. The door slammed behind me, leaving a surely shell shocked Perkins to sleep comfortably no more in her place of work. I'm not sure if that is a good or bad thing, but I'd given a thrill to a woman that probably hadn't had one in over thirty years, and that was the least of my worries for now.

Startled expressions seemed to follow, in suit, as I pursued the phantom of Veronica throughout the ship, coming upon her in the least of expected places.

The doors to the massage parlor swung open like a black hatted cowboy coming into a wild western saloon and announcing his presence. There I found the glistening body of Veronica, covered by little more than a towel across her backside, her oiled skin looking flawless under the soft lighting. She was face down on a massage table, her head pillowed through the open head rest.

Katie, a young masseuse, was kneading Veronica's thighs before she spotted me. Her eyes screamed for help, utterly frozen while my ferocious presence claimed her territory. I waited, tapping my foot anxiously.

“It's alright, Kate,” Veronica's deep voice resonated from beneath the table. “You may leave us.”

“Okay,” Katie muttered as she shied past me and closed the doors behind her.

“I suppose your intentions of romance with Jackson did not go as you planned,” Veronica said, lifting her head from the hole and pushing herself up from the table. The towel fell from her body, crumpling to the floor.

I watched as she climbed down, and stood defiant, not moving to retrieve her towel. Her body was immaculate for being in her early 40s. What chilled me the most, however, was the unfazed stare she held, stripping me bare with her own powerful eyes.

“Why did you tell him about me being a journalist?” I grumbled, grabbing up a nearby towel and tossing it at her.

“Because he should know.” She caught the towel, wrapping it around her body.

“It's not true though, those were just unfulfilled dreams from a different stage in my life.”

“Is the past not important then?” she droned, snaring another towel to wipe the oil from her arms.

“I was going to tell him,” I snapped.

“Well you didn't,” she fired back . “Though you had the chance multiple times. How about during your romantic evening in the ballroom?”

My brow furrowed, my mouth drawing agape.

“I know,” she glared, “you had a quiet night in.  Isn't that right?” She scoffed. “I thought my eyes were just deceiving me.”

“You were watching us?” I rattled, my voice softening. My thoughts drifted back to the lurking shadow that disappeared down the hall during my dance with Jackson.

“I happened by,” she smirked. “I did warn you.”

“Why?” I started up, aghast at her unveiling act. “Why won't you let me be happy, why won't you let him be happy!”

“You may not appreciate it now,” she exclaimed, wiping down her legs, “but I'm saving you.”

“From what?” I growled.

“You and him, it's fleeting, it won't last.” She dropped her towels on the floor and walked to a nearby bench that housed her neatly folded clothes. “It is the sadness of a lifetime...and to save just one woman from that pain...”

“What do you mean?”

“This...is bigger than just you and him.”

“Well, that's for me to decide!”

She stood in idle thought for a moment, a stark reflection crossing her face, if only slightly. Perhaps it was a twinge of regret.

“Maybe,” she sighed, “but it won't matter much longer anyway.”

“And why's that?”

“Because we'll be docking soon, and you'll be on your way.” She slipped on her undergarments.

“I don't even know if I'll make it another night,” I pouted, the sinking feeling setting back in.

“Drama is something you didn't go to school for,” she cut in, squeezing into her tight black chinos, and pulling over a light translucent blouse, with a tiny black half jacket.

“No,” I sighed, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the crumpled note from Carlo. “I confronted him last night. I'm afraid something gonna happen.”

Veronica's eyes narrowed as she looked at my wrist and beckoned the note. Snatching it away, she read it briefly. “And what is this, some old love note you've been passing back and forth with Jackson?”

“No, well, it started out like that, but Carlo got a hold of one and blackmailed me into saying I'd slept with him.” I washed my hands over my face in exhaustion, trying to cleanse my panic stricken pores. “I found this in my bedroom last night, after he got aggressive with me.”

I exposed my black and blue wrist to Veronica, drawing her mouth agape, ever so slightly. “I'm not sure what he's capable of.”

Her eyes bounced back and forth between the note and my face with skepticism. “These are some very serious accusations,” her voice turned grave and remained silent for a moment. “But I believe you.”

I exhaled in slight relaxation.

“Of all the things I take you for, a harlot is not one of them.” She smiled, spurring a slightly relieved expression of my own. “You might think that I don't take kindly to you,” she added, “but you'd be quite mistaken. You just...arrived at the wrong time, unfortunately.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Don't worry, we'll search his room, and if we find any sign of the note, he will be tossed off the ship when we dock. I cannot and will not tolerate this, or harbor a creature such as him. Would you press charges?” she nodded to my wrist.

I covered my wrist with my hand, gently massaging it. “No, I just want him gone.”

“I believe we already have enough evidence to make that a reality. Besides, he gets very little work done anyway. You've actually done me a favor,” she grinned.

“Thanks,” I chuckled lightly. “But,” I begged, “can you do me a favor?

Her brow arched high in speculation.

Can you talk to Jackson?” I pleaded. “You can tell him the truth, change his mind?”

“No. What I told him wasn't a lie.”

I felt an anchor wrap around my gut and sink to the bottom of the ocean.

I am sorry though,” she frowned, and rested a hand upon my shoulder. “I will make sure you get a glowing reference though.”

I shook my head, trying to sway tears out of my eyes. “That's not what I want.”

She nodded her head in tepid motion, darkness, sadness consuming her eyes. “I know. We never get what we want.” 

 

 

After wandering uneasily to the darkened library, I entered with trepidation. As I had come to expect, upon illuminating the room, Jackson was a pro at turning himself invisible when he didn't want to be found.

I drifted aimlessly, running my fingers along the bindings, as I had done when I first enjoyed his presence in this spectacular environment. A wave of sadness rushed over me, near washing me into the raging waters beyond that grand window of his and into the dark of night. A storm was brewing within me, and outside the ship as well. A thunderous boom resonated in the sky, not far from us, and shaking the room to its very core.

Impending doom was the only thing on my mind. The doom of losing Jackson, and an irrational fear of Carlo lingered like an odorous stench in a hoarder's closet.

Swaying in heavy sorrow, I idled toward his desk. Atop it lay a messy assortment of papers, and in the center sat the frayed copy of Moby Dick. I could feel my face begin to contort, while mixed emotions flushed into my brain. Fingering its cover, my hands unearthed its aged pages, letting it exhale musty air. A thin smile broached my lips.

Eyeing a notepad nearby, I tore a sheet off and snatched a sleek pen adjacent to it. Clicking it, I wrote in my finest script, the kind that had its commonplace across our shared notes throughout the journey. 'I hope you find your white whale...' I wrote.

I wiped the welling tears from my eyes and slipped the note in between the cover, before closing it shut for good. He wasn't the only one looking for his white whale. I thought that maybe I'd found mine in him. I just wished he'd found his in me.

 

***

 

Trudging down the darkened halls, I arrived at my quarters, my heart beating faster than I'd like. I breathed in and out, regaining my composure and reminding myself that there was nothing to be afraid of. The howling winds and swirling rains matting the ship outside did not help to alleviate any such worries however.

I reached for the door slowly, cracking it open like a frightened child opening a closet in the dead of night, and willing no monsters to be inside...praying. Stretching a cautious hand inside, I meandered, feeling for the light switch. With good luck, I found it quickly, and clicked it on. Nothing. It's the little battles that really tear at you, I grimaced.

Puzzled, I stepped inside, and fiddled with the switch, on and off. Still nothing. Aggravation set in, helping me to forget about my current circumstances. Now it was just another stinking moment to add on top of an already mountainous heap of awful.

Holding the door open, I let the dim floor lights from behind me illuminate the room to the best of their ability. Everything all in order, I noticed, scanning the bathroom and bed area quickly. Relief injected back into my bones. I was alone again.

Walking in, I let the door slam behind me and made way for the bathroom light, to get a brighter view of what I was working with. I slipped inside and reached for the switch.

That was when I felt it. The pinpricks, the hair standing on the back of your neck, the goosebumps lining your tender skin. The feeling of being anything but alone.

The shower door screeched back, while a hand sprung out of the dark, grabbing my wrist! I gasped, not enough time to scream, as another hand reached out covering my mouth and pulling me back into the shower.

Rough fingers dug into my wrist and face, muffling my cries for help.

“I told you,” a familiar voice whispered in my ear, the voice of Carlo, “that I would have you...and I always make good on my promises.”

I struggled, flailing against him, and brought back an elbow in my panic. He grunted and loosened his grip on my mouth, giving me a chance to sink my teeth into his hand.

“You bitch!” He yelped, grabbing my head and attempting to drive it into the side of sliding door, but missing as I slipped to the floor and scrambled out.

I scurried across the ground, reaching for the door, before I felt immense pain radiating from my scalp, as my hair was yanked from behind. “Help!” I tried to scream, as a pair of hands landed squarely around my neck, cutting me off.

Carlo dragged me back and threw me down on the bed, before piling on top. “Don't act like this isn't what you want,” he growled, “you've been flirting with me since day one. The way you were acting, the way you dress...” He removed a hand from my neck and clawed at my shirt, ripping it down the neckline and exposing my lacy white bra.

“Stop,” I choked, my voice whimpering while his other hand remained pressured down on my throat.

His deranged, feral eyes cut through the darkness, as he straddled on top. “It's too late for that.”

I flailed frantically, throwing wild fists to keep him at bay, before seeing his hand reach for his zipper. I panicked, feeling around for anything near me, when my hand searchingly banged on my nightstand, my palm openly probing for something, anything.

Suddenly, I felt the open ended side of my love note pen, still uncapped. My hand closed tightly around it. Rolling my shoulder, I catapulted my arm upward, digging the pen into his collarbone and sending him reeling to the floor.

“You whore,” he roared, writhing in pain, “I'll get you!”

I pulled myself up and hurtled over him to the door, tearing it open and narrowly escaping his reaching hand. Booking it down the hall, I gasped for air, trying to scream, but only bearing witness to scratchy calls for aid.

I pounded on every door that I came across, but could not bring myself to wait for any help, if it ever came. Flashing lightning silhouetted my frightened figure through the windows as I ran for my life. Barreling sounds of footsteps, one pair, echoed down the halls behind, tracking me, hunting me.

Racing up the steps, I felt fatigue setting in, and adrenaline wearing off, as I climbed higher and higher.

Above deck, the skies crackled with thunder, and the ravaging winds hurtled rainfall in every which direction. I sheltered my face with my hand hand and scoured the top deck, finding it empty every which way. Suddenly, I spotted a beacon of light atop the ship. A room birthed in light. The Captain's quarters. Jackson's room.

Forcing myself upward even still, I pleaded with my anguished legs to push on until I reached his door, and banged upon it with balled fist.

“Jackson,” I cried, “please help me.” I was unable to stop sobbing. “Please, I need you!”

Silence.

My cries went unanswered. I turned and slumped back against the door. “Someone,” I cried uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face, “anyone...”

Hearing footsteps coming up from below, I cowered, holding my hand over my mouth to try and stifle my emotions.

“I hear you,” Carlo said, his voice eerily playful, “and I'm gonna find you.”

At that moment, I picked myself up and fled, knowing I would've been cornered otherwise. Down the steps I ran, toward the pool, giving myself some distance, some barrier between us.

I heard his footsteps pounding on the deck some distance behind me, so near, but so far.

The sky was dark and foreboding. The seas trembled the ship with their powerfully angry whims granted by even angrier gods. I prayed there was a god on my side right now. I turned at the ship's end, blocked in by the pool and faced a menacing Carlo at the opposite end. Perhaps god was not on my side.

A bolt of lighting illuminated the sky, flashing Carlo's crazed face, a distorted madness twinkling in his eyes. “I told you I would find you,” he rumbled over the wind and rain. “You don't even deserve me, you common whore.”

“Stop!” I screamed, retreating further back as he rounded the pool. “You need help!”

              He grinned, his teeth shining in manic perfection. “I'm not the one who needs help now!”

'Round the corner he crept, stalking like a lion does a wounded gazelle. I begged my legs to move forward, but couldn't overcome their weight, and tripped, toppling to the ground. I landed hard, my face grazing the slick floor beneath me with a crack.

The creaking deck echoed as hollow footsteps approached from the side. That was it, I thought to myself, turning to gaze upon the demonic being that stood over me.

“There's nowhere left to run,” he said in his lunatic fringe. “Now you're mine.” He pulled his fist back high in the air, ready to inflict pain and his own version of delight into my skull.

A shriek of thunder and effervescent lightning seared the sky behind him, as his fist hammered through the air.

I felt the breath exit my lungs as my hands raised up to cover my face in fear filled anticipation. However, after a moment, I noticed that I had yet to be struck.

Opening my eyes, I found Carlo's wide-eyed gaze to be turned on something else. A hand clenched tightly around his wrist. The hand of a larger man. An even more dangerous one. His face grim and determined, piquing with disquiet anger.

“You have made a grave mistake,” Jackson glowered.  His thick, pumping veins pressed visibly  through the sleeves of a soaked white collared shirt, as his formidable grip held over Carlo.

“I'll kill you!” Carlo shouted, tearing his arm free and spinning to throw a blow at Jackson.

“Watch out!” I yelled instinctively.

Jackson parried the fist, dodging with a step back, and throttled Carlo with a right hook to the face, sending him spiraling to the ground.

In his fall, Carlo grabbed hold of Jackson's shirt and dragged him down in tow. They tumbled backwards and splashed into the pool, spraying me with watery shrapnel.

“Jackson!” I gasped, crawling toward the pool. The two darkened blobs struggled underwater in slow motion, seemingly never going to rise to the surface.

Carlo, however, came up first, pulling with him a dazed Jackson, who choked out excess water. Blinded, Carlo rocketed down with a flying fist of his own, that resonated even through the storm, before dunking him back under.

“Jackson!” I screamed, “somebody help!” Looking toward the deck, I found no sign of life. I moved closer to the pool, ready to dive in, before Carlo was submerged from beneath, freezing me in the moment.

The figures danced frantically underwater, a time that dragged on, yet probably only lasted mere moments.  Suddenly, Jackson burst from the water like some ancient monster. A guttural scream escaped from his lips as he pulled up Carlo, and pummeled him with one, two, three measured blows to the face.

A woozy Carlo fell limp, his head rolling softly to the side. Jackson rose from the water, breathing heavily as watery tears streaked down his hardened grimace. a bloody cut above his left eye was visible even in the darkness.

Falling to my knees, I held myself, trying to keep from sobbing even more than I already was. The sounds of multiple pairs of footsteps rang along the deck floor down the corner.

Jackson pulled Carlo onto his shoulders and carried him toward the edge of the pool, pushing him up and over onto the edge a little further down from me.

A small crowd appeared, their murmurs growing louder. Veronica stood among several crew hands. Even Sal showed up. All of their faces painted a bleak picture, a sadness, a regret for something they didn't stop, but maybe could've.

“Have him taken below,” Jackson said, walking up the steps of the pool toward me. “Tie him up.”

“Yes sir,” several men acknowledged, picking up an unconscious Carlo and disappearing back below deck.

Jackson knelt beside me, and brushed my matted wet hair aside. “Are you okay?”

His face was filled with what looked like tear drops, but it was impossible to tell if it was the pool, the rain, or me?

I nodded, biting into my lip, and trying to force back my own tears, as I embraced him hard.

His arms clutched me tightly, his chest staying strong as my face burrowed into it.

“C'mon,” he said, helping me to my feet. “I could use a scotch. I don't know about you?'”

I shook my head and walked side by side with him, shaking a little, but he held me tight. It felt warm and safe in his arms.

We approached Veronica, whose eyes turned downward as we came close. “What can I do?” she asked, looking at my ripped shirt, exposed bra, and the speckles of blood splattered across them.

“Give us some time,” Jackson said. “And make sure he's locked up.”

“We'll make sure he hurts no one else,” she affirmed.

“It's not their safety I'm worried about,” Jackson glared, his voice hard as stone. “Don't let me see him again.”

Veronica gulped hard and nodded curtly, a noticeable shiver writhing deep under her skin, as she stepped back to allow us through.

“Do you want to see our nurse,” Jackson said, turning to me, as we walked past.

I shook my head, and clutched onto him tighter. “Just stay with me...please.”

He gripped me tight. “Nothing else in the world could be more on my mind right now.”

 

 

The Captain's door swung open and we shuffled inside Jackson's quarters, shutting the door behind us and sealing out the storm. It was warm and cozy, filled with small shelves of worldly ornaments, knickknacks, and collected items from all his journeys, like a real ship captain, I'd imagine.

A small port window hung above the bed that was centered straight on, and looked out ahead the ship. Off to the side was a small on suite bathroom with a shower, and toilet included, among the typical findings.

Jackson wandered over to the other side of the room, to a dilapidated antique wardrobe, possibly that of a real pirate and cracked it open to reveal an extensive liquor cabinet.

He reached for an expensive looking brand of scotch, assuming their was truly such a thing as an inexpensive brand. Snatching two glasses in between his fingers, he removed them, placing them delicately on a nearby tray. In just as swift a movement, he was already pouring. “You a scotch drinker?” he asked.

“Tonight I am,” I croaked, changing my mind as I sat in tension at the edge of his bed. The mattress was soft. It would've been cloud nine in better circumstances. His bedspread was not ornamented with any type of regency, just a puffy white comforter draped atop his larger than it seemed queen sized bed.

Coming around, he arrived with my drink, gently placing it within the center my inviting palms. I watched the amber liquid swirl like a meandering stream around chunks of ice, which I hadn't even heard him retrieve. Regardless, I didn't hesitate to take a sip, wincing at the slight burning sensation going down my throat, followed by a comforting warmth filling my stomach.

Jackson's face relaxed. He drifted off to the bathroom and returned with several large, and impeccably white, towels. He offered them in my direction. “Here,” he motioned, while keeping one slung over his shoulder for himself.

“Thanks,” I glanced at them, handing him my glass to hold. I ran one towel through my hair, while using the other to pat down my damp clothes.

“Not sure how much those will help,” he said, placing the drinks on his desk by the main door and pulling out a wooden chair to sit across from me.

“They're good enough.”

He tilted his head, looking at me with a perturbed glance and and gaining my attention as I continued to towel off. “What?” I asked.

Raising a hand to my face, he brought my chin up and inspected my neck, ever so gently. “A little bruising,” he said, his lips pouting slightly. It was actually pretty cute to be honest, but I couldn't begin to take much pleasure after all that had occurred.

“I'm alright,” I pulled my head away and kept my gaze at the floor. Even though I was still reeling from everything that had happened, I couldn't help but think of how I would've begged for this time with Jackson earlier. Now though, my mind was elsewhere. Where to even begin?

“I got your note,” he started up, after a moment of silence, and offered my glass back.

“Did you?” I said, matter of fact, only looking up to take the glass.

“Yeah.” Another silent moment in time briefly swallowed us in awkward fashion. “How did you know I'd find it in time?”

“I didn't. It didn't have anything to do with...with him.”

Jackson started to speak, but stopped himself in thought. “But...it did.”

My head piqued with interest, as he drew my attention.

“I was wrong. I should've trusted you. I wanted to trust you. None of this would've ever happened if not...” he trailed off, standing up and turning away. He downed his glass of scotch, and escaped to refill it, shaking his head in utter frustration.

“It's not your fault,” I got up and and followed him, resting a reassuring hand on his back and rubbing it with a soothing caress. “And he didn't do anything to me, I swear.”

