Chapter 7 Everett
Everett
Engineering is a bright cave of stainless steel and whiteboards.
People look up when we enter. Mutters ripple, followed by smiles.
I introduce Ariel as the woman who saved my stubborn hide, and she’s instantly surrounded by warm curiosity and a volley of questions.
To her credit, she doesn’t shrink. She listens, then points to a map and marks her “odd algae” spot with a neat fingernail.
She suggests sample depths, asks whether our fluorometer is calibrated for freshwater pigments, then laughs shyly as if the question slipped out before she could measure it.
I watch my people fall a little in love with her, because how could they not?
“You know your stuff,” I say, impressed.
She hesitates. “I’ve always loved the water,” she says carefully. “Swimming, diving… anything to do with nature. I knew about ecosystems, currents, marine life from a young age. It’s a… passion of mine.”
“Is that what you were doing in the lake the day you saved me?”
“Yes. I love that place,” Ariel says wistfully. “I swim for peace. The world feels quieter underwater. Cleaner.” She turns to me, her lips curving into a breathtaking smile that steals my breath clean out of my lungs.
I’m riding that golden current when a shadow falls across the doorway. My father’s presence has its own weather system. It’s barometric.
“So,” he says, taking in the scene, his gaze landing on Ariel like a hawk considering a mouse, “this is the person who rescued you. Thank you.”
He pivots to leave. No handshake. No smile. Minimum gratitude.
“Dad, wait,” I say, stepping into his path. “Ariel’s found herself in a tight spot. I’m—”
He peels a crisp hundred from his wallet, presses it into Ariel’s palm like he’s tipping a valet, and turns on his heel.
My jaw tightens. Ariel blinks at the bill like it’s a strange leaf. Ricky appears at my elbow with impeccable timing.
“Ricky, would you walk Ariel back to my office?” I ask quietly, eyes on my father’s retreating back. “I need a minute.”
“Sure thing.” Ricky offers Ariel his arm in a gentlemanly gesture and steers her out.
I catch up with Dad in the hall and let him thunderstorm into his office first. He heads for the antique mahogany slab he calls a desk (midlife crisis, mahogany edition) and plants both hands on it.
“I don’t trust that girl,” he says, not bothering with pleasantries. “You can’t bring just anyone in here. What if she’s a corporate spy?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You still have ears everywhere, I see.”
“And why shouldn’t I when you’re parading a spy around our lab?” he snaps. “Why else would she watch you at the marina? How does she know so much about your equipment?”
“Because she has eyes and a brain? Because I took a swim in front of her?” My temper pricks as I sit in the chair opposite.
“Ariel is not a spy. She knows the lake. She can point to exact spots, to currents and dead zones. If we want to help the waterways, she could be a useful addition as a consultant or a community liaison. She’s already spotted things we’ve missed. ”
A calculating look flashes in my father’s eyes for a second before it’s erased. “Out of the question,” he says, flat and final. “I don’t want her wandering around my projects, asking awkward questions, and giving my contractors excuses to slow us down. She’ll be a liability.”
“I think you’ll find they’re my contractors, whom I interviewed and approved,” I snap. “And Ariel isn’t a problem. She cares about the water, the environment.”
He chuckles, a dry, humorless sound that grates. “Caring,” he repeats, rolling the word like it’s foreign on his tongue. “That’s a lovely sentiment, but it doesn’t pay salaries. You want to run a charity, Everett? Start one. Just don’t do it under my roof.”
I glare at him. “Isn’t that the whole point of the company you built? Because you cared about the environment?”
“I built this company to win,” he says simply, voice cool as cut glass. “And because optics matter. People like the idea of a savior—they’ll pay for it. Whether you actually save them is irrelevant as long as the water looks blue on the brochure.”
Disbelief coils in my chest. “You can’t possibly mean that.”
He shrugs, already bored. “You’ve always been too idealistic. I’m pragmatic. You think the world changes because a few people pick up trash? It changes because someone makes it profitable.”
“That’s not leadership,” I say, my voice low. “That’s cynicism with a marketing budget.”
