Chapter 12 Cleo
Cleo
It’s not as easy as I thought, switching from personal to professional. Not when River has an effortless way of injecting a flirtatious tone into every sentence.
This is going to get complicated.
“Time to get serious, Dawson. Are you ready to start the interview?”
Her cocksure body language tells me which River I’m going to get.
It’s not going to be the sweet, vulnerable woman I’ve come to like.
No, this is Romeo Dawson. The one who leaves a woman at every port.
It’s amazing how she slips between personalities with such ease.
It makes me wonder which one is true. Is the vulnerable River real, or is Romeo Dawson all there is?
If it turns out she’s not, our “experiment” will be short-lived.
I meant what I said to her. I don’t want to change her into someone that fits me.
She is who she is. I know there is no advantage to bending someone to your will.
It never works and makes everyone miserable.
But that doesn’t mean I’ll stick around for someone who will inevitably leave and break my heart.
I’m realising there is a lot more at stake for me in this. I’ve kept my heart closed for a long time. River has somehow got under my skin, and I’ve given her access to a part of me I’m not sure is ready to be seen.
Pushing aside my worry, I focus on the task at hand.
I set up my recorder and notepad, trying to ignore the way River’s lounging in the chair like she owns the place. Professional, Cleo. This is professional.
“Right. Let’s start with why you joined the Navy.”
She grins. “The uniform.”
I don’t look up from my notepad. “I’m serious, River.”
“So am I. Have you seen me in dress whites?”
“River.”
“Fine, fine.” She shifts, and I catch a glimpse of the vulnerable woman from this morning before the cocky mask slides back into place. “I wanted to serve my country. Make a difference. All that noble stuff.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds like it’s straight from a recruitment pamphlet.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Is it?”
Her jaw flexes. “What do you want me to say, Cleo? That I signed for the paycheck? The money is brilliant.”
“The truth. Why are you really here?”
“I just told you.”
“No, you told me what you think I want to hear. Or what you think will sound good in print. I’m asking what actually made you sign up.”
She leans back, arms crossed. “Maybe I like blowing things up. I’m a Weapon Engineer. It’s in the job description.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“I’m answering your questions.”
“You’re giving me nothing.”
“I’m giving you plenty.” That grin again. “In fact, I’d be happy to give you more. Later. In private.”
My cheeks heat, and I hate that she can still do that to me. “This is a professional interview, Dawson.”
“Is it? Because I’m pretty sure we agreed to date. That’s not very professional.”
“We also agreed to keep personal and professional separate.”
“Right. My mistake.” She doesn’t look remotely apologetic. “So, what’s the next question, Ms Carter?”
I grit my teeth. “What’s the most challenging part of your job?”
“Keeping my hands to myself when you’re around.”
“River!”
“What? You asked.”
“I asked about your job. Your actual job.”
She sighs, and for a moment I think she’s going to give me a real answer. Then: “The hours. Definitely the hours. Hard to maintain a social life when you’re deployed for months at a time.”
“And by social life, you mean…”
“Exactly what you think I mean.”
“So you’re saying the Navy interferes with your ability to sleep around?”
“I prefer ‘meet interesting people.’”
“Is that what you call it?”
“Among other things.”
I set down my pen. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I’m taking it very seriously. You’re the one who keeps bringing up my sex life.”
“I’m trying to understand who you are as a sailor, River. What drives you. What you’re passionate about.”
“I’m passionate about a lot of things.” Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back up. “Want me to make a list?”
“I want you to answer my questions honestly.”
“I am being honest.”
“No, you’re being evasive. There’s a difference.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I think I’ve finally got through. Then she leans forward, elbows on her knees, and gives me that lopsided grin. “You’re sexy when you’re frustrated, you know that?”
I close my notebook. “We’re done.”
“What? Come on, Cleo—”
“I said we’re done. This isn’t working.”
“Because I won’t spill my guts for your article?”
“Because you won’t be honest with me. About anything.”
That lands. I see it in the way her expression shifts, the cocky mask slipping for just a second.
“I am being honest,” she says, quieter now. “This is who I am.”
“Is it? Or is this who you want me to think you are?”
She doesn’t answer. Just stands, shoves her hands in her pockets, and heads for the door.
“River—”
“I’ll see you later, Cleo. For our date. I’ll try to be more…honest.”
And then she’s gone. I learned nothing about her as a sailor. Well, nothing past surface level.
