When I regain consciousness, my head throbs. I look around to figure out where I am. The boat of our first date. I’d remember this boat anywhere. With my hands tied behind my back, I try to wiggle free.

“Well hello there, little Miss Pretty. Nice to see you are back with us,” Mr. Roberts says, smiling as he sits in a chair facing me.

“Where… Where am I?” My voice is scratchy, and my throat hurts.

He looks and smiles even wider.

“Why, dear, you’re with me,” he says, rubbing his fingers along his chin.

“Why?”

“Why are you here?” He laughs as if I’ve asked the funniest thing in the world. His shoulders shake as he rises from his seat. The sound makes my skin crawl. I look around the boat to find something, anything, to help me.

“Yes.” I figure I’ll keep him talking to try and wait for help or find a way to get free—either way, I need to keep his focus off me.

“I did not work my ass off for some punk kid to get everything,” he barks, slamming his hands down at his sides. His nostrils flare, and his brow furrows.

“So what does that have to do with me?”

“Everything.” His anger vanishes, and he is once again calm.

“I can’t wait to hear this,” I say, staring around at the cabinets on the boat. I would give anything to know what each drawer holds. In the room around me, I can’t see anything that could help. The knots are secured tightly around my wrist; I struggle to get free. Not giving up, I continue to wiggle my hands as I watch Mr. Roberts walk around the cabin.

“I saw you the night of your date with Trace. On this very same boat. Now, I had planned on getting rid of Trace in other ways. However, when you came into the picture… it became too easy. Kill you, frame Trace, and take the company when the family falls apart.” He stares with pure craziness. Yep: this guy has completely gone mad.

“No one would believe Trace killed me.”

He laughs again, the most wicked laugh I’ve ever heard, straight out of a bad movie. He opens the doors to the cabin and turns. “You don’t get it, do you? Who would believe a kid over me? I’m going to be a witness. I’ll have seen the whole thing. I’ll see the boat blow up.”

“Blow up?” I whisper.

“Yes. In about five minutes, this ship will go kaboom.” He raises his arms over his head to create an explosion.

“But why blow up the boat?”

“Evidence. Always get rid of the evidence, my dear,” he says, walking out the cabin door.

The second the door shuts, I struggle as hard as I can. The knot doesn’t budge so I try to break free from the chair. Five minutes? Oh, no. Think, Vanessa. A wine opener lies on the counter, and I try to scoot my chair closer, but then the door opens and Mr. Roberts returns.

He looks at me and raises his eyebrows. “Where are you trying to get to there, pretty?”

Not answering, I sit and panic. I don’t want to tell him my plans, which as of right now I don’t have. The only thing on my mind is the wine opener: I need to reach it.

“So, are you sure no one knows where I am?” I ask.

He steps closer, leaning next to my ear as he whispers, “No one knows, dear.”

“You know they can track my phone.”

“No one even knows you’re missing. Besides, I was sure to leave your phone at your house. Do you take me for an idiot?” He stands back up and moves over to the cabinets where he fiddles with something. I lean in the chair to see what it might be.

“Yes, I do,” I say, leaning a little more. “I had a friend coming over. So when I’m not there, he is going to wonder.” He has something gray and hard in his hands. Is it a knife?

“You had no one coming over,” he says, looking back at me as I jerk my body into a sitting position. He raises his eyebrows again but then turns back around to continue with whatever he is playing with.

Please let Jordan come through. Please let anyone come through. Realizing I will most likely die, tears form in my eyes.

“Someone is coming for me,” I whisper to myself. Please let someone come.

He turns once again and smiles, proud of his plan. “Have you ever seen one of these?”

“No,” I huff.

“It’s the bomb detonator. And this clock here says you have four minutes and thirty-five seconds left. I need to get going soon. If it’s any consolation, I think Trace really liked you. Not that it matters now.” He erupts into a full belly laugh and my limbs shake. Shake with madness. Shake with fear. Maybe I am shaking with adrenaline. Either way, I need that wine opener.

“Fuck you!” I scream. His eyes bulge as though he expects me to be some good little prisoner.

“Now, now, Vanessa, that is no way for a lady to speak.” He runs his hand down the front of his pasty white shirt.

I spit towards him, and he walks out the cabin door.

The wine opener lies on the cabinet like a shining light, and I try desperately to get to it. Scooting my chair with vigor, I gain better access. Leaning my head on the cabinet, I open my mouth and bite down on the wine opener. Great. Now what? In one desperate attempt, I fling my head, drop the wine opener down my back, and catch it in my hands. Holy shoot! That worked. Amazed, I open the little knife and start sawing at the rope.

Looking toward the clock, I see I only have three minutes. Picking up my pace, I cut at the rope as fast as I can. Finally, the rope breaks free.

Just I shoot out of the chair, I hear a commotion on the deck of the boat. Swinging the door open, I see Trace and Tony charge the boat.

“We have to get off this boat!” I yell.

Out of nowhere, Mr. Roberts flies through the air, taking Trace down with him. Tony is startled but grabs at Roberts, lifting him off of Trace as I rush over. Mr. Roberts stumbles free from Tony’s hold and wraps his arms around me.

