The Siren

by Katherine St. John

  “Don’t worry about Bar,” he whispered, his breath hot on my ear. “I pay her a lot more alimony than the court mandated. If she wants me to keep it up, she’ll have to respect you.”

  Regardless, I was glad our table was at the opposite end of the room, which allowed me to stay out of her way while she and her girlfriends flitted from table to table drinking champagne. By the time I visited the ladies’ room toward the end of the night, I’d had enough tequila myself that I’d nearly forgotten about her, so I was dumbstruck when I opened the bathroom stall to find her waiting for me.

  She grabbed my elbow and steered me back into the bathroom stall, locking the door behind us.

  “You’ve been avoiding me all night.” She pouted, lounging against the door.

  “I didn’t even know you were here,” I lied.

  “You’re fucking my ex-husband,” she said, her muddy green eyes full of mirth. “Of course you knew I was here.”

  I tucked a wisp of hair behind my ear with my left hand, displaying the rock on my ring finger. “I’d say it’s a little more than fucking,” I said. “But yeah, a lot of that too.”

  “God, I remember how hot it was in the beginning,” she reminisced. “Like the sun shines only for you, right? You can’t keep your hands off each other, and he’s so naughty.” She counted on her fingers. “We did it in bathrooms at restaurants, on the kitchen counter, on the deck of his boat just far enough out at sea that probably no one could see…It was a rush. And that four-poster bed of his comes in handy, doesn’t it?”

  She towered over me, a smile playing around her lips. I wouldn’t be able to cook dinner in his kitchen again without seeing her spread-eagled on the center island, and she knew it. “Don’t tell me you thought you were the only one he liked to cover in honey.” She cocked her head, trying to read my blank expression. “Or has he not done that yet?” He had, as a matter of fact, just the other night. “It’s a good one.”

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  She took a little baggie of white powder from her bra and dumped a bump on her thumb joint, then snorted it. “I’m just being a friend,” she said, repeating the process on the other side.

  I crossed my arms. “How’s that?”

  Her pupils were the size of saucers. “I know I’m a bitch. But I like you, Stella. I really do. That’s why I have to…” She lowered her voice. “It’s wonderful now, I know, but when he loses interest—and trust me, he will, sooner than you think—it’s like…” She snapped. “You know tarot?”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “The tower card, the one where it’s dark and the building is on fire and people are jumping out windows? It’s like that.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out through pursed lips. “I love our son. Jackson is the one good thing that came out of our relationship, but…” She clenched and released her jaw. “I just wish someone had warned me at the beginning what the end would look like.” She swept aside her side-cut bangs from her forehead, displaying the faint trace of a white scar. “It’s not worth it.”

  And with that she knocked back the latch and flung open the door, leaving me gaping after her.

  I didn’t listen. I wrote off her warning as envy. I wasn’t sure where she’d gotten that scar, but I was sure it wasn’t from my doting fiancé, and even more certain that he would never do something like that to me. He’d told me a million times he’d “never felt this way about someone.”

  In the months afterward, when Bar and I had to interact with each other while I was married to Cole, she was indeed a bitch, as, admittedly, was I. Still, I never mentioned our bathroom conversation to Cole. And years later, when he’d proved her right, I sent her a care package with a beautiful hand-painted set of tarot cards, to say thank you for her attempt to save me from the pain he ultimately caused me.

  Taylor

  Rejuvenated by the sun and soft water, I felt as ready for my awkward conversation with Cole as I would ever be. All I had to do was pull him aside and ask what exactly happened the other night. Easier said than done, but I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

  Only, when I flipped onto my belly to swim for shore, I found that the strip of white sand rimmed by green palms had receded. I was out far past the outcropping of rocks, drifting farther with every breath. My pulse quickened. Lost in thought, I must have floated into a current headed out to sea.

  Alarmed, I tried to remember what to do. Swim parallel to shore. That was it. Don’t fight it. But the shore was an island, its shoreline curved. Panic gripped my chest. I was a decent swimmer but not a strong one. I knew freestyle and breaststroke, but I’d never been on the swim team, never swam any distance. And certainly not any distance in the ocean.