It was strange, though, because I could see her struggling. Again this wall dropped, and she hid behind a persona she’s crafted over many years.
If it were anyone else, I’d see the red flags and run a mile. But she intrigues me. I know there is more to River than she wants the world to see. That’s the person I want to know personally and professionally. But how do I get her to open up to me without the constant retreat?
I need to type up my interview notes. They’ll be a backup in case I can’t get another Weapon Engineer to sit down with me.
I hadn’t planned on interviewing more than one person per job sector.
However, River’s answers just won’t cut it.
This article needs to stand out. Entice new recruits through the passion these sailors possess for their jobs.
Granted, not all the crew on HMS Queen Elizabeth are here because they couldn’t think of doing anything else with their lives.
The money will be all the motivation they need.
It’s the impression River tried to pass off in her answers, but I’m not buying it.
Regardless of that, it’s my opinion those sailors are far and few between. That is what I want the article to reflect.
I’m halfway done typing up the interview when my phone rings. The name brings a smile to my face.
Honor Blackwood has been my best friend since university. We were paired on an assignment for the university paper and hit it off immediately. She’s outgoing, opinionated, and confident. She’s the only person who can pull me away from work and get me to relax.
She’s also the person who held me together when the ex cheated. Who showed up at my flat with wine and terrible rom-coms and let me cry until I couldn’t anymore. I owe her everything.
“Just checking you haven’t drowned yet,” she says as soon as the line connects.
Smiling, I shake my head. “Nope. Still alive.”
“How’s it going? I thought you would’ve called by now, Cleo. Shame on you making me worry.”
I tut. “I sent you a text yesterday. You didn’t reply!”
“Oh shit. So you did,” she cackles. “My bad, honey. I was entertaining a lovely gentleman and lost track of reality.”
Honor has a healthy sex life. Unfortunately, she feels the need to share the details with me. I’ve asked her to refrain many times, but she’s yet to desist.
Last month, it was the barista from her local coffee shop. Before that, a musician she’d met at a pub. Honor collects lovers like some people collect stamps, and she’s equally enthusiastic about cataloguing the details.
“He’s a trainer from the gym.”
“Since when do you go to the gym?” My voice goes up an octave in sheer surprise.
“Since I walked past and saw his fine arse through the window.”
Ah, I should’ve known. The likelihood of Honor joining a gym for health reasons is as likely as me marrying a man.
“You’re bad, Honor Blackwood!”
“I’m thoroughly fucked, Cleo Carter. I suggest you give it a go.”
The minute pause between her saying that and me formulating an answer is all Honor needs.
She’s got this uncanny ability to read between the most miniscule of lines, and fill in whatever it is you don’t want to say.
Damn it. I should’ve known better than to pause.
Honor can read me like a book, even over the phone.
“You got laid!”
“Must you use that term?”
She snorts down the line. “Laid, slammed into the mattress, went to pound town. Whatever term you want to use, it happened. Didn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“With a sailor?”
Fuck, fuckity, fuck. “Possibly.”
“Ha! I knew it. I’ve just won a tenner. I told Maggie you wouldn’t be able to hold out.”
For reference, Maggie is the paper’s secretary and my other best friend from university. She’s the biggest gossip and rivals Honor’s pathological need to know everyone’s business. The pair of them together are a menace, but I love them dearly.
“Betting on my sex life is sad.”
“Betting on your sailor kink just bought me a pint at the pub,” she retorts. “So, out with it then.”
I’m not getting out of this. “It was just a one-night stand.” That turned into a two-month close-contact situation. Oh, and I’m now dating her.
“More. Give me more, Cleo. I know you’re hiding something.”
I relent and tell her the whole story. From my night with River to the interview I just conducted, and everything in between.
Honor interrupts three times—once to say “You didn’t!”, once to laugh so hard she snorts, and once to demand I repeat the part about River saying she couldn’t breathe properly when I’m around.
When I finish, Honor is silent. I think I’ve rendered her speechless.
“Bloody hell, Cleo.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “It’s a mistake, right? Trying this whole dating thing.”
“I mean, it’s unconventional, I guess. Are you sure you’re going to get as much out of it as her?”
“Not one bit. I just can’t explain it, H. My brain knows I should be running in the opposite direction. She’s a player. She’s never lied about that.”
“But she wants to try something different with you?”