Chapter 4
Cove
It had been a little over a month since I started talking to Tobias.
Well, not… talking, exactly.
Not like how normal people talked, where there was a back-and-forth, and you were both expected to contribute equally and somehow also not say too much or too little or the wrong thing in the wrong tone at the wrong time.
It was so much easier than that.
I exhaled deeply, leaning my forearms against the cool side of the touch tank, watching the very, very slow progression the conch was making.
It’d been a little over a month now.
In the first week, I’d kept expecting it to stop.
For him to lose interest. For Mark to intervene again. For something to shift and snap the whole thing back into what it was supposed to be—staff and donor, distance, polite nods, and nothing more.
But it hadn’t.
Instead, my chats with Tobias had become a normal part of my routine. It was even something I looked forward to most days.
My fingers tapped against the rim of the tank.
Mark hadn’t said anything about it to me.
That was the weird part.
I shifted my weight a bit, glancing toward the far side of the gallery where a young couple was quietly chatting on the bench facing one of our larger tanks.
Mark hadn’t pulled me aside, hadn’t written me up, hadn’t even directly told me to stop again.
But—
My mouth pressed into a thin line.
I knew he wasn’t happy with me.
It had started small—easy to brush off at first. Just a few shorter responses, and a bit less eye contact. Things that could be explained by a bad day, or him just being tired, or even him being focused on something more important.
Assignments had been getting handed to me without explanation, without the usual half-joking commentary he used to tack on.
Now, when I walked into a room, I could feel it almost immediately. The tension wasn’t enough for anyone else to comment on, but enough that you noticed if you were paying attention.
It was like he thought I had done something.
Like I had gone over his head somehow.
Which—I mean, I hadn’t.
I didn’t even know when Tobias would’ve talked to him. Or if he had. But something had changed, and Mark was acting like I—
Like I had gotten him in trouble.
The thought made me nauseous.
Because I hadn’t.
I wouldn’t.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, then opened them again, forcing my focus back onto the tank in front of me.
I had only a month left in my contract position here, and it felt like a tight band of anxiety was squeezing around my chest whenever I allowed myself to think too much about it.
“Deep in thought?”
I jerked, head turning too fast toward the voice.
Tobias stood a few feet away, hands neatly behind his back like usual, posture straight, and his expression composed.
Watching me.
Heat rushed up the back of my neck.
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked, a little too quickly.
He took a step closer. “Only ten to fifteen minutes.”
“You’ve been standing there for fifteen minutes?!”
“Yes.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“You appeared occupied.”
“With what?” I asked, immediately regretting how defensive that sounded.
He glanced—not at my face—but at my hands, which were still resting on the rim of the tank, fingers tapping without me realizing it.
“Thinking,” he said.
Oh.
Right.
Heat crept a little higher into my face.
“Still, you could have said something. You wouldn’t have been interrupting anything important.”
He hummed thoughtfully as his gaze shifted toward the conch, slowly making its determined progress across the sand.
“You’ve been observing it for some time,” he said.
“Yeah,” I answered, relieved to have something safer to talk about. “They move a lot slower than people expect. Most guests think they’re not doing anything, but they actually cover a decent amount of ground if you watch long enough.”
“How do they navigate?”
“They use a muscular foot,” I explained, already leaning closer to the tank again. “It kind of hooks and pulls. And they’ve got sensory tentacles that help them figure out where they’re going. They’re not fast, obviously, but they’re not random either.”
He was quiet for a few seconds before joining me at the side of the tank. Then he said, “You appeared concerned.”
My fingers stilled. “I was just thinking about some things.”
“Being?”
I sighed. “I’ve only got a month left here,” I admitted after a second, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. “On my contract.”
He didn’t react right away.
“What happens after that?”
“I go back to California, I guess,” I said with a small shrug. “Unless something changes.”
“Do you want something to change?”
The question caught me off guard.
“I mean—yeah,” I said, laughing awkwardly. “Obviously. I’d love to stay longer. This place is amazing, and I came here expecting it’d be my new home. But that’s not really up to me.”
He was quiet again.
Thinking.
Or filing something away.
With Tobias, it was sometimes hard to tell the difference.
“You don’t think you’ll be offered a long-term position?” he asked.
“No… I wish, but…” My voice tapered off as I shrugged my shoulders.
“I see.”
I cringed internally, suddenly aware again that I was talking to a donor. That there were lines and rules. That I was probably already too close to breaking them most days without realizing it.
“So,” I said quickly, trying to redirect, “what brings you over here today? Just visiting the galleries again?”
“Yes.” Then he added, “I was hoping to find you.”
My brain stalled for about half a second.
“Oh.” That came out smaller than I meant it to.
“You weren’t on the floor earlier,” he continued. “I inferred you might be assigned here during the afternoon lull.”