  I decided to make a go for the pier. I swam freestyle, kicking with terror-driven fervor, clawing the water with cupped hands. Was I even moving? I couldn’t tell. I focused my eyes on the pier, where I thought I saw a man—but when I looked again, he was gone. I kept swimming. My thighs and shoulders burned. I blinked seawater from my eyes and spat it from my mouth. My chest heaved.

  I seemed to be getting closer to the pier but was still being swept out to sea. How wide was this current? I saw a WaveRunner in the distance and waved frantically, but between the waves and the salt water in my eyes, I couldn’t tell whether whoever was on it saw me. My muscles were growing tired fast. I kicked harder, pushing with everything I had.

  Don’t panic. Just swim.

  Were there sharks in the water? It was too deep to see clearly, which only added to my panic. I could die out here. I was completely beat, my energy consumed. But I had to keep going.

  Suddenly came the heartening sound of a motor close by. The WaveRunner circled, throwing wake that crashed over me. Thank God. I sputtered as arms enveloped me.

  “You’re okay.” A man’s voice beside me in the water. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

  Relief warmed my chest. I was saved. I did my best to relax as he turned me to my back, supporting my head and wrapping one of his strong arms around my chest while he swam us easily toward the WaveRunner.

  He hoisted me up and set me astride the seat, then pulled himself up next to me. Wiping the seawater from my eyes, I recognized him as the captain of the boat from the sunset cruise. “You okay?” he asked, concerned.

  I nodded, shaking. “I got caught in the current.”

  “I know.” I faintly registered his eyes glinting caramel in the sun, muscles rippling under espresso-brown skin, like one of the heroes from my romance novels, as he wrapped a towel around me. “I’m glad I saw you.”

  I wiped at my face with the towel, trying to hide how upset I was. “Thank you, so much, for saving me.” I choked back a sob like a damsel in distress. Was I dreaming?

  “You were doing the right thing swimming with the shore, but it was a wide current.” He shook the water from the short braids knotted on top of his head and ran a hand over the close-cropped sides. “I’m gonna drive us back in. Can you hold on, or you want to sit in front of me?”

  “I can hold on,” I murmured.

  I folded my arms around his waist as he hit the gas and rested my face against his wide back, exhausted. In no time, we bumped up onto the sand and skidded to a stop just out of the water not far from where I’d left my clothes. Safe. He handed me down, but as my feet hit the ground, I found my legs had turned to noodles, completely useless for walking.

  Without missing a beat, he spread a large towel emblazoned with tropical fish in a patch of shade and helped me onto it. I collapsed on my back, my body awash in the aftermath of adrenaline. His concerned face swam above me: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, full, kissable lips. I couldn’t help but think if we were in a romance novel, what a perfect consummation scene this would make.

  Stop it, Taylor.

  He fished a bottle of ice-cold water from the back of the WaveRunner and handed it to me, then sat on the sand. “I’m gonna hang here with you for a while, if you do
n’t mind.”

  I sat up to drink the water, but before I could even put the bottle to my lips, I found myself crying. My chest heaved as I sobbed uncontrollably. This was not a romance novel or a dream. This was real life, and it promptly hit me as I came back to my senses that I really could have drowned. I was that close.

  He rubbed my back gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

  “I could have…died,” I managed.

  “You didn’t,” he assured me. “You’re here. You’re okay.”

  But I wasn’t okay. My life thus far was a waste, I suddenly realized. “All this time I’ve been thinking my life was out there somewhere…ahead of me…and just like that”—I snapped my fingers—“it could have…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “I understand.” He held my gaze, his eyes sincere, and I felt like I could tell him anything. But I also felt tremendously tired. So tired, I could hardly keep my own eyes open.

  When I awoke, he was stretched out with a paperback in one hand and half a homemade sandwich in the other. “Hey.” A warm smile lit his face. “You’re up.”

  I nodded, groggy. “How long was I out?”

  “Not long.” He shrugged. “Maybe a half hour.”

  I flushed, recalling my outburst before I fell asleep. I must’ve been in some kind of fugue state; I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d said, but I was sure it was embarrassing. “I’m sorry I freaked out earlier,” I said. “Thank you for waiting. And saving me. That was terrifying.”

  “No problem. They need to put up more signs.”

  I followed his gaze to a sign that read “Warning: Strong current. No swimming,” not twenty yards from where I’d left my things. It even had a picture of a swimmer crossed out.

  “Oh my God. I didn’t see that!” Feeling like an idiot, I made a mental note to warn the rest of the cast and crew at dinner that evening.

  He took the other half of his sandwich from a brown bag and offered it to me. “You hungry?”

  I was ravenous. “I don’t want to take your sandwich.”

  “It’s okay.” His lips curved into an easy smile as he placed it in my hands.

  “Peanut butter and jelly.” I returned his smile. “I love peanut butter and jelly.” I took a bite, then guzzled nearly the entire bottle of water. “I’m Taylor.” I extended my hand to him.

  He took it, laughing. “I remember. I met you on the boat the other day. Rick.”

  “I remember too,” I said.

  “You didn’t want to fish yesterday?”

  “I wasn’t invited. It’s kind of a sore subject.”

  “I’m sorry.” He checked his watch. “I’ve gotta get the plane back to the port on Saint Ann by sundown—”

  “You fly planes too?” I asked.

  “Small ones,” he replied. “I ferried Stella and her assistant over earlier on the water plane, but it can’t stay here overnight. You gonna be okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Do what you need to.”

  He stood and pulled me to my feet. “If you ever want to go out on the boat—or the plane—tell the concierge and I’ll take you.”

  “Thanks, but I’m gonna be crazy busy starting tomorrow.” I furrowed my brow, frustrated with myself. This romance-novel-hot guy who just saved my life was offering to take me on a boat or a plane; no was not the right answer. “Sorry. What I mean is, thank you. Let’s do it.”

  “Cool.” He slung his towel around his neck with a grin, then jogged down the beach toward the dock.

  Still dazed, I stumbled over to my clothes and sat down again. I could have drowned. It was surreal. I couldn’t quite process it. Yet here I was on the beach in the glaring sun as though it had never happened.

  I wouldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want our cast and crew judging my powers of discernment, or worse, feeling bad for me. My grip on authority was already tenuous at best with all the disinformation about my firing from Woodland Studios swirling around out there. I knew the crew must have heard the stories and be wondering why the hell Cole would hire me. I’d wondered the same thing myself, and I knew firsthand how good I was at my job. I needed to start strong in the next few days if I wanted to win their respect.

  I threw on my shorts, and not wanting to see anyone on my way back to my bungalow, took a detour down the shaded path that cut through the leafy green vegetation behind the beach. My skin and hair were sticky with salt water and crusted in sand. When I passed the wall of water that spilled from the infinity pool, it was all I could do not to press myself to it and allow the fresh water to wash over me.

  As I meandered from the relative cool of the path to the sun-splashed over-water walkway toward my bungalow, I spotted Cole at his door at the far end of the pier, fumbling with the lock. As much as I wanted nothing more than to flatten myself in the nearest doorway and hide until he was safely inside, I screwed my courage to the sticking place and called out, “Cole!”

  He turned, an eyebrow arched. I hurried up the pier, casting a glance around to make sure we were alone. He opened the door to his bungalow and I followed him inside, my heart in my throat. Through the walls of glass, the sun reflecting on miles of turquoise water was blindingly bright.

  I launched into my practiced speech before I could chicken out. “The other night when—”

  “You’re fun when you drink, half-pint.” He laughed and shook his head. “I mean, shit. I had no idea.” He opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. “Want one?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” I tried my damnedest to stop my cheeks from reddening. “How fun was I? I mean, like…”

  His eyes were full of mirth as he cracked open the beer. “You don’t remember?”

  I swallowed. “I remember the boat, and dinner, but…did we go in the ocean?”

  “You did.” He chuckled.