His lips twitch. “And yet it keeps the lights on. Which is more than your little nature girl could do. Keep her out of my business, Everett. I don’t need distractions or idealists stirring up my teams. We have enough scrutiny as it is.”
Something in his tone—a subtle edge of calculation—makes my stomach tighten. “What scrutiny?”
My father's smile is smooth and empty. “The usual. You wouldn’t understand. Go play scientist, son. Leave the rest to the grown-ups. Don’t forget I’m still the one signing your checks.
” He jabs a finger toward the ceiling, which presumably is where his patience lives.
“If you had any sense, you’d have married Kara already. ”
“We are not in the fucking Middle Ages, and you are not a capo,” I say evenly. “You can’t arrange a merger with my love life because it looks tidy on a balance sheet. Kara and I agree on exactly one thing: we don’t love each other.”
“Love is for pea brains,” he says with the grim satisfaction of a man quoting scripture. “Marry Kara. Stabilize the board. And stop embarrassing us. Or else.”
“Or else what?” I ask, my voice dangerously soft.
He smiles, small and nasty. “We’ll see what my investigator turns up on your little water nymph. You won’t like what I already see.”
I stand. “You’re wrong.” At the door, I glance back. “You’ll see.”
My pulse is still too high, my thoughts too loud as I leave my father’s office and head for Kara’s.
She’s at her desk, hair in a hasty knot, sleeves rolled to her elbows.
Spotting me right away, she quickly closes a file on her laptop with the reflexes of someone who’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“Hey,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “You look guilty. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she says too quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just… a project. You know how it is.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t have to cover for me, Kara. If it’s stress from the merger talks, I can help.”
Her smile is fond. “You can’t help with this one, Everett. Trust me. It’s better if you don’t.”
That tight, careful tone tugs at me, but Kara has always had her secrets—and her reasons. If I didn’t trust her so much, I’d push for more. But I don’t because she’ll tell me when she’s ready.
We’ve known each other since we were kids, our parents locking us into the same future before we knew what we wanted. Shareholders, social climbers, the whole damn power play. The expectation was marriage. The reality turned out to be friendship.
She’s more sister than fiancée, the one person who can trade barbs with my father and survive it. The fact that she’s stressed makes me uneasy.
“If you need anything—”
Kara cuts me off with a wry grin. “Go. Be charming with your mystery girl before your dad finds a way to ruin that too.” She pauses. “In fact, I’ll come with you. I could use a break.”
Back in my office, the air is different, lighter and warmer, the way a room feels after a good joke.
Ariel’s laughter curls through it like aromatic steam from a mug.
Kara perches on the arm of a chair, relaxed, as Ricky tells a story with his hands.
Ariel’s eyes light up as she sees me, and something rearranges itself in my chest to make room for these new emotions.
I drape my jacket over my chair. The move earns me a once-over from Ariel that sends heat up my neck.
“So, where are you taking Ariel for dinner?” Kara asks, entirely too innocent. “I’ve got fires to put out and will be late, and Ricky needs an early night after playing triage nurse. Also,” she adds, with faux-casual authority, “Doctor’s orders said rest. A quiet dinner is very restful.”
“I can do dinner.” I aim for blasé and land somewhere in hopeful Labrador.
“Start with clothes,” Kara instructs. “Take Ariel shopping.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I grab my jacket again, grinning despite myself. “Anything else? A spreadsheet? Color palette? List of acceptable hemlines?”
“No,” Kara says indulgently, her smile fond. The look she gives me says, Go. I’m rooting for you. It’s the most generous kind of blessing.
I look back at Ariel. She’s watching me with that soft, dazzled smile that should come with a warning label. She steps closer, nervous courage in every line, and slides her hand into mine.
It feels like the click of a seatbelt. Like the pause between inhale and exhale, where everything is quiet and true.
My father thinks she’s a problem to be solved. The lab thinks she’s a curiosity. My heart thinks she might be the horizon—the line I’ve been sailing toward my entire life.