I slip out of my flip-flops and run barefoot on the warm white sand. Bora Bora, with its turquoise lagoon and mountainous islands, is beyond anything I’ve ever seen in real life. “It’s gorgeous!” I say with a giggle. “This is paradise!” I spin around to face my brand-new husband as of yesterday. “I’m glad we left our bungalow to explore.”

He gives me a big smile, then rushes over and scoops me up. I squeal and wrap my arms around his neck. God, I forget how strong he is sometimes. “You’re lucky I let you escape. But we should eat some food and take in the sights, I guess.”

I kiss his cheek. “Sustenance is good. As is the scenery.” He sets me down, and we hold hands as we stroll along the sand.

Ryker’s fingers are wrapped securely in mine, and I soak in the sunshine and peace and happy feelings overwhelming me. We got married in a private ceremony, just the two of us and Daria to witness it.

Granted, she wasn’t too thrilled when I came back to the apartment after that radio show event and told her I was engaged. I could tell she was worried about my heart, about him hurting me again. When she finally met Ryker, she gave him a piece of her mind. To his credit, he didn’t get angry or defensive.

Time has proven his steadfastness to me. Time and effort. Ryker started seeing a counselor to discuss the trauma of his mother’s murder and how it’s impacted him. I didn’t suggest it—he said he knew he had a lot of emotional growing to do and he wanted to show me real change.

I’ve gone to a few sessions with him to talk about our relationship. It’s not been perfect—he still withdraws sometimes and gets quiet. But not like he did before. And in return, I try to give him space and patience, because I can see his effort.

We arrived to our bungalow last night, ate a fine dinner, and stayed in bed for hours into the morning. I wasn’t complaining. I can’t get enough of him.

Ryker’s phone dings with a text message.

I laugh. “Seriously, how the hell do you have signal out here? And why are you carrying your phone?”

He gives a sheepish shrug. “I wanted to snap some pictures of you on the beach. Especially in that sexy new red bikini you bought.” His eyes grow dark as he visually devours me, and my body vibrates with a hot flush all over. God, I’m insatiable when it comes to him. I can’t get enough.

I crave his hands all over me.

Ryker takes a step forward, like stalking his prey. I feel my body become hyperaware of him. Desperate for him to take me again. “Mrs. Baldwin,” he says in a rough growl. I shudder, both at his nearness and the thrill of being his wife. “I’m going to fuck you again. So you’d better run back to our room or I’m taking you right here on the beach.”

I give a laugh, then stop when I realize he’s serious. “Oh,” I whisper.

“One…two…”

I squeal and run back toward our bungalow. My feet thud down the wooden walkway as I cross over the water and down to the farthest room.

“Gotcha,” Ryker whispers as he whips an arm around my waist. Yanks me hard against his chest, my ass pressed to his throbbing cock. He brushes my hair to the side and licks my neck, and I sigh, arch into him.

My skin erupts in goose bumps when his teeth drag along my tendon and he bites.

“You taste so fucking good,” he says, then releases me and swats my ass. “Inside, woman, before I ravish you right here.”

* * *

An hour later, I lie back on the bed and release a soft sigh. My muscles are pliant, and I’m sleepy and relaxed. “Oh hey,” I say, suddenly remembering something. “Did you ever check that message?”

“I was too busy with you,” he purrs, but he reaches over and gets his phone. I admire the strong muscles in his back that flex when he moves. I can’t believe this man is mine. Gorgeous, witty, stubborn, vulnerable…all blessedly mine.

Ryker sits up as he reads, and he draws in several deep breaths, then exhales. “Holy shit.” He looks at me, and I can’t quite read the expression on his face. He almost seems…stunned? “You have to read this.” He hands the phone to me. “Someone I know texted me a link to this article.”

I take it and when I quickly see Cade Thompson’s name in the title, my stomach gives a painful lurch. I force myself to read anyway, knowing that Ryker wouldn’t have given it to me if it wasn’t important.

More Allegations Against Cade Thompson for Sexual Harassment

I try to will my pace to slow as I read the article. It starts off discussing me, naturally, a summary of the accusations Cade made, then my interview where I called him a liar.

But because of my interview, four other women from his college in Texas have come forward and given their testimonies about his numerous assaults on campus…and filed police reports against him. The university is also being sued for a huge sum because the football coach witnessed one assault and tried to bribe the girl to keep quiet.

They all did for years, out of fear of retaliation…until I stepped forward.

While reading their stories, seeing how I helped them find their courage, I chew on my lower lip and stare at the screen. My heart aches, and my eyes sting. I’m filled with sadness and grief and something else. Something akin to vindication. Wow. The article even says that the tide is turning on Cade, whose sports agent is rumored to have dropped him over these incidents. Many on social media are skewering him, while people are calling out those who trashed my name unfairly.

Cade’s name is mud now.

I look over at Ryker. “I…” My chest aches with tightness, and I can barely breathe. My hands shake as I hand him the phone. I feel overwhelmed, flooded with feelings I can’t figure out how to process. Relief, fear, anger, all cycling in me.

“Yeah. Fuck him. We’re going to sue him for slandering your name,” Ryker says hotly. He pauses. “Well. If you want. I won’t make you, because it’s your choice on how to handle the situation. Though everything in me is screaming that this fucker should pay for what he’s done…to you and other women.”

“I…I want to think about it,” I say. Because suing him will open a huge can of worms. Am I prepared to handle it—going through more media coverage for who knows how long? Ryker reaches over and strokes my bare back, presses kisses to my shoulder. I know what he wants. But he’s not pressuring me. He’s here to support me and help me have control over my life.

“No matter what you choose, I’ll be here,” he murmurs against my skin.

I stroke his hair, all the negative feelings in me flitting away in the breeze pouring through the windows. I believe what he says. Every time I think I’m feeling all the love I can for this man, he does something that makes me love him more.

“Let’s talk about this when we get home,” he says with a gentle smile. “We’re on our honeymoon. And I was supposed to take you to lunch when I got…distracted.” Ryker winks.

“It was worth it,” I tell him as I caress his cheek. “But if you don’t feed me now, I’m going to destroy this beautiful bungalow in search of food.”

He nods solemnly. “That would give the news channels something different to talk about us, I suppose,” he muses. I swat his arm, and he laughs. “What? You know me. Always thinking of the angles.”

* * *

“Your office is so boring,” I declare to Ryker as I take a look around his new digs. “You haven’t put anything up yet, and we’ve been in here for two weeks now. Will you at least talk to the designer I used? She’s amazing.”

He rolls his eyes. “You think everyone you work with is amazing.”

“That’s because they are,” I say primly. “And even you have to admit she did a good job.”

“I guess,” he sighs, still staring at his computer screen. “When I made you Chief Operating Officer, I didn’t think the duties included nagging.”

“That’s free of charge,” I tell him in a sweet tone, which makes him look up and give me the stink eye. “Okay, I can see you’re busy. I have more interviews to conduct. Byeeeee.” I blow him a kiss and sashay out, giving my ass an extra wiggle. Head back to my own gloriously decorated office.

After we returned from our honeymoon, we “cut the ribbon” on the location of our new sports agency. We initially decided on a soft opening, just quietly working our way back into the industry.

Funny enough, after Ryker proposed to me on the air, the audio clip went viral, and people went nuts for our relationship. Instead of asking us about all the negative crap that happened to us, the press has enjoyed following our engagement and marriage. It’s a much more positive story than anything Ryker used to get from the media, he told me.

And even though it’s not about our company, he doesn’t care. He’s proud that everyone knows his feelings, even if he has gotten teased by others in the industry on being so mushy.

I have three interviews lined up for this afternoon. We’ve already hired several women to fill roles as sports agents, and I’m interviewing for more.

Due to a strange twist of fate, Ryker’s private detective happened to find the old agent, Damon, who embezzled funds from former clients. He was hiding in South America, along with almost all of the money he stole. The police arrested him, and he was deported back to the States.

Using those recovered funds, plus some of his own to account for the small portion Damon had already spent, Ryker paid back the old clients who had been ripped off. He met with each of them individually, said there were no strings, no obligation, he just wanted to make things right.

Apparently, the shock over getting repaid, plus seeing the difference in Ryker’s attitude, spurred a good number of former clients to work with him at our new company. The spike has led to us needing more agents. A wonderful problem to have.

Our company already has way more women hired and brought in than ever seen in such a sports-oriented organization. And people are starting to notice. More female athletes are coming to us every day because of it.

My phone buzzes, and I peek down. It’s a text from my father.

That old instinctive reaction, a nervous twist of my gut, steals my breath. When I moved out back in December and returned to New York City, I avoided talking to anyone in my family for two months, even my mom. I just wasn’t ready.

Then my Dad called. It wasn’t a heartwarming call, mostly awkward with him asking me how I was and me telling him about being engaged. But it was a start, him reaching out to me.

The text is brief, just asking if I’m still planning to come home for my mom’s birthday next weekend…and if Ryker is coming with me. Surprisingly enough, after my explosive argument with him, he’s even been better with my mother, too. Trying to watch the patronizing comments he makes.

I think his effort is what keeps me trying to build something with him, even if it’s awkward and difficult. I’m still bitter and upset, but I’m working on letting it go. Holding on to my anger over my past hurts no one but me.

I’m ready to live my life, today. Now.

I text back that Ryker and I will be there. Amusingly enough, he’s pretty much fangirling in excitement to meet Ryker. A sports figure and businessman he’s looked up to for years.

Marietta calls me on the landline. “Hey, your first interview is here. Should I send her on back?”

“That would be great. Thank you!” We hang up, and I smile. When we told her we were starting a new sports company, she told Ryker he’d better hire her or she’d set our new building on fire. He smirked and said if she hadn’t wanted to work with him, he was gonna set her house on fire. I just laughed and shook my head. Those two.

Ryker gave her a healthy raise and a promotion, well deserved.

My phone buzzes again, but this time, it’s a message from Ryker. You know I love you, right?

You’d better, I text back as I smile.

We’re still settling into our life, but it’s going amazing already. Ryker respects my opinions and listens to me. I’m also still doing radio spots on Nancy’s show. Her listeners loved our spot so much that they asked me to be a regular, and the producers agreed. So now once a week, I get to talk with people about my favorite topic—sports.

I get up from my desk and open my door to meet the person I’m interviewing. She’s young, around my age, a black woman with natural hair, wearing a sleek red dress suit. Her lips are bright, her heels high, and she has assertiveness written all over her.

I like her instantly.

“Welcome,” I tell her, sticking out my hand. “I’m Andrea, and I’ll be interviewing you today. Come into my office.”

She gives me a warm smile and follows. “Thanks. I’m Ava.” When she settles into the plush leather chair across from my mahogany desk, she gives a wry grin. “I have to admit, I’m a little nervous.”

“I understand,” I tell her. “When I first interviewed with my husband, he tried to kick me out.”

She laughs. “Clearly that didn’t work.”

I shake my head. “No, I was tenacious. He was going to listen to me, because I knew I could do the job.” I rest my elbows on the desk. “Now, tell me about you. I want to hear about your passions and where you want to go in this industry. Let’s see if we can work together to get you there.”