“He hurt you, and tried to do even worse,” he admonished me. “Unspeakable things.”

“But he didn't,” I stressed.

“That doesn't make it any better. I could've stopped it if I'd listened.”

“You did stop it,” I reiterated, a thin smile coming forth.

“Not all of it,” he cut in, pouring more scotch into his glass.

“Stop.” I grabbed his face between my hands and pulled him to look at me. “Stop putting the blame on yourself for everything. And just...be...happy. Then maybe you can go out and actually finally find that White Whale of yours,” I smiled as best as I could at the thought of him with someone else.

His eyelids grew heavy, like a ten ton weight had pressed down upon them. “What if I already have?”

My heart skipped a beat, as we stood in silence, staring longingly into each others eyes. Was he saying what I thought he was?

Suddenly, a warm sensation touched my hand. I retracted it to find a deep crimson tattoo splotched across my palm. I turned my gaze upon his head to find the cut from earlier still seeping near his eye.

“Oh my god, you're bleeding!” I had completely forgotten by the pool, and hadn't been in the state of mind to notice it while we got situated up here.

He touched a hand to his face and dabbed the cut, catching his personal red ink on at the tips of his fingers. He examined them in short time. “Eh, not too bad,” he cracked a grin and took another sip. “Don't feel a thing.”

“That's the liquor talking,” I chastised him, marching into the bathroom and riffling through his cabinets. “Where's your medical supplies?” I yelled from inside.

“Uh, somewhere in there...I guess.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, “Jackson Braun, you are insufferable!”

“That's the liquor talking.” he retorted, even bringing a brief smile across my face, that I had to push away as I returned with topical ointment.

“Nope,” I snatched his glass away, I placed it back on the table. “I have to focus, can't have you going to the watering hole while I'm trying to fix you.”

“But I'm not even finished with it,” he chuckled.

“And you won't be finishing it,” I chided him, “if you don't let me patch you up.”

“Aw man,” He feigned mock outrage. “It's nice being attended to by a beautiful woman...but that glass is pretty far away.”

“Well, I'm in business mode now,” I spoke up, hoping my face wasn't reddening as I treated his cut with a little wet towel first

“I guess we could always use another nurse on board,” he cracked a smile.

“So does this mean I still have a job?” I raised my brow in amusement as I squeezed the ointment tube and applied it to a cue tip.

“For now,” his cheeks held taunt as he tried to stay still and force back boundless laughter. “Besides, who are we gonna find in all of Lisbon that can do what you do?”

“What?” I gently massaged the medicine along his cut, “seduce the boss? I'm sure you can find some Portuguese model to take my place,” I chuckled.
“I don't want some Portuguese model,” he said, brushing a stray hair out of my face. “I want you.”

I froze, my cheeks growing red hot as I looked back into his eyes. They were serious again. Mysterious, yet all encompassing. We were drawn to each other, our magnets finally proving too great for us to overcome the pull.

His hand softly tugged my face inching toward his, while I let everything fall out of my hands and drop to the floor almost soundlessly. Time came to a standstill as our faces moved closer and closer...

We came together in a euphoric exchange of energy. Lips so soft, so tame, yet rough and powerful upon each other. I could almost feel the air being sucked out of my lungs, as though I was being propelled into space, and hurtling toward the inevitable.

Then, it broke, and we were off to the races. Banging back into his cabinet, we kissed frantically and passionately, like two feral animals finally reaching their awaited time together and no longer fighting it. Just like the wild torrent of the waters we rode, we danced around the room in an uncontrollable frenzy. His scent was intoxicating, a earthen musk, dark, and ingratiating.

Trailing down my cheek, and neckline, his lips grazed, descending with wanted desire.

My hands clenched his head, holding him while the sensations canvased my upper breast down to my exposed bra.

Cold hands startled me as they slipped under my shirt and hugged my torso in tight embrace, while he lifted me to the bed. I wrapped my legs around him, not wanting to let go, as he place me down upon his floating cloud of a bed.

