I let out a long breath. Thank goodness. I had prepared myself to feel a huge burden of guilt if he was seriously hurt, but now that I know his injuries aren’t life threatening or permanent, I can let that go. Some of it, at least. I mean, I still contributed to putting him in the hospital.
“Can I go and see him?”
“He is resting right now, but if you come back in a couple of hours, he should be ready for visitors.”
I nod, walk back to the chair where I was sitting, and grab my bag. I don’t know what I’m going to do for the next couple of hours. I feel compelled to see him. I need to see him, talk to him, and apologize.
With a rumble, my stomach announces it has its own thoughts on what I should be doing. I realize I haven’t eaten anything since a scone at work. My worry over the past few hours has tamped down my hunger, but now it has come roaring back. I decide to go grab a bite to eat. Maybe I can pick something up for Blake as well, since the hospital food is probably not going to be spectacular.
By the time I come back to the hospital, it is late afternoon and the sun is beginning to turn orange as it falls slowly to the western horizon. I carry a small bag with a sandwich and salad to the nurses’ station to ask if Blake is able to see visitors yet.
“Are you Emma?” the nurse asks, tilting her head like she is a curious canine.
“Yes, I’m the one who came in with him.”
“He asked if you were here. He’s awake. You can go and see him. Room 1134.”
I thank her and walk down the hallway toward the room. I feel a fluttering in my stomach as I go down the long, wide corridor. I guess I am nervous about seeing him for two reasons. First, obviously, I feel guilty about having at least contributed to his getting hit by a car. Second, well, I just am feeling nervous about seeing him again.
Finally, I see Room 1134 come up on my left. I stop in front of the door and take a deep breath. I want to come in with a happy, positive attitude, not an anxious one. I push open the door and stride in, confident, smiling. But my smile freezes on my face when I enter the room. There he is, lying on the hospital bed, an IV line running into his hand. But he isn’t alone. A beautiful blonde woman is sitting next to him, gently stroking his hair.
I feel like turning around and running away, but my feet are stuck to the floor.
“Emma,” Blake says when he notices me. “It’s good to see you.”
I take a couple of steps forward. The other woman glances up at me, but keeps her hand on Blake. Her posture is protective, possessive.
“Thank goodness you are ok, I’m so sorry for what happened.”
Blake waves his hand dismissively.
“Not your fault. I’m a grown-up and I should know better than to cross a street without looking both ways. Besides, I’m going to be fine. Just a minor concussion. I’ve had worse.”
“Remember when you were racing in the Melges 21 and you got smacked in the head when you accidentally gybed?” the blonde woman asks, smiling as if in fond reminiscence.
“Barely,” Blake joked back.
I begin to feel profoundly out of place, as if I were an interloper. Who is this woman? They clearly have a history and some intimacy.
“Did you bring that food for me?” Blake asks, noticing the bag I’m carrying.
“Yeah, I went to Michael’s, you know, the sandwich place on Park?”
“Thanks.” Blake smiles. “I actually just ate. Clara brought me something. But I appreciate the thought. I can have it later tonight if I get hungry.”
I am feeling utterly and completely replaced. Supplanted from a position I didn’t even occupy, one which, prior to a few hours ago, I was intent on completely rejecting. Why do I feel so jealous of this woman now?
“Emma, I don’t think Blake has introduced me. I’m Clara, his assistant.” She pops up from the side of the bed and crosses the room to shake my hand. I shake it tentatively. I’m in the dark about the nature of their relationship and I’m not sure how to ask.
Thankfully, Clara seems to sense my apprehension and continues.
“Blake told me that he stood you up the other night. What a jerk,” she says with a wink.
His assistant. I am not sure how to take that. I imagine a lot of rich guys have assistants whom they sleep with, and Clara had been very intimate in the way she was touching him, protective, almost. But at the same time, she clearly knew that Blake was supposed to take me on a date, so they couldn’t be in a relationship. Of course, it wasn’t like Blake and I were in a relationship, either. I am confused. Unsure of how I fit into this situation, I almost want to leave. But I feel like that would be even more awkward.
“Yeah,” is all I am able to manage.
“Well, don’t let him get off cheap next time. He needs to learn to value other people’s time.” She directs this last bit to Blake, over her shoulder. I am becoming convinced that there isn’t anything between them. She talks to him like she’s his older sister.
Chapter 17 - Emma
After Clara leaves, Blake and I remain in the room in an awkward silence. Even though we have spent one night together, I still feel a distance from him. I cross over to his bed and stand beside him. I reach out to touch his hand, making sure to avoid the IV line.
“Blake, I am really sorry for what happened. I…”
“Like I said, don’t worry about it. I’m not too badly hurt. It wasn’t your fault.” He turns his head and looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Why did you call out to me? I thought you were done with me.”
“Oh, I, uh…I just wanted to apologize. For what I said. I was upset and I was trying to be hurtful. I didn’t mean it.”
Again, he waves his hand, as if with a gesture he can just wipe away everything. It is reassuringly forgiving and maddeningly dismissive at the same time. I want him to acknowledge the gravity of what I said. I want to know that he felt it, that he possesses the capacity to be hurt by me. I mean, I saw a flash of it, I know I didn’t imagine it, but I need the explicit confirmation.
“Is that it? You just wave your hand and, boom, it’s done?”
“Is it not? You apologize, I forgive you, what need is there to dwell on it further?”
“Well, for one it would be nice for you to show some emotion.”
He smiles. Infuriating.
“Emma. You were upset, you said yourself that you didn’t mean it. Why should I stay hurt or angry at you for something you didn’t mean?”
“Aha! So you were hurt and angry!” I say, triumphantly.
Blake looks at me quizzically.
“Look, Emma, I like you. I want to get to know you better. Tell you what. Let’s start again, ok? I should be out of here tomorrow morning. Come by my office tomorrow afternoon and we can try again. What do you say? Give this another shot?”
I stand here quiet for a few moments. In truth, a part of me really wants to be with Blake again. That night at the auction was amazing, and I would love to replicate that. And there is something there, some connection that I can see in little flashes. Something that appears in little moments and glances. But at the same time, he seems to think he can just walk past standing me up. He seems to think I will be as easy-going and quick to forgive his transgressions as he was of mine. But there is hardly an equivalence between the two.
Still, I am curious. He has some making up to do and it might be worth my while to see what he has in mind. And if there is a chance that I’m right and that there is a chance for something more, if I’m not imagining what I saw in his eyes, then I owe it to myself to take it.
When I don’t answer immediately, he continues with a wry smile.
“Besides, you owe me a date for putting me in the hospital.”
“Ok. You get one chance. That’s it.”
“Deal. Four o’clock tomorrow. I will text you the address.”
I arrive at the address early. When I looked it up, I saw that it was at the marina, so I had some idea what to expect, but I wanted to take a little while to loo
k around. I’m not exactly a boat person, but I have been out on the water a bit. But when I get there, I am shocked. The marina is private, I have to punch in a code to get into the parking lot. My car, a seven-year-old Toyota Corolla, looks distinctly out of place among the gleaming Mercedes, Aston Martins, Maseratis, and BMWs. I park and instinctively lock my car. As I’m walking away I think that it is extremely unlikely that anyone would be tempted to steal my car from this lot, but it is a good habit, I suppose.
Walking toward the water, the masts of the sailing yachts tower above the low buildings. I can see dark, bare shafts stretching to the sky, heavy wires on every side. I thought that a mast would be made of aluminum or something, but these look like carbon fiber. They must be ridiculously expensive. When I make it all the way to the water, the full scope of the fleet parked at this marina comes into view. Every single vessel is breathtaking. A mix of sailboats and powerboats, the smallest is at least fifty feet long. The dark water of the harbor dances in reflection against the glossy paint of the hulls. Even if I have been on boats before, I have definitely never been on one like these.
“Emma. You’re early.” Blake’s voice calls out from the dock.
I turn around to see him dressed casually, more casually than I would have expected. He has grease on his hands and a general air of grime. He looks like he has just come from a mechanic’s shop.
“Did you forget we had a date?” I ask, pointing to his oil-stained shorts.
“Not at all,” he says, smiling. “I was just getting a bit of work done. Had to make sure she was ship shape before we go out.”
I had figured that we would be going out on a boat when I saw I was meeting him at the marina, but to have it confirmed sends a little shiver through my body. I am excited, but also a little nervous.
“Give me a couple of minutes to clean up,” he says, walking toward the building behind him. He waves at me and then trots off. Watching him bounce away, my gaze lingers on his muscular legs. Even though I have seen him naked, seeing him in the bright sunshine, I realize how athletic he is. He seems to spring forward, running like a gazelle.
I turn and gaze out onto the marina as a light wind begins to build and ripple the water around the boats. The cool air off the water mixes with the warmth of the sunshine to confuse my skin about the temperature. Whenever the wind picks up, a patch of goose bumps form on my forearms and the little hairs start to stand on end. But then, just as soon as it drops off, the sun warms me again and I feel my skin relax.
“Ok, ready to go?” Blake asks from behind me. He has cleaned himself off and changed. Still in shorts, but a herringbone fabric instead of the basketball shorts he wore earlier. His shoes are classic canvas boat shoes, and he’s wearing a dark, tight-fitted t-shirt. Each hand carries a duffel bag.
“Are we going to be long?” I ask, curious about why we need luggage for a late afternoon sail.
“It can get a little chilly on the water, so I brought some extra clothes for us,” he answers obliquely. “Let’s get on the water. This way.”
And with that, he steps quickly onto the ramp leading to the floating docks. I follow along in his wake. Walking closer to the magnificent yachts, I feel my jaw dropping further and further. Blake keeps going until he reaches the last slip.
Nestled in there is a graceful, elegant looking vessel that looks to be well over fifty feet long. I crane my neck, nearly losing my balance as I run my eyes up the mast. The sides of the boat are tall, rising to my chest level above the water and are painted a dark, glossy blue. Blake hops lightly onto the deck from a little staircase set on the dock and tosses the duffel bags on board. Then he turns around and holds out his hand, beckoning me aboard. I step onto the stairs and reach my leg across, looking at the dark water between the boat and the dock. But it is an easy step and I am quickly on board. Blake doesn’t let go of my hand, but continues to hold it gently as he pulls me further along.
The deck is made of teak, the light brown wood contrasting with the dark blue of the hull and the black, carbon fiber mast. Unlike other boats I have been on, the whole deck is flat. There are seats raised in the back near the twin steering wheels.
“Why are there two steering wheels on the boat?” I ask, almost to myself.
“It makes it easier to steer when the boat is heeling, leaning over.” Blake makes a motion with his hand, indicating the boat turning partially on its side. I must have made a face because he quickly continues. “We won’t be doing any of that today. A nice, easy-going sail. I promise.”
Chapter 18 - Emma
I sit on one of the heavily cushioned seats and watch as Blake goes about getting the boat ready to sail. He moves with the quick yet unhurried motions of an expert. When he told me he designed boats for a living, I assumed that he must also be a sailor, but watching him prepare the boat, the casual yet precise placement of the lines and the deft, subtle motions as he backs the boat out of its slip and into the waterway, is impressive
It occurs to me that I can’t hear any engine, yet we are moving along smoothly without a scrap of sail.
“I designed this boat to be fully electric. It actually makes it easier to handle at slow speeds, and you can recharge the batteries when you are sailing,” he says. I don’t know if he inferred my question or if he is just talking up his craft.
Soon, we are out in the bay and Blake cranks the winch to raise the main sail. I get to sit back and relax, taking in the enjoyable sights of the little islands as well as Blake’s arms straining at the winch. Once the sail is up and trimmed, the boat lurches forward, hissing through the water and cutting deftly through the little wind-driven waves.
“Here, come take the wheel.” Blake motions to me.
I stand up, steadying myself on the seat. I hadn’t realized that we were moving as much as we were. The easy roll is pleasant enough when sitting, but I don’t have my sea legs yet. Blake, of course, walks about with hardly a stumble and guides my hands to the large steering wheel.
“Just like a car, ok? Left to go left, right to go right. Now, she’s a pretty big boat, so it takes a while to turn. Small movements and patience.” He places his hands atop of mine, gently, and gives them a little squeeze against the wheel. “Ok, just keep her steady at one-hundred and twenty degrees and be on the lookout for other vessels. If you see something ahead of us…shout.”
“Wait, where are you going?” I ask, suddenly feeling very uneasy about having my hands on the wheel. The boat seems very large and is moving very fast all of a sudden.
“I’ll be right back, just doing something below,” he says with a wink.
And with that, he scampers into the salon below. It is dark there and even though the sun is behind me, the reflection off the water makes it nearly impossible to see anything. I nervously scan the horizon, looking for any other vessels, rocks, or islands that I am sure I am about to slam into. But in a few moments, Blake is back. I am about to release the wheel when he plops himself down on the seat. I look over at him, mouth agape, voicelessly asking what he is doing.
“You are doing great.” He smiles. On cue, music starts up. There must be speakers all over the cockpit area, but they are very well hidden. “Do you want to try tacking?”
“Umm, I guess,” I say, just as confident as I feel. “What do I do?”
“Basically, you just turn the boat so that the wind is hitting us from the other side. You feel how it is on your left right now? Ok, now remember, you don’t have to yank the wheel hard over, just enough to get her moving. Whenever you are ready, just say ‘coming about.’”
I swallow. I am nervous about doing anything other than keeping the wheel straight, but Blake’s confidence in me makes me feel more assured. Besides, he is right there in case something goes wrong.
“Ok, coming about.”
“Coming about, aye, captain!” Blake says with a laugh as he hops up.
I turn the wheel a little to the left, then a little more. The boat still doesn’t seem to be moving
very much, so I turn it a little more. Then, it lurches left. The sail goes slack for a moment and then it swings wildly across the boat and snaps against the ropes holding it in place. The boat keeps turning. The breeze, which before had felt so gentle, now feels like a howling gale as the boat rolls heavily to the left side. I start to lose my balance, holding onto the wheel for dear life.
Suddenly, Blake is beside me. His hands grip me under my arms and lift me back onto my feet. He calmly takes hold of the wheel and turns back toward the wind. The boat comes back to level and the wind slackens. Once I am securely on my feet, and the boat is moving along steadily again, Blake takes hold of some of the ropes, tightening some and loosening others. Finally, everything is back to normal. I sink down onto the seat behind the wheel, my breath still short.
“Are you ok?” Blake asks, his face filled with a mixture of concern and bemusement.
“I, uh, I think so. Blake, I’m so sorry I almost sank the boat. I know I steered too far over. I’m so sorry.”
He laughs. I immediately go from feeling apologetic to angry. We almost die and he is laughing at me?
“Emma,” he says smiling, “we barely rolled. A few degrees. This boat is stable past ninety degrees. It can bury the top of the mast in the water and pop back up. You couldn’t capsize the boat in this weather if you tried.” He reaches over and takes hold of both of my shoulders. “Are you ok?”
I nod. Even if I realize I’ve overreacted, I still am shaken by the experience.
“I’m sorry,” he says, taking a bit of hair in his hand and hooking it back behind my ear. “I shouldn’t have let that happen. Do you want to go below and lie down for a minute?”
His solicitousness snaps me out of my fragility. I take a deep breath and shake my head, exhaling all of my anxiety and fear.
“No, I’m good. I won’t forget that lesson, that’s for sure.” I smile up at him and place my hand on top of his. “Can I have another shot?”
Acquired: A Billionaire Auction Romance Page 7