Chapter Seven
Donovan
Maybe I should ease up.
It’s not a thought I usually have, especially when it comes to men, but as I finish strapping the last waterproof box to one of the rafts, my eyes stray to Derek for the fiftieth time since the company bus dropped us off at the Potash boat ramp downstream from Moab.
He’s asleep. Propped against a tree while his faithful bodyguard, Hunter, glares at anyone who gets too close.
It can’t be comfortable, the way Derek’s chin rests on his chest like that, but he’s been out for at least twenty minutes.
I was too worked up to pay attention before, but he looks exhausted, which probably explains his bad mood.
My whole “I don’t like anything about you” speech might have contributed to that too.
I slip the end of the woven strap under itself just below the buckle and pull it through, creating half a knot for added security, then I hop from the boat to the ramp to make sure we have all the gear secure and ready to go before I go over safety protocols.
But mostly I’m stalling; I’ll have to wake Derek up so we can be on our way.
Farah comes over to stand next to me as I pretend to check the ramp for loose gear, bumping her shoulder into mine. “I still feel like I’m dreaming,” she whispers, her dark eyes locked on Derek.
“How can you see past the stars in your eyes?” I ask with a scoff. “He’s not that special.”
“Are you kidding? He’s literally the sexiest man in the world.”
“Subjective.”
“He’s worth like two billion dollars.”
I wrinkle my nose. “More like eight hundred million.” I hate that I know that.
“Same difference! That’s eight hundred million more dollars than I have. And he’s the nicest person I’ve ever met.”
“Highly debatable,” I mutter, though my argument falls flat.
He was brusque with me, yes, but he introduced himself to several of the other guests with a warm smile and a friendly handshake before confirming with his assistant that all the NDA forms were signed.
As he climbed onto the bus and took a seat at the back with his bodyguard, he greeted Farah and Mason, another guide, with the same enthusiasm he showed everyone else.
“He’s just so…” Farah sighs. “If I didn’t think of you like a sister, I would hate you for getting to be the one he shadows.”
The only reason I’m not happily passing him off to her, aside from the fact that Farah will not hide her interest no matter how much she should, is because I get the feeling Derek would riot if I tried.
Well, not riot. He’s too carefully controlled to get emotional, even if that emotion is anger.
But I can see him retracting his offer to pay Spencer an obscene amount of money if things don’t go his way.
Supposedly Janie is going to handle all the money stuff while we’re on the river, just like she’ll do with Chuck, but there’s always a chance that Derek has been lying through his teeth this whole time and doesn’t plan on paying anyone anything.
Thankfully, Spencer’s smart enough not to issue any refunds to the other guests until he has Derek’s money in his bank.
At least, I think he is.
“He looks like a little puppy,” Farah says, sighing again as she presses her hands to her cheeks. “Who knew Derek Riley was so adorable?”
“Pretty much everyone,” I mutter, though ‘adorable’ is not the word I would use for the man’s sharp jawline and broad shoulders. “I hope he’s not planning to sleep for the whole trip.”
“He must be so tired! I heard he never has days off because he’s either filming or promoting something. I can’t imagine what that would be like.”
I can, but there’s little point in saying that.
Unlike Farah, who only does a tour every other week, I rarely have days off.
Just like Derek. Rivers are my happy place, but I know how hard it can be to never have some time to breathe.
How it feels to hit that point where you think you might collapse before you manage the next breath.
Groaning, I fluff Farah’s curls and make my way to the other end of the ramp where Derek’s taking his cat nap.
He needs to be awake for the safety briefing, but first I should take the high road and try to find some common ground with him before I start thinking this trip is going to be miserable.
I’m not going to let my disdain for this perfect man ruin one of my favorite canyons, so we need to build a bridge. Or at least call a truce.
Hunter steps in my way when I get too close, a frown on his face as he glances back at Derek. “I hoped setup would take longer,” he says, his voice low.
I keep my voice at the same volume. “Why’s he so tired? Too busy entertaining late night visitors?”
Hunter scoffs. “Never.”
Huh. I didn’t expect him to answer my question, let alone like that. “Never? Really?”
Shrugging, the bodyguard shakes his head. “Not his style.”