With less than three minutes to go, I look urgently at Trace. “There’s a bomb. We need to get off this boat!” I yell as he rises from the floorboard. Trace’s eyes widen, and he nods.

“This isn’t going to work out for you, son.” Mr. Roberts laughs as he grabs me.

He jams a hand into his pocket and pulls out a knife, then sticks the tip into my throat, just enough to cause a pricking sensation.

I wiggle, but he doesn’t budge.

Trace lunges forward, grabbing Mr. Roberts’s arm with the knife he seems to be holding in some sort of death grip. Tony takes this opportunity to kick Mr. Roberts in the knee, bringing him down to a kneeling position. I scramble away, but fear we are running out of time.

Trace is still gripping Mr. Roberts’s hand with the knife when Tony lands a blow to his face. Blood squirts from Mr. Roberts’s nose, and he drops the weapon.

Trace sweeps it up and points it at Mr. Roberts.

“We’ll be leaving now,” he says, grabbing my hand. Tony jumps off the boat as we follow closely behind.

We sprint away from the yacht. Mr. Roberts comes fast up behind us.

Flashing red and blue lights greet us in the parking lot. The cops raise their weapons and we halt, throwing our hands up in the air. Trace drops the knife, and it clatters on the ground

“Him! Him!” I yell, motioning to Mr. Roberts. The officers aim their guns at him as we back away.

My body lifts through the air as the gust of the explosion propels me. I land hard on my stomach, my ears ringing. Dust fills my lungs, and my vision is hazy. Wood pieces rain from the sky, and I cover my head. Trace swoops in and picks me up, carrying me to safety.

Maxine comes running towards me, but my brain is so cloudy, when she moves her mouth, I can’t hear any words. It takes me a minute or so to understand what she is even saying.

“Oh my god, Nessie. Are you okay?” she yells.

Fire is flaring behind us, and the cops are scrambling all around the docks and quays. A fire engine arrives on scene and starts to put out the flames.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my head.

“Vanessa, I’m so glad you are okay,” Trace says, releasing his hold on me.

“How did you find me?” I ask him.

“Jordan stopped by your house. When you weren’t there, he called everyone. I remembered seeing Mr. Roberts’s wrist at brunch this morning and noticed some marks on them. I didn’t put two and two together until I talked to Jordan, though.” Trace rubs his hands along my arms.I look at Jordan who is standing across the lot, walk over to him, and wrap my arms around him.

“Thank you,” I say, kissing him on the cheek.

“I’m just glad you are okay.” He rubs the back of his neck as he blushes a bright shade of crimson and smiles.

A few hours later, the scene wraps up, and we are able to leave. Maxine’s arms have been around me since I ran from the boat.

“You can ride with me,” she says, flinging her hair out of her eyes.

I walk over to where Tony and Trace are standing.

“Hey, I wanted to thank you two for coming and rescuing me,” I say, wrapping Tony into a hug and then hugging Trace, too.

When Trace lets me go, I look toward the ground. Oh, right: I am mad at him.

His eyes search mine, and I give him a weak smile. “Vanessa, can we talk?” he asks, reaching his arms out to touch me. “I want to explain.”

“I can’t right now.”

I’ve had such a long day, and at the moment I don’t even know how I feel. I want to hear Trace out, but at the same time, he used me.

I walk down the dock towards Maxine’s car. Jordan stands with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for me at the end of the path.

“Hey, I just want to say, I’m glad you’re okay. And I am so sorry for everything that happened.” His head hangs low, and he can’t make eye contact.

“It’s okay, Jordan. It wasn’t your fault. Thank you for calling everyone. Thank you for everything.” I wrap my arms around him again and give him another hug.

“Listen, when I called Trace, as much as I don’t like him, he genuinely cares for you. I can see it. I could hear it in his voice when I talked to him. Give him a chance,” he says as he stares into my eyes.

He smiles a sweet smile, and I gasp, “Wow, really? Never thought you would say that.” I beam at him as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Well, believe it or not, I do care about you. I just want you to be happy. That is all I have ever wanted, and I know he makes you happy. I wish it could be me, but the cards didn’t play out that way.” He walks away as I watch him. The moon shimmers off his pointy blond hair as he opens his truck door and drives off.

Maxine smiles as we jump in her car. “Damn, chica. That was intense. I can’t believe it. So why did Mr. Roberts do it?” she asks, turning out of the parking lot.

“Greed. Corporate greed or something delusional like that.”

“What a complete dumb-tard.”

I laugh at her word choice and turn my head to gaze at the city. The streets of Palm Beach pass by as she drives home.

Home. I can’t wait to get there. My head is spinning with everything that has happened. Especially Tony and Trace, rushing to my rescue: so gallant, so brave.

The next few days pass in a blurry cloud. Everyone at work wants to hear the story over and over. Even the local paper does a spread on the events of the kidnapping. I go to the police station and give my official statement. Even a few reporters call to ask questions.

