Chapter 7
CAPTAIN OF CONTROL
ROARKE
Three days after the terrace incident—as I've been calling it in my head to maintain some semblance of professionalism—the morning sun bakes a path through my office windows.
I'm supposed to be focused on the investor roadshow presentation.
Instead, I'm staring at quarterly projections while replaying the way Mia tasted.
This is a problem.
My phone buzzes with the scheduled call from Ariana Bristol-Reeves, Connor's wife and the PR mastermind supposedly saving my company's public image.
I straighten my tie and answer on the second ring.
"Ariana. Thanks for taking the time to discuss the Cannes strategy."
"Of course! The roadshow timeline looks perfect, and the venue at the Carlton is ideal for—" Her voice cuts out momentarily. "Sorry, my assistant is trying to get my attention about something. Where were we?"
"The Carlton venue," I prompt, though I'm distracted by the sound of Mia's laughter drifting from somewhere on deck. She's probably teaching Isla another show tune. Or helping Captain Feathers perfect his Hamlet insults.
"Right. So about the sailing component—"
"The what now?" I snap to attention.
"The sailing race? For the promotional footage? We discussed this in last week's briefing materials." Papers rustle on her end. "It's actually brilliant PR—showing you personally demonstrating the luxury sailing experience. Very authentic, very—"
My coffee cup slips from my suddenly nerveless fingers, crashing to the floor and splattering dark liquid across my Italian leather shoes.
"Roarke? You there?"
"I'm here." My voice sounds foreign to my own ears. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. I don't sail anymore."
"Oh." Pause. "But according to our research, you're an accomplished sailor. Multiple regatta wins, including—"
"That was before." I crouch to clean up the coffee, trying to keep my voice level. "Before my brother's accident. I don't race anymore."
The silence stretches long enough that I wonder if the call dropped.
"I'm so sorry," Ariana says finally. "I didn't realize. We can absolutely adjust the strategy. Maybe charter footage instead, or—"
"No." The word comes out sharp. Hard. "Let me review the materials again. I'll call you back."
I end the call and sit heavily in my chair, staring at the coffee stain spreading across my carpet like spilled blood.
Sailing.
Of course they want me to sail.
The last time I'd been at the helm of a racing yacht, Daniel had been crew. Laughing, fearless Daniel who lived for the adrