Captain

by Lauren Rowe

But there’s nothing but silence on the line.

  “Hello?” I say, my breathing shallow. “You still there?”

  “Yeah,” Charlotte replies (thank God). “Sorry. I’m just... Wow. Who is this hacker guy? How’d you find him?”

  “He’s a friend of a friend. I can’t say more than that.”

  “And you’ve been looking for my friend all this time—and... holding out for her?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not quite as crazy as it sounds. I think I’ve felt the need to take a hiatus from the dating scene, anyway, to lick my wounds from the Bunny Boiler.”

  “The ‘Bunny Boiler’?”

  “My ex. The pterodactyl. You know, like in Fatal Attraction?”

  “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Oh. Well, Michael Douglas cheats on his beautiful wife with a closet-psycho who then breaks into his house and boils his daughter’s pet bunny.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Charlotte, please believe me: I’ve never done anything this crazy in my life.” I run my hand through my hair with one hand and press the phone against my ear with the other. “Honestly, I’m not completely sure why I’ve been so fixated on this one particular woman when I’ve got plenty of other options. All I know is I don’t want anyone else. I can’t stop thinking maybe she’s The One.” I pause, gathering my thoughts, my heart clanging. “Okay, maybe she’s not gonna end up being the woman for me—I’m not so far gone that I don’t still realize that’s a definite possibility here—but I feel like I owe it to myself to find out, once and for all, so that, either way, I can just move the fuck on. At the very least, I wanna clear my name with Samantha so she knows the stuff I said to her that night wasn’t bullshit and that the horrible shit Olivia said about me wasn’t true. I’m not a lying, cheating douche. I swear to God, Charlotte. I’m not perfect, but I’m a good guy.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you just tell her all that yourself that night? You should have chased her down. Now, after all this time, it might freak her out to hear from you, to be honest.”

  “I did chase her down that night! Jesus Christ! I was stuck in the bar talking to the pterodactyl for no more than ninety seconds and then I sprinted outside to find you guys, but you were already long gone.”

  “Oh, crap. That’s right. I forgot we took off so fast.”

  “It was like you vanished into thin air.”

  “Yeah, an Uber had just pulled up to the bar to let someone out as we were running outside, so we hopped into the backseat.”

  “Great. The entire universe, including Uber, was conspiring against me that night.”

  “Or working in my friend’s favor. She was crying pretty hard that night, Ryan—and not just over you. Her prior boyfriend did a number on her so I think the whole situation just made her feel really hopeless about men. She kept saying her ‘picker’ was ‘completely defective’ and that she was ‘gonna become a nun.’”

  “Charlotte, I swear to God, I’ve never felt so excited about a woman as I felt that night. Never. I haven’t stopped searching for her ever since.”

  There’s a long beat of silence.

  “Charlotte. Please. I’m wrecked. She’s Cinderella and I’m holding a glass slipper.”

  Charlotte lets out an audible exhale. “I wanna help you,” she says tentatively. “But the thing is I don’t know if Cinderella would want to hear from you again. The one-two punch of Mr.-Soccer-Star-Douche and Ryan-from-the-Pine-Box-Douche hit her pretty freaking hard.”

  “Mr. Soccer-Star?”

  “Yeah. Her ex plays for The L.A. Galaxy.”

  My heart seizes. Holy shit. I already figured Samantha could get any guy she wants, but this revelation has turned my vague conjecture into hard, inescapable truth. “Charlotte, please,” I blurt. “You gotta help me. I know you said she hasn’t dated in a year, but what if some pro-athlete, alpha-male, rich dude is sitting in first class on whatever flight she’s working right now, and he’s asking her out to dinner and saying all the right things, and she’s finally saying yes to someone besides me for the first time in a year?”

  Charlotte snorts. “I guarantee you that’s not what’s happening at this particular moment.”

  “You never know. She’s not gonna keep saying no to guys forever. God help me if today’s the day she meets some smooth-talking tech CEO on one of her flights. Come on, Charlotte. Please.”

  Charlotte sighs. “Okay, I tell you what, Pirate Boy. I won’t give you my friend’s number—trust me, that would be a cluster fuck of epic proportions for all involved—but I’ll give her yours.”

  “No, no, no. Please,” I choke out. “I’ve been sitting around with my thumb up my ass, waiting for a phone call from my hacker-friend for what seems like my whole life. I physically need to take control of this situation now.”

  “Sorry, that’s the best I can offer you. I’m still not completely convinced you’re not deranged.”

  “Neither am I,” I mumble, and Charlotte laughs. “Well, will you at least tell her the whole story? You know, try to convince her my intentions are sincere?”

  “Hell no. That’s your crazy-ass story to tell, not mine. I’ll give her your number and tell her to call you and then I’m out.”

  “But she won’t call me if you don’t butter her up for me, Charlotte.”

  “Nope. Sorry. I’ve got no butter for ya, sweetie. I’ll give her your number and tell her you’re dying for her to call you. And that’s it.”

  I grunt in frustration. “Do you want me to beg you? Because I will. I’ve never begged a woman in my life, but I’m begging you now, Charlotte McDougal.” Even though Charlotte can’t see me do it, I sink to my knees on the soft grass in front of the koi pond and tilt my face up to the glorious blue sky. “Please, Charlotte McDougal. I beg you. I just got down on my knees for you at the edge of a koi pond. I’m pleading with you, Charlotte. Praying to the fish gods you’ll help me. Oh, look, the koi are praying with me, putting their little fins together.”

  She laughs. “You’re very strange, Ryan. I’m not sure you’re helping your cause right now, unless convincing me you’re a nut job is part of your strategy?”

  “I’m kneeling at the edge of a koi pond.”

  “Okay, well, that’s totally normal. Look, you can pray with your fish-friends all you want, dude, but I’m not giving you my best friend’s phone number and I’m not gonna try to convince her of anything, either. She thinks you’re a total and complete dick and, hey, for all I know, she’s right. So, whatever she decides to do with your phone number, that’s up to her.”

  “And if she doesn’t call me? What then?”

  “Then I guess you’ll just have to gather all your crazy-marbles off the floor, stuff ’em back into your head (or feed ’em to the fishies), and move the fuck on.”

  Chapter 22

  Ryan

  “... and the great floodgates of the wonder-world swung open.”

  I barrel into the lobby, my mind reeling from my call with Charlotte. Samantha might call me... and she might not? Three months of waiting and searching and obsessing has led to that? Fuck my life. And fuck Charlotte.

  A smiling woman in a Hawaiian dress places a flower lei over my head while a dude offers a tray of mai tais. I grab two drinks, pound the first one, and scan the spacious lobby of the hotel while sipping the second.

  About half our group is still standing in line for check-in while the other half is scattered around, chatting and drinking happy juice. I spot my mom and dad nearby, talking to my uncle, and shuffle my sorry ass toward them, glancing around the breathtaking lobby as I go. Wow, this place is really—

  Holy shit.

  I choke on my mai tai. There’s a woman at the far end of the lobby with her back to me... who... even from this distance... and even from behind... looks exactly like... Samantha. Well, at least as far as I can remember Samantha after all this time. But, still, holy fucking shit, I’d swear it’s her!

  For a long beat, I can’t move. Have I had a psychoti
c break? I’d swear on my life that’s Samantha’s ass. And hair. And skin. And something in the way she’s tilting her head as she talks... Could it really be her? She’s talking to another woman with a clipboard, and by the way she’s gesticulating as she talks... It seems fucking crazy, I know, but there’s suddenly no doubt in my mind: that’s Samantha.

  Without consciously intending to do it, I begin loping toward the mystery woman, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. Every cell in my body is vibrating. My skin is electrified. I’m feeling exactly the way I did when I first laid eyes on Samantha at The Pine Box—like my soul is on fire. Shit, even if this woman isn’t Samantha, then fuck it, I’m gonna seduce her tonight, regardless, because, glory be, this is the first woman in three fucking months who’s managed to make my dick sit up and take notice.

  I’m mere yards away from the woman now—close enough to hear her voice.

  Oh my God, that voice! “Samantha,” I choke out, but she doesn’t react. “Samantha?” I shout, this time from two feet behind her. But, still, she doesn’t turn around. I lurch around to the front of her... and promptly have a fucking heart attack.

  The entire world is buckling and warping around me.

  Oh my fucking God.

  She’s even more beautiful than I remembered her.

  I was a fool to think these past three months of monkish-ness have been about anything or anyone other than her. She’s the woman of my dreams. I want her.

  “Samantha!”

  Chapter 23

  Ryan

  “Ryan?” Samantha gasps, looking as shocked as I feel. “How...?”

  “I can’t believe it,” I say, my heart leaping. “How the hell are you here?” I glance down and notice the clipboard in Samantha’s hand—and suddenly, the fruitlessness of the past three months makes perfect sense to me. “You work here? Oh my God, you quit Delta and now you work at this resort?”

  Samantha looks absolutely stricken. Panicked, I’d even say. She turns to the woman standing next to her. “Could you excuse us for a moment, Marnie?”

  The woman nods and leaves.

  Samantha trains her panicked gaze on me. “I don’t understand how you’re here.”

  I can’t wipe the smile off my face. “It’s fate. My sister’s getting married here. I’ll be at this hotel all week for her—”

  “Ryan!” my mother’s voice sings out behind my shoulder.

  I glance to my right to find my mother gliding toward me, a key-card in her hand and a huge smile on her lovely face. “I got your room key, Rummy-o,” Mom says gaily. “Your dad’s over there talking to Uncle Mikey about golf so I—” Her eyes land on Samantha and she squeals with glee and throws her arms around her—and, for the second time in thirty seconds, the world is warping and buckling around me.

  My mother knows Samantha?

  “It’s so good to see you, honey!” Mom says, squeezing Samantha tightly.

  I’ve never been so confused in my entire life. How the fuck does my mom know Samantha?

  “Hello, Mrs. Morgan,” Samantha says, returning Mom’s hug as I stand aside, my mouth agape and my mind completely blown.

  “Momma Lou, remember?” Mom says, wagging her finger playfully at Samantha. “We had a deal, remember?”

  Samantha’s eyes flicker to me briefly and then back to my mother. “Yes, of course,” she says, looking remarkably like a caged animal. “Momma Lou.”

  Mom slides her arm around my waist, nuzzles into my side, and gives me a squeeze. “I’m so glad you’ve finally met my wonderful son I was telling you about.”

  Samantha’s eyes flicker nervously between me and my mother. “No, not yet. He just now walked over to introduce himself.”

  Mom’s eyes light up. “You mean to tell me Ryan saw you across this crowded lobby and headed straight for you? Ha! Do I know my son or what?” She giggles. “This is the son I told you about at the party—the one I was sure would want to meet you.” Mom looks at me and beams a massive smile at me. “So you saw this beautiful woman and headed straight for her, huh?”

  Samantha’s cheeks flush.

  “Well, for goodness sakes, let me introduce you,” Mom says. She turns to Samantha, smiling. “Tessa, this my son, Ryan.”

  Tessa? Did my mom just call Samantha “Tessa”?

  Mom continues, “Ryan’s a very successful commercial real estate broker in Seattle and, like I told you at the party, he’s a truly wonderful person—and I’m not just saying that because he’s my son. He’s one of those people everyone always falls in love with.” She graces me with a lovely smile. “And, Ryan, sweetheart, this is my lovely friend, Tessa. She’s—”

  Loud applause and raucous cheers erupt in the crowd behind us, and all three of us turn toward the source of the hoopla to find Josh standing on a bench, commanding the crowd’s attention with a drink in his hand. “Alooooha, Morgans!” he booms, holding up his drink with a huge smile on his face.

  “Aloha!” everyone shouts in reply, raising their drinks.

  Josh says a whole bunch of stuff I can barely process, most of it expressing his elation to be joining “the coolest family in the world,” and then he says with great flourish: “So, without further ado, let’s get The Mighty T-Rod up here to give you a brief overview of the week so we can get this party started!”

  I glance around the room, curious to finally lay eyes on this purportedly “gorgeous” personal assistant I keep hearing about, and much to my complete and utter shock, none other than Samantha begins gliding across the room toward Josh.

  Holy fuck. My jaw just clanked onto the floor. Samantha is... T-Rod?