  “In my clothes?”

  “Oh no, you took those off first.”

  Shit. “All of them?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Did anyone else see?”

  “I was the only one around.” He moved closer, looking me up and down with a half smile. “You have a rockin’ bod you keep hidden under all those chunky sweaters and cargo pants.” His breath was hot on my ear, his perfect superhero face inches from mine. I was suddenly overcome with the impulse to bite his nose like a deranged bird.

  But he could shut the entire production down in a heartbeat. Not to mention fire me. Then where would I be? Working at McDonald’s wouldn’t exactly pay my mortgage, and I’d lose my shirt if I tried to sell my condo right now.

  I swallowed my crazy and smiled. “What exactly happened?” I managed, hating myself.

  “After you went for a swim, you refused to put your clothes back on, but I convinced you to at least wear my shirt to walk back to your room. You stripped it off the minute you walked in the door though,” he insinuated. “You were a horny little tiger.”

  Oh God. So I’d gotten blackout drunk and thrown myself at my womanizing movie star boss, my worst nightmare incarnate. It wasn’t like me, but I wasn’t like me recently. The stress…I obviously couldn’t trust myself. And the alcohol. I must’ve had more than the two drinks I could recall. Keep it together, Taylor. What’s done is done. Focus on the present. I still didn’t have the answer I’d plowed into this awkward encounter to obtain. “So the night we…um, we didn’t…” I looked down at my hands, realizing they were making weird gestures.

  “Fuck?” He laughed. “No. We didn’t fuck. I was a gentleman. Tucked you in bed and walked my ass home, hard as it was.”

  There was a God in heaven.

  “Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure.”

  “But I’m here for you, you know.” He flashed that crooked grin, his eyes twinkling. “If you ever want to finish what you started, get rid of some of that tension you carry around.”

  “You know we can’t be involved while we’re working together—”

  He held up his hands, laughing. “Whoa! Who said anything about get
ting involved? I was just trying to make you feel better about the whole thing.”

  Motherfucker. “Good, so we’re on the same page.” I forced a laugh, trying to regain my footing. “We’ll keep it on the down-low, obviously.”

  “Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his thick hair. “That Madison girl’s already all up on me, and she doesn’t seem like the type to make nice with the competition.”

  I furrowed my brow. The very thought of the drama that would come from a romantic liaison between Cole and Madison made me nearly break out in hives.

  “What can I say?” He shrugged, sheepish. “I love women.”

  And women loved him. “Yeah, I’ve heard,” I said. “But probably best not to hook up with anyone for the rest of the shoot, especially after what happened with Roxie. You don’t need any more bad press.”

  “That was a bunch of bullshit.” He groaned. “That bitch was nuts. I never meant to hit her. I was throwing the phone at the window, and she—”

  “She got in the way,” I cut him off. “I know.” Like it was perfectly normal to be throwing your cell phone out a hotel room window. “But it’s a good example of why you should probably just play it cool right now, at least until people forget.”

  People had already begun to forget, or at least forgive, after a “source close to the couple” revealed Roxie had been on hallucinogenic drugs and wielding a knife, a claim she vehemently denied. It wasn’t the first time a romance of Cole’s had been rumored to end badly. But the rumors were never substantiated, and the public never seemed to care. Somehow it was always the women he’d been involved with who ended up looking like the bad guy—the mark of either terrible luck or a talented fixer. Regardless, I didn’t need celebrity antics throwing a wrench in our already tight schedule.

  “We’ll see,” he retorted, tipping his beer to me. “I’m not the only one who doesn’t need any more bad press.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Touché.” But he was right. Though the public didn’t know me, I was without a doubt persona non grata in the industry currently, thanks to my father’s lies in retaliation for my refusal to smear Madison after their dalliance ended badly. He had everyone believing I’d been skimming off the top while having an affair with my coworker, when the truth of the matter was, I’d had no idea the guy had reconciled with his wife, let alone that he was actively embezzling thousands of dollars from the company while we were together. My only true crime was playing the fool, a crime for which I was still serving my sentence.