Sleeping around isn’t the Hollywood hunk’s style? I find that hard to believe, but I’m not here to argue with Hunter. “Well, it’s about time for us to shove off.”
“Sure you can’t let him sleep a little longer?”
“Not unless you want to be setting up your tent in the dark tonight.”
Hunter’s expression can only be described as horrified, and I wonder if he ever truly processed the concept of river camping.
He’s a beast of a man and has a rugged look about him, but I’m going to guess he’s never slept in a tent in his life.
A lot of people haven’t before coming here.
Grunting, he nods once, then leads me over to his boss.
He crouches down, and in the softest, most tender wake-up I’ve ever seen between two men, he gently puts his hand on Derek’s shoulder and mutters something I don’t catch.
Derek jolts awake, staring at Hunter for a second. Then his gaze finds me, full of vulnerability that he wouldn’t have let me see if he wasn’t still half asleep.
I bite my lip. “Sorry.”
He blinks, looking around disorientedly as he runs a hand down his face and sits up.
While Hunter gives us some unexpected space after Derek nods, Derek’s eyes keep jumping to the other guests.
I’m guessing the NDA everyone signed is the only reason he felt safe enough to fall asleep in the first place.
I had to sign one too, and according to paragraph 5a, no one is allowed to take any pictures of Derek under penalty of being sued for a whole lot of dough.
I don’t think anyone here could afford a lawyer to fight that, so I haven’t seen a single phone out since we got here, even though the morning is gorgeous as the sun glints off the greenish brown river.
Kind of a buzzkill, Derek Riley.
“I didn’t think you knew that word,” he says finally, breaking into a yawn partway through.
Though I fight the urge, I yawn right back, then scowl at the nonchalant way he scratches the dark scruff on his cheek and quirks one corner of his mouth up. “Rude.”
His response is lightning quick. “The yawn contagion or my comment?”
“Both.”
He shrugs. “What are you sorry for? Waking me up or judging me without knowing me?”
He’s different from how he was before. The other day, I felt like I had the upper hand for most of our interaction, and earlier this morning he was grumpy and slow to react.
But now he’s a step ahead of me and seems to know it.
I don’t like it. “Well now I’m thinking I might take it back, so does it matter? ”
Chuckling, he grabs a branch overhead and uses it to pull himself up, and then he starts stretching, leaning his head from side to side before lifting his arms over his head. His sweatshirt rises with the movement, revealing a few inches of those tantalizing abs of his.
Someone near the boats sighs, echoing the part of me that has to admit Derek Riley is a beautiful man.
He ignores his admirer and keeps stretching as he speaks, eyes closed. “You don’t like me. You’re not happy I’m here. The last thing you want to do is teach me to row.”
I tilt my head. “All true. So?”
“So I’m dying to know what you thought you should apologize for if not for any of those things.” He looks at me again, blue eyes bright and full of amusement.
Note to self: make sure Derek gets a nap every day. He’s much more pleasant now, even if he’s keeping me on my toes.
I pull my hair over my shoulder and start braiding, speaking through the distraction the movement offers. “I may have been a bit…short with you this morning.”
“A bit?”
A chuckle right behind me tells me Hunter is closer than I realized, but I try to ignore him, just like I’m ignoring the twenty pairs of eyes watching us from the ramp. “That’s all I’ll admit to, Riley. I was a bit short with you, and it was uncalled for.”
Derek folds his arms, smiling so subtly that it would be easy to miss. “I caught you off guard.”
“I’m pretty sure I did that to you first.”
“So we’re even.” He holds out his hand. “Truce? You’re here to work. I’m here to learn. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”
I decided long ago that I should avoid people like him, and my stomach twists in discomfort as I stare at his big hand.
It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.
I can handle a week, right? The nerves churning in my gut say no, but I remind myself that I can keep the focus on teaching him technique while on the river, and there are sixteen other guests to talk to while in camp.
“What do you say?” Derek asks, reaching his hand closer.
He has all sorts of calluses on his palm, and I wonder where they came from. He said he doesn’t like pretending to be something he’s not, which is sort of his whole job, but I believed him when he said it. Which means…
Unable to ignore my curiosity, I take his hand as I say, “All of your movies. You really did all those things your characters did in the films? Rock climbing and playing the piano and underwater crap?”
