Chapter 12
Charli
Iwake up with a start, heart pounding like I’ve run a marathon. The sheets are soft. The room is quiet. The air smells faintly of cedar and clean linen, and the pillows are way too plush to be mine.
Oh. My. God.
It takes a nanosecond second to register the arm draped across my waist and the warmth of bare skin pressed along my cheek. Another half a second before I remember whose bed this is.
Sawyer’s.
My stomach flips. Not in the butterflies kind of way, but in the "how do I get the hell out of here without spontaneous combustion" kind of way.
I squeeze my eyes shut, replaying the night in a furious mental montage: the dinner, the laughter, the alcohol, the kissing, the clothes on the floor, the way he touched me like I was something sacred. Like he wanted me. Really wanted me. And then I went and—
Oh God.
My face heats like I stuck it in an oven. What did I do?
I shift slowly, trying not to wake him, but the arm tightens around me for a beat before it relaxes again. His breathing is steady. Peaceful.
"Shit." I mutter, my voice sounds exactly how it should, like I was drinking all night.
He looks so calm. So together. Of course he does. Sawyer Gallo probably wakes up after sex like he’s in a cologne commercial, all golden light and abs. Meanwhile, I’m a tangled mess of bedhead, anxiety, and the overwhelming need to flee.
This was supposed to be professional. Just a trip to scope the wedding venue. Some beach air. Some recon. Not a one-way ticket to Sawyer’s sheets and my own emotional panic spiral.
I jump out from under his arm with the finesse of a raccoon escaping a trash can and gather my clothes like I’m part of a heist. Shirt, bra, sandals, dignity—wherever that last one is hiding.
"Charli..."
I don't give him a second look as I dart across the room, slip out the door, and bolt down the hallway to my own room.
I shut the door behind me and lean against it, chest heaving.
What the hell just happened?
As soon as I lock myself in my room, I take the world’s hottest shower, scrubbing my skin until it’s pink and my shame feels marginally less suffocating.
“You slept with your boss,” I mutter to myself, head resting against the shower wall. “And not just your boss—your boss’s brother.”
The water streams down over my face, but it does nothing to wash away the reality that I crossed a line. A big one. It doesn’t matter that it felt good—hell, perfect. It doesn’t matter that the way Sawyer looked at me made my heart stumble in my chest. It was still a terrible idea.
He’s going to think I can’t keep things professional. That I’m a mess. That I’m using him. Or worse—that this entire trip was some elaborate seduction plan instead of me just trying to rebuild a career.
I groan, tipping my head back under the spray. “This is bad. So bad.”
By the time I step out of the shower, towel wrapped tight around me, I feel only marginally better. I reach for the blow dryer when I hear it.
A knock.
And then a familiar voice.
“Room service!”
My brows knit. I didn’t order anything.
Still wrapped in my towel, I pad to the door and crack it open. And standing there, grinning and smug and entirely too good-looking in a clean button-down shirt and casual shorts, is Sawyer.
He’s pushing a room service cart. Loaded with breakfast, which smells amazing.
Without waiting for an invitation, he nudges the cart inside. “I think we should talk,” he says casually, like this is all totally normal.
Of course he does.
My jaw drops, and I scramble to speak, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Sawyer, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—last night, I mean, it was amazing, but I was caught up in the moment and I didn’t mean to cross any lines and—”
He cuts me off by stepping forward and pressing me against the wall and kissing me—firm, sure, and silencing. I gasp against his lips; the breath stolen right out of me. When he pulls back, there’s a glint in his eyes that makes my knees wobble.
“You should probably get dressed,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Or we’re never leaving this room today.”
Flushed and flustered, I retreat to the bathroom, pulling on a sundress and brushing out my wet hair with hands that won’t stop trembling.
When I return, the breakfast is laid out perfectly on the small table by the window.
Everything smells incredible—fresh coffee, tropical fruit, flaky pastries, and a plate of eggs that looks like it came from a five-star kitchen.
I blink, stunned silent, as Sawyer pours me a cup of coffee and slides it across the table like he does this sort of thing all the time.
“I figured you might not feel like going out just yet,” he says smoothly. “So I thought breakfast for two would be a better start to the day.”
I sit, still wordless, as he fixes his plate. Like nothing is wrong. Like everything is completely normal.
He glances up at me, then sets down his fork. “Look sweetie,” he says, voice softer now, “I’ve been thinking about you more than I probably should. And last night wasn’t a mistake for me. I don’t regret it. At all.”
Did he just call me 'Sweetie'? What is happening right now? How much did I drink last night? I open my mouth, ready to protest, but he holds up a hand, stopping me.
“I know what you’re going to say. That you’re my employee.
That you’re also working with Ian. That this could get messy.
” He leans forward, his expression earnest. “But none of that changes how I feel. You’re not just anyone, Charli.
You matter to me. And I think we owe it to ourselves to see where this goes. ”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way his words make my heart twist. “Sawyer... this is complicated. You’re my boss. Your brother is technically my boss, as is his soon-to-be wife. If this goes sideways, it could blow up everything.”
He doesn’t flinch. “Then we don’t let it go sideways. We are adults. We talk. We don’t hide it—but we don’t let fear run the show either.”
I stare at him for a long moment, trying to process everything, trying to trust what I’m hearing.
Then he smiles, slow and charming. “So, how about this? Let’s just have a day together. Just one. We’ll snorkel, maybe parasail, and explore the island a little. And tonight, we’ll take the yacht to Nassau and meet up with Ian and Mia for dinner. No pressure. No expectations. Just... us. Okay?”
And damn it if my heart doesn’t say yes before my mouth does. Wait... did he say 'yacht'?
By the time we make it to the beachside launch for parasailing, we’ve already been snorkeling off the reef, had lunch at a thatched-roof hut by the water, and I laughed more than I have in months.
The water sparkles like crushed sapphires, and the breeze is warm but not oppressive. It should feel like a dream.
But the moment I see the boat for parasailing and the huge chute billowing in the sky, my steps falter.
The boat bobs gently on the surf, deceptively harmless, but that chute—it’s massive, soaring high above the ocean like it belongs to someone with a death wish.
My stomach twists. It’s beautiful, sure, but in the same way a haunted house is beautiful from far away.
The kind of beautiful that makes your palms sweat.
I freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of my heartbeat in my ears and the tight squeeze of nerves in my chest. This might’ve been a terrible idea.
Sawyer catches it instantly. “What’s wrong?”
I force a smile that’s more grimace than a grin. “Nothing. Just... didn’t realize the chute went that high.”
He raises an eyebrow, nudging me gently. “Charli?”
I exhale, the words sticking like peanut butter in my throat. “I’m afraid of heights.”
Sawyer doesn’t laugh. He just tilts his head slightly, studying me with something dangerously close to understanding. He doesn’t mock or dismiss it. He just lets it sit there between us like an offering. And for some reason, that makes the panic flare hotter in my chest.
Because I’ve said it out loud now. I’ve handed him a piece of vulnerability I usually keep locked down tight.
The kind of truth that doesn’t get shared casually—not with friends, not with flings, and definitely not with the man I’m trying very hard not to fall for.
It makes me feel exposed in a way I don’t know how to handle, like I’m out on the ledge already and the wind is just starting to howl.
What if I can’t do it? What if I fail in front of him?
Worse—what if I succeed and it means more than it should?
Then he grins, maddeningly calm. “Ah. Got it.”
“You’re not laughing at me, are you?” I ask.
He lifts his hands in mock defense. “Wouldn’t dare. But I will tease you mercilessly after you do it.”
I shoot him a glare. “You’re mistakenly assuming I’m still doing this.”
He steps closer, dropping his voice to a murmur just for me. “Look, I get it. But if you don’t do this, you’ll regret it. I promise, the view is incredible. I’ll be right there the whole time. You’ll be strapped in, and we’ll go up together. Okay?”
I chew my lip, eyes flicking between him and the parachute, lifting another screaming pair into the air. “You’ll really be right next to me?”
“Every second,” he says. “If you want to turn around mid-air and curse me out, I’ll be right there to hear it.”
I hesitate a beat longer. Then I take a deep breath and nod once. “Okay. Let’s do it. But know that I plan to curse you the entire time.”
Sawyer grins like I just agreed to marry him. “That’s my girl.”
By the time our feet hit the sand again, I’m breathless and grinning so wide my cheeks hurt. My hair’s a wind-whipped mess and my legs are a little wobbly, but I don’t care—I did it. I actually did it.
“That. Was. Incredible,” I gasp, half-laughing, half-yelling over the crash of waves.
Sawyer chuckles as he steadies me, his hand warm against my back. “Told you.”
“I still can’t believe I went through with it!” I say, spinning in a little circle on the dock as the adrenaline buzzes through my veins. “And the view—Sawyer, the view. The water was so blue, and those dolphins—did you see them?”
“Yeah,” he says with a wide smile. “They jumped right when we were at the highest point. Like they knew it was your first time.”
I shake my head, still in disbelief. “They were showing off.”
“They knew you needed the boost.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever done anything that exhilarating in my life,” I admit, catching my breath. “That’s one for the memory books.”
Sawyer’s gaze softens. “I’m proud of you, Charli. You faced it and did it, anyway.”
I smile up at him, heart full, skin sun-warmed, and soul lit up with a rare, perfect kind of joy. “Yeah. I really did.”
He brushes a damp strand of hair from my cheek, then leans in and kisses me—slow and sweet, like a reward. I melt into it, smiling against his lips.
When he pulls back, he wraps an arm around my waist and murmurs, “Come on. Let’s go get ready for dinner. Ian and Mia will meet us at the yacht in an hour.”