  Samantha steps up onto the bench next to Josh and flashes the crowd an incredibly fake smile. “Hi, everyone,” she says, her voice tight. She waves and raises a drink, but her eyes are blazing with obvious distress.

  “Hi, T-Rod!” everyone booms back to her. Well, everyone except me, of course. I can’t speak. Or move. Or breathe. Or pick my jaw up off the floor. In fact, I can’t even muster enough brain-power to blink my eyes.

  Samantha or T-Rod or Tessa... or whatever the fuck her name is... proceeds to babble about I-have-no-fucking-idea-what. I think she’s talking about the itinerary for the coming week? But... I’m... not... sure. Mind. Fuck. Mind. Fuck. Mind. Fuck. Samantha is T-Rod? Josh’s personal assistant? Henn hacked into nine motherfucking airline databases to find a woman who’s Josh’s fucking personal assistant? Mind. Fuck. Mind. Fuck. Mind. Fuck. Why the fuck was she wearing a flight attendant uniform that night? Is she a sociopath? Did she think she was Leonardo Fucking DiCaprio in Catch Me If You Can?

  I clench my jaw.

  No wonder Charlotte wouldn’t give me Samantha’s phone number. She had to call her sociopathic friend in advance and make sure she got her story straight before contacting me.

  Rage floods me. My blood flash-boils. How many other guys has this woman played the same trick on? Is this how she keeps herself amused while sitting around waiting for her “hot boss” to finally make his move?

  Oh my God.

  My head snaps up and my eyes lock onto Josh’s smiling face.

  Josh... is... Samantha’s... boss.

  Holy fuck.

  What the fuck did Samantha say about her boss? I’ve always had a little crush on him, she said. I kept hoping he’d make a move on me, but he never did. Heat flashes throughout my body like an electric current.

  Samantha wants to fuck Josh—my sister’s soon-to-be husband.

  I look at Josh again, my blood thumping in my ears. And then at Samantha. And then at my sister. And, suddenly, it’s taking every shred of self-control in my body not to lurch over to that bench, grab Samantha by the arm, and physically drag her away from my poor, oblivious, pregnant sister.

  Kat.

  My sister’s standing adjacent to the bench, right next to the man she loves and his ever-devoted personal assistant, looking up at both of them adoringly, her palms resting on her baby bump, a huge, clueless smile on her face. Has my
sister unwittingly opened her heart to a woman who might be some sort of sociopath who’s gunning for Josh?

  My eyes train on Josh again for a long beat. I scrutinize him with eagle eyes. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s currently head over heels in love with my sister. But what’s gonna happen the first time Josh and Kat get into a knock-down-drag-out fight (which, let’s face it, is inevitable at some point when it comes to my mercurial sister)? Is Josh gonna turn to his loyal personal assistant for some much-needed comfort after Kat’s lost her mind and said God-knows-what in the heat of the moment? Yeah, I know Josh seems like a great guy, the best guy in the world, actually—and, man, he sure seems to have endless patience with my crazy-ass sister—but great and patient men stumble all the time, don’t they, when the right opportunity presents itself? Especially when that “right opportunity” is a sexy-as-fuck Argentinian-sociopath who’s bided her time for years, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

  My eyes flicker to Samantha and an overwhelming cocktail of adrenaline and rage and rejection courses through me. Who the fuck is this woman? I thought she was the real deal. “She doesn’t have a bullshit-bone in her body” is what I said about her to the Faraday brothers, and now I discover she lied to me about something as simple as her fucking name and occupation? What the hell else did she lie about?

  “So you’ll definitely want to download the app we created...” Samantha is saying to the crowd, holding up her iPad by way of demonstration. “That way, you can check into whatever tour or activity we’ve got set up and—”

  “Excuse me?” I bellow across the lobby, my arm shooting up rigidly over my head.

  Everyone in the crowd turns to look at me.

  “Sorry, to interrupt,” I say, trying to keep my voice from sounding like a hitman’s. “But I don’t think I caught your name?”

  Samantha’s cheeks flush. She smashes her lips together.

  “She’s the Mighty T-Rod!” Josh shouts, and everyone laughs.

  Samantha’s blazing eyes are fixed on mine. “Theresa,” she replies softly.