I sprawled out, pulling him closer, as his kisses traced my body. He mounted me, plucking my arms from his neck and pinning them behind my head, before returning his lips to my own. A static connection charged my passion and burned brightly as the tension finally broke.

His hands traveled back under my shirt, inching up my sides and unraveling me. I aided him in his cause, yanking my shirt up and over, before clawing at his own.

In just a moment, his shirt was off, my hands exploring his tight contours and lines that were the pure definition of glorious.

His dexterous fingers attacked the front clasp of my bra and snapped it apart, revealing my own personal markers of arousal, which he just as quickly addressed with his tongue. I writhed in ecstasy while he sent my body into minor convulsions with even his warm breath.

Suddenly, my hands took a mind of their own and sprang forth toward his pants, narrowing in on his button and zipper like a hawk on a field mouse. Though I didn't expect to find just a field mouse.

I tore his pants down, exposing a sliver of his form fitting black boxer briefs, and the hallowed ground beneath them. Before I knew it, my pants were unzipped and stripped off my legs. I gasped in excitement, while he threw my pants to the side and climbed atop me.

Something long and firm pressed against my thin panties as pushed down on me, while I tried to hide my wild pleasure, but was unsuccessful.

I rolled him over and grinded against him, leveling myself using his chest and gyrating my hips in harmony with his own. I quivered as his mouth closed around my nipple, his soft tongue erupting sensation all throughout my body.

Pushing me back over, his hand climbed to my other nipple, gently circling his finger over it and sending my choked breath spiraling.

Returning to my lips, I felt his tongue slip inside and dance with mine in a crescendo of sensual jubilation. His hands journeyed across my body with tender disposition, exploring all parts of me, before tightening on my backside, as his hand skirted the lining of my panties. A firm grasp sent all the air from my lungs, while I wrapped my arms around his chiseled biceps, begging him for more.

That more came when his hand crept below and slid off my panties, before slipping several fingers of inside me. His hands were rough, but delicate enough to imbue me with the rapture that they knew he could grant.               I closed my eyes to allow myself the enjoyment of full sensation as he enjoyed my body. I wasn't sure how long it went on for, but suddenly it came to a stop.

All I could hear was a shuffling off of the bed, and the sound of fabric falling to the ground. The bed creaked as he came back down, a hard throbbing sensation filling me. I gasped, clutching his back, my nails digging into his skin as I gently pulled him in deeper. 

Then he started up, slowly at first, but reaching good pace and thrusting with a determined power, while his hands pushed me down. It allowed my own hands to wander to his tight ass, and even stroke anything I could get my hands on, dangling or not. When I could...that is.

I was unsure of how audible my groans were, but I was thankful that the squeakiness of the bed was able to mask them, at least a little. It didn't work as well when I started raising my pitch, begging him to keep going.  I could barely speak.

He continued to throttle me, his hands moving my legs at his whims, pushing them further back. I could feel the pulsating rhythm beckoning my body, warning me of what's to come, and I couldn't bear to anticipate it any longer.

Jackson grunted more laboriously as he delivered to me his own dose of personal assistance, which I could definitely sign up for again. I could feel his body beginning to tense up though, as my legs tightened with expectation.

We clutched each other, our heads mere inches apart, as his warm essence filled me. It flowed throughout me, giving me an immediate sense of calm. A calm that was quickly interrupted by earth quakes of pleasure that would continue for countless minutes, leveling my body, which remained taunt in his hold.

Our breaths synchronized as we relished in our conquest over each other. Finally, I opened my eyes, waiting, watching as his remained closed, at peace. They slowly opened to meet my smiling gaze. A relaxed, grin worked it's way over his face, as he kissed me, and held my head close to his.

I felt safe wrapped in his warm embrace as it brought me to a plane of heaven that I never thought existed.

All along I'd been looking for the right story, and this time, I created one for myself. My eyes peaked out to look at his restful face. I beamed in pure joy. I finally had my own story, and this one was more than just a fairy tale.