“You were looking for me?” I repeated before I could stop myself.
“Yes.”
Yes.
Something warm and nervous and confusing filled my chest.
“Oh,” I said again.
Tobias studied me for a moment after that, then asked, “Have you given any more thought to my offer?”
My stomach tightened instantly.
Oh.
Right.
That.
For a second, I just stared at the conch again, even though it hadn’t really moved enough to justify how long I looked at it.
“I—yeah,” I said carefully. “I mean… I’ve been thinking about it.”
Which wasn’t a lie.
I’d been thinking about it a lot.
Too much, maybe.
The idea of working with his private aquarium still felt strange in a way I didn’t entirely know how to explain.
Not bad strange. Just… big. Personal. Like stepping into a space that wasn’t meant to include me.
It also just didn’t feel like a real job?
I mean, I guess rich people hired maids and chefs and stuff, so maybe it was legitimate?
There was just something about it that kept tugging on my brain.
“I still think I need a little more time to think about it,” I added, trying to keep my voice steady and normal. “It’s just… a lot to decide all at once.”
“That’s reasonable,” Tobias said.
“I don’t want to make the wrong decision,” I admitted, quieter.
“There is very little risk involved,” he replied calmly. “You would be compensated appropriately, and your responsibilities would be limited to the care of the collection. I would sponsor you. You wouldn’t have to worry about your visa anymore.”
“That’s allowed?”
“Yes.”
“Oh…”
There was a brief pause.
“You should come see it.”
“See it..?”
“My aquarium,” he said simply, as if it were obvious that this was the logical next step. “You don’t need to decide immediately. It would allow you to become familiar with the environment before committing to anything.”
“You mean just… visit?” I asked.
“Yes.” He tilted his head. “I also think your opinion may be swayed once you see what you’ll be caring for. It would also allow you to determine whether the position suits you.”
I hesitated, but just a visit couldn’t hurt.
I was nervous about going to someone’s house—someone I didn’t know all too well, someone who also happened to be a freaking billionaire.
But if nothing else, I’d probably enjoy viewing his private collection. He probably had the best of the best equipment.
“You mean before my contract ends?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I looked back at the conch again, watching it inch forward with absolute commitment to wherever it had decided it was going.
One month.
That was all I had left here.
And after that—
Nothing was guaranteed.
“Okay…” I said, finally, still watching the tank. “Yeah. I think I’d like to see it.” I glanced back at him, suddenly a little nervous again. “I mean—not like deciding yet,” I added quickly. “Just to look at it. Like you said.”
“Of course,” Tobias replied smoothly, something in his expression—something quiet and satisfied—that made it feel like the answer mattered more than I’d meant it to.
Tobias’s lips twitched up minutely, as though something had just settled into place exactly where he expected it to.
“When would be convenient for you?”
The question caught me off guard a little.
“Oh, um. I mean… probably one of my days off? I’m scheduled through the weekend, but I’ve got Monday free.”
“Monday would be acceptable.”
Acceptable.
Not good. Not works for me. Just—acceptable.
Something about that made my stomach do another weird little twist.
“I can arrange transportation,” he added.
“Oh no, that’s okay,” I assured him. “I can just take the train or something.”
“I would prefer that you didn’t,” he said sternly.
“Oh,” I said again, because apparently my vocabulary around Tobias had permanently shrunk to about six usable responses. Fuck my life. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
That was the end of the discussion as far as he was concerned.
He said it the same way he said everything else—calm, final, already decided.
“Okay…” I said after a second.
“Good. It will also allow us to discuss the position in more detail.”
Right.
The position.
Not the aquarium.
Not his house.
The job.
That helped.
A little.
“Yeah,” I said. “That makes sense.”
His gaze moved briefly back to the conch again, which had progressed maybe half an inch since we started talking.
“You’ve been considering alternatives,” he observed.
I blinked. “What?”
“You said you expected Australia to become your home,” he continued. “That suggests you’ve been evaluating ways to remain.”
My shoulders pulled in. “I mean… yeah,” I admitted. “I’ve been looking.”
“What have you found?”
I huffed a quiet breath.
“Not much,” I said honestly. “Most places want people with permanent status already. Or long-term sponsorship lined up. Or more experience than I’ve got.”
“All manageable variables,” Tobias said.
“I don’t really have a lot of leverage.”
“You do.”
I looked at him and saw that his expression hadn’t changed.
“You have specialized knowledge,” he said. “You’re observant, careful, consistent. You’re attentive to detail in a way most people are not. Not only that, you’re passionate about what you do.”
I stared at him because nobody had ever listed things about me like that before.
Not like they were assets; not like they mattered.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “I still want to see the aquarium first.”
“Of course.”