Derek’s hold on my hand tightens as his smile turns into more of a smirk. “Crap? What part of holding my breath for five minutes is crap?”
I hate that I’m impressed. “Five minutes? You can do that?”
“Not anymore, but I could, yeah.”
“But you aren’t a pro boxer.”
He tilts his head, somehow following my jump when he says, “Not a pro, technically, but I trained under one and beat him in a few matches before I filmed Cross Hatch.”
Dang. “So that one movie where you played a chef?”
“Worked in a kitchen for several weeks with one of the most terrifying chefs in the world. She was intense, but she taught me so much.” His head tilts even more, the same way a dog does when he’s trying to figure something out.
And since he’s still holding my hand, he’s suddenly crowding my space when he takes a step forward.
“You seem to know a lot of my movies for someone who claims not to like me, Donovan Tate.”
A swear slips from my tongue. He’s right, but who told him my last name?
Probably one of the other guides. The nice thing about my name is it could also be a last name, so using Donovan on its own makes it easier to stay anonymous around the dude bros who come on these trips and take an interest in me.
Or around Hollywood A-listers who embody so many things I hate.
So much for that.
Derek chuckles and slowly releases my hand before folding his arms. “Like I said, my goal is to learn the proper techniques of rowing a boat, so I’m counting on you to be the best like your cousin claims you are.”
Spencer. That snitch. “You should have picked a trip down the Grand Canyon if you want to learn from the best. Cataract Canyon is small potatoes compared to that.”
“Most commercial trips in the Grand Canyon use motors and S-rigs,” he argues.
“That’s not the experience I need, and I don’t have time for an oar raft trip through that section.
And since we’re still in the runoff season, the water should be high enough to get us a Class V in the Big Drops. Or a high IV at the least.”
“You did your research,” I mumble as an awful bubble of attraction rises in my chest. There’s something about a man speaking river technical terms that really does it for me, particularly when it’s one who isn’t twenty years old and in between college semesters, but I wish it wasn’t this man checking some big boxes.
“I figured you would be a complete idiot.”
He chuckles. “About rivers or in general?”
“You don’t want me to answer that.”
He grins, hitting me full force with a picture-perfect smile that makes my knees go weak and my thoughts momentarily turn to mush.
There’s no way he casually whips that thing out like it’s normal to be that naturally beautiful, but even if his mouth is full of veneers, it’s the way his eyes light up that makes his smile feel completely genuine.
Thank goodness for the soft voice that pulls my attention away.
“Uh, Donovan?” Thiago, hands in the pockets of his shorts, stands next to Hunter a few feet away and watches me with wary eyes. He’s a quiet guy, so he must have drawn the short straw when it came to interrupting my conversation.
Mason and Farah have gathered the rest of the group and look more amused than impatient, but a few of the other guests seem to be hitting their limits when it comes to waiting around.
Thiago clears his throat and speaks so quietly that I barely hear him. “We need to leave, no?”
Before I can agree, Derek asks, “Where are you from?”
Thiago ducks his head, hiding his eyes behind his light brown curls. “Peru, sir.”
Derek’s response is in Spanish, too fast for me to try to translate with my minimal skills, but it instantly changes Thiago’s whole demeanor.
He looks up, eyes wide and a smile growing with each word Derek says.
Thiago’s English is decently good, but he always gets excited when someone speaks his language, and something about the way Derek is talking seems to have touched something specific.
Thiago answers in equally rapid Spanish, and they go back and forth a few times before he practically skips over to the boats and joins the other two guides.
I don’t manage to hold back my groan. “Seriously?”
Derek frowns. “What?”
“You speak Spanish like a Peruvian?”
Running a hand through his thick hair, he shrugs. “He said I sound more like a Chilean, but—”
“I knew you’d be too much, Derek Riley,” I mutter, then follow Thiago to the boats.
I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I’m surprised by the movie star, and I need to keep whatever distance I can.
When I can. He’ll be in my boat for the next several days, but I’ll have to do my best to avoid him otherwise.
It might be the only way I survive this trip.