 

 

The orange morning light crept through Jackson's window and fell peacefully across my face. Stirring from a wonderful slumber, I stretched out, receding from Jackson's strong arms that cuddled me safely through the night.

I knelt atop the bed and climbed up to the window. Outside, a fiery sun reflected off the water and shined upon the immaculate white buildings, monuments, and oh so familiar red rooftops. The historian inside me couldn't wait to get out and explore the landscape that drew so very near, across what little expanse of water still separated us.

A hard slap rang across my naked butt. “Ow!” I yelped, finding a grinning Jackson lounging down beside me, his hand retreating under the covers. I rubbed my red behind sorely.

“What?” he said, a coy smile plastered across his lips. “I was just lying here.”

“I could smack something too,” I growled, grabbing at the clump of blankets that held just below his waistline.

“You wouldn't.” He raced to foil my attempt and was just in time to stop me from removing them.

“You're right,” I pouted and rolled away. “I'm nice, unlike you.”

“What?” He embraced me and planted a kiss on my cheek. “I'm nice too!”

I scoffed and moved my head away feigning outrage. “You called me a whale.”

“I mean, it wasn't necessarily you.”

“Then who was it?” I turned, pushing him playfully.

“Okay, it was you,” he grinned, going in for another kiss.

I dodged his lips. “Not good enough, Mr. Braun.” I mounted him, pushing his arms down. “You could have a sexual assault suit on you right now. You called me a whale and you slapped my butt,” I boasted with a devilish grin.

“Well,” he said, resigned, “there goes dad's money.” “Sorry Veronica,” he added with a laugh.

“Speaking of,” I tilted my head with interest, “I've been meaning to ask you about something.”

“What's that?” His brow bent with intrigue.

“Coastline.”

“What about them?” he asked. “I know you were interested in them before. You'll get to talk to them at the meeting soon.”

“No, it's not that,” I slowed, gathering my thoughts. “I think there's something fishy going on with the merger. I briefly saw some of their numbers on a few documents in Veronica's office when I was leaving my folder for her.  Not snooping, or anything. They were out there and...” I trailed off. “Something just didn't look right. Do you know anything about them?”

Jackson scratched his head, seemingly trying to conjure thoughts. “Good company. Mostly deal in construction and land management opportunities.” His head shook in confusion. “Why? What do you think they're doing?”

“I...” I trailed off in thought. “I don't know.” I sat back on my knees.

“Well, here's a good time to finally put that journalism degree to good use,” he smirked. “I'll see what I can do, but you,” he pointed at me, “have to put the pieces together.” He beamed. “It's your story, I trust you.”

I nodded, after sitting in deep thought. “I'll try.”

“Good,” he smiled. A moment of tender silence lingered between us.

Jackson looked as though he was fighting an inward battle, struggling with something internal being to vanquish. “Listen,” his face turned serious, “there's something I've been trying to talk to you about for a while--”

The intercom buzzed, humming loudly throughout the ship. “We will now be docking at Port Allure, Lisbon. Please begin all preparations for disembarking, thank you.”

“Do those instructions apply to everyone?” I moved in closer to him with slanted eyes of mischief. I slowly began kissing a trail along his neck.

“Not us.” A smile returned to his face.

“Good,” I grinned. “As I caught my own white whale, and I want to enjoy this catch for a long as I can.” I grabbed his face and kissed him passionately.

“As do I,” Jackson grinned, pulling the covers over us, “as do I.”

We sunk back into our loving embrace, diving deep into each others' arms, and hearts, once more...forever more. At least I hope!

 

 

End of Book 1

 

 

 

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Cassie is a longtime romance reader, who shares a passion for writing and connecting with those all those around her that make life so wonderful.  After writing fiction for quite some time, Cassie finally made the jump to publishing her work and is excited to share her stories with the world.  Cassie has been married to her loving husband John for over fifteen years and considers herself the mother of two unruly dogs, Clyde and Mipsy.  She holds a great passion for reality television, and spending time with her feet firmly entrenched in the sand while relaxing at the beach with a good book.