Chapter 9
Chance
Chance had been pushed before. In boardrooms, in contract negotiations and once out of a helicopter he had willingly jumped from. But never had anyone shoved him, fully clothed and mid-argument, down a water slide.
The entire situation was hilarious and he enjoyed the laughter it created. But as he pulled his saturated wallet out of his back pocket, after one of the lifeguards found his cell phone in the catch pool, the humor subsided a bit.
Randi started to speak, but he held up his hand. He needed a minute before any words were exchanged.
But as he walked beside Randi toward the entrance while his shoes squelched faintly with each step and water squished between his toes from wet socks, the situation grew more and more comical.
People stared at them, two drenched rats dressed for work.
His shirt clung to his torso in a way that would have irritated him under any other circumstances, but he found that the absurdity of it refused to settle into annoyance the way it should have.
Instead, it lingered somewhere dangerously close to amusement.
“You realize,” he said at last and glanced sideways at her, “that no one has ever pushed the CEO of this company down a water slide.”
Her head snapped toward him. Her eyes were bright but he couldn’t tell if it was from near tears or tears of laughter. For a split second he thought she might apologize or grovel to keep her job.
She didn’t do either.
“You deserved it,” she said without hesitation and lifted her chin just enough to make it clear she meant every word.
And there was that spark again.
That refusal to be intimidated, to soften or bend just because of who he was or what title he carried. He felt that unexpected pull, sharp and unwelcome and impossible to ignore. Something in his chest loosened just enough to let out a quiet, incredulous huff of laughter.
“Did I,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she shot back, though there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her mouth now. “You were being ridiculous.”
“I was being correct.”
“You were being arrogant.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
She let out a short laugh at that, and it hit him harder than it should have. His dragon reveled in the sound and encouraged him to do whatever it took to keep her happy.
They reached the splash zone just inside the gates from the parking lot still caught between irritation and hilarity. It might have ended there had they parted ways to go to their vehicles if not for the small group of kids who had clearly been watching them with open curiosity.
“Forget your swimsuits?” one kid yelled out.
“Aren’t you the funny one?” Chance asked.
“Hey!” another called with a grin and the boldness that only came from being young and completely unconcerned with consequences. “You guys wanna play?”
Chance blinked, caught off guard in a way that boardrooms and contracts never managed. Before he could respond, Randi had already turned toward them with her brows lifted in interest.
“Play what?” she asked.
“Splash challenge,” another kid said and gestured toward a cluster of interactive water cannons and dumping buckets. “You versus us.”
Chance opened his mouth to decline because he had work to do and was still wearing his shoes, for God’s sake. But Randi glanced back at him with something mischievous lighting her expression in a way that made refusal feel cowardice.
“What do you think?” she asked.
He should have said no. He could feel the competitiveness oozing off her in waves.
“Fine,” he said instead, fully aware that this was a mistake but stepping into it anyway. “But don’t expect mercy.”
They took their spots and the game was chaotic from the start.
Water arced in unpredictable bursts, kids darted between levers and buttons with alarming speed, and Randi, whom he realized too late had absolutely no intention of playing fair, adapted almost instantly. Her laughter broke free as she redirected a stream toward him with ruthless precision.
“You said no mercy,” she called over the noise, her eyes bright with challenge.
He adjusted, countered, retaliated, and for a few minutes the world narrowed down to motion and instinct and the sharp energy of competition. He found himself matching her step for step, move for move, until the final splash came down in a decisive cascade that left him drenched and her victorious.
The kids cheered.
Randi threw her hands up in triumph, breathless and glowing in a way that had nothing to do with the Florida sun. Something undeniable in his chest shifted.
“Well,” he said and stepped closer despite himself. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes. “I suppose I’ll have to revise my assessment.”
“About?” she asked. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath.
“You.” The word came out quieter than he intended.
She stilled and the space between them changed.
It was charged with something that had been building since the lift when she had thrown her arms around him without thinking, and he found himself looking at her mouth before he could stop himself. The rest of the world faded in a way that felt both inevitable and completely out of control.
He shouldn’t, he knew that. He knew the complications, the risks, and the inevitable mess that would follow.
And yet, he leaned in. He could read the expectation in her eyes before she rose up to meet him.
“Eww, get a room.”
They both jerked back as the boys broke into tirades of giggles. They ran off and left them alone, but the moment had been broken.
Chance stepped back so abruptly that Randi almost stumbled forward. She blinked and the spark in her expression flickering with confusion.
“We should go.” The words came out more clipped than he intended.
“Right. We should.” The light in Randi’s eyes dimmed just enough to make something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
They left the splash zone without another word and the laughter and noise fading behind them as the weight of reality settled back into place, heavier now than it had been before.
And he left it there. The acknowledgment of what had almost happened, of allowing himself even a fraction of the honesty that pressed uncomfortably at the edges of his control, was too much. Chance did what he had always done best.
He shut it down. Completely.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the office.” He barely gave her a wave before he got in his car and he didn’t look in his mirrors until he was positive he wouldn’t see her.
Chicken.
He wondered on the drive back if it was possible for dragons to suddenly sprout feathers. He managed to use the back entrances to his building so he could avoid anyone who would question his damp appearance, and he threw himself into work from his apartment office just to avoid everyone.
By the time they reached the team review the following afternoon, he had rebuilt his walls of distance, reinforced them with logic and the kind of cold precision that had made him successful long before Randi had walked into his world and disrupted everything.
He listened as she gave her ideas for the water park in Clearwater. Her presentation was solid and innovative. It was well-structured but he dismantled it anyway. He would find a way to incorporate her suggestions later on.
“The concept lacks vision,” he said with an even voice and an unreadable expression as he stood at the head of the room. He deliberately fixed his eyes on the screen instead of her. “Your projections don’t account for peak-hour variability, and the safety redundancies are optimistic at best.”
The room went quiet.
He could feel the subtle tension as the team registered the criticism and recalibrated their perception in real time based on his assessment.
Randi didn’t speak at first. She didn’t interrupt or defend her presentation, nor did she push back the way she usually would.
And that was what made him look at her just for a second. But that was all the time it took to see the hurt.
Not dramatic or obvious to anyone who didn’t know what to look for, but it was unmistakable in the way her expression froze and the way her grip tightened almost imperceptibly on the edge of the table.
It hit him hard because he had put it there. Something inside him recoiled with a surge of heat and fury that had nothing to do with anyone else in the room and everything to do with the deliberate damage he had just caused.
Idiot.
The word wasn’t spoken aloud, but it rang just as clearly.
And beneath it, his dragon didn’t whisper this time. It roared. A deep, furious sound that tore through the carefully constructed control he relied on, directed straight at him, sharp and condemning and utterly unrelenting.
You did this.
His jaw tightened as the weight of it settled heavy in his chest as the meeting continued around him. Voices blurred into background noise he barely registered.
Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about strategy or even the consequences of crossing lines he had no business crossing. He was thinking about the look in her eyes.
He was already deeper than he had ever intended to go.
And he had just made it worse.