With Mr. Weston being a prominent businessman, the papers blow the incident way out of proportion. He has to go on record saying he had no clue about the inner workings of Mr. Roberts. It creates bad press for the company, though, and Mr. Weston gets a world of shit for the actions of Mr. Roberts. I feel sorry for the Westons and wonder how Trace is faring.

Maxine is her usual self, protecting me from the press and hanging up on anyone wanting a story. She even goes so far as to curse one of the reporters off and hang-up on them.

Things slowly return to normal; I even go back to work where everyone still has questions. I don’t mind all my co-workers asking, but when the customers feel they have a right to delve into my personal life, that is where I get upset.

Maxine, of course, is very protective of me at work, also. She’s like my personal bodyguard and won’t let anyone near me.

A few weeks after the kidnapping, I’m sitting in my living room, reading, when Maxine walks in. “Hey, so are you gonna call that boy?” she asks, flinging herself onto the couch.

“What boy?” I try to play innocent, but she just raises her eyebrows at me, then wiggles a finger.

“You know exactly who I mean. Has he called?” she asks.

“He texted a few nights ago to see how I was doing,” I tell her. Other than a quick text back stating I was fine, that has been our only interaction.

“Well?” She stares at me with her big blue-green eyes.

“Well what? I don’t know, Max. He used me.” As I look at my hands in my lap, I hear a faint song playing far away. I reach for my phone but it isn’t ringing.

Maxine shrugs and holds up her phone.

“What is that? Is that the ice cream man? Sounds like it’s coming from outside.” She gets up from the couch and walks to the window, peering through the curtain. She gasps and waves her hand. “Oh my god, Ness. Come here.” I rush over to the see.

My mouth drops open, and my heart pitter-patters. Maxine was right: oh my god.

I rush to the door and fling it open as I watch a white limousine drive towards our house. It is like something out of Pretty Woman. Trace hangs out of the sunroof, looking sexy as hell in a suit, his face a wide grin.. Music blares from inside and he clings to a dozen red roses. I shake my head in disbelief.

Maxine is right behind me, laughing and clapping. “Oh my god, how romantic. Just like Pretty Woman, except you’re not a hooker.”

I turn around to her and shake my head, smiling. Heat travels over my spine, and I blush as the limousine pulls into the driveway. Neighbors peek through windows, and I step outside toward the car.

Trace steps out, and I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. My hands shake as I walk over to him.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he says, handing me the roses.

Leaning my nose to a bud, I smell their sweet nectar.

“Thank you. I knew you were a lover of eighties chick flicks.” I look up at him through hooded lashes.

As Maxine shuts the door, I turn to smile at her.

“Yeah, I want to explain everything. I was an idiot,” he whispers.

“Well, this is a pretty grand gesture to get my attention.” I smile.

“ I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. Yes, Tony did bet me to date you, but I am glad he did. I wouldn’t change that for anything.” As he looks at me, the sun shines off his onyx eyes.

I take the flowers and lift them to my nose again.

“Really?”

“Yes. I said I’d lost my mind at that hand of poker, but really I lost my heart. Vanessa, I’m so glad I met you. You have made me see things in a whole new light.”

“Oh, yeah? Which light is that?” I ask, gripping the roses tighter in my hand. My heart beats wildly in my chest.

“Which light?” He laughs. “Every light. Before I met you, I was walking around in the dark, and now it’s as if you have flipped on the lights.”

“Oh.” No words come into my mind as I watch him struggle to speak. He stares at me with such intensity, I can’t think straight.

“Please, will you give me another chance? I can’t get you out of my head.”

“I don’t know, Trace. What about your father? He had Mr. Roberts check me out because he didn’t think I would be good enough for you.”

“Don’t worry about my father. Since Mr. Roberts kidnapped you, my father has really changed. He realized he was pushing me too hard. He even gave me the summer off. He actually wants me to be happy, and he felt that I would be happy with you.” He blurts everything out in one quick breath.

“Is that so?” I ask, looking into his eyes for assurance.

He steps closer as he wraps one arm around my waist. “Please, Vanessa, let me in. Let me get to know you. Be my girlfriend?”

My mind flashes back to when Trace and I were dating and how much I liked him, like him, even now—even still. I really, really like this boy.

“Umm,” I say, thinking about what to say.

“Listen, I’ll make you a bet.”

“Okay, what’s the bet?” My lips curve into a slow smile. His eyes pierce through me, and I can’t look away.

“If I can impress you with my awesome poetry, then you have to go on a date with me tonight.”

“Poetry? You wrote me a poem?” I ask, smiling even wider.

“I sure did. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to my awful verse, but you are leaving me no choice.” He grabs a crumpled piece of paper out of his suit pocket, then opens the folded note and looks at me with a small smile.

Holding the paper with shaky fingers as he reads, “‘Roses are red, Violets are blue./The best bet of my life, Was meeting you.’”

He crumples the note and stuffs it in his pocket as he looks to me for my answer.

“A roses are red poem?” I laugh at him as I wrap my arms around his neck. Kissing his cheek, I whisper in his ear, “That is the greatest poem I have ever heard.”

“Yeah, right! But I’ll take it.” He crashes his lips to mine, and I swoon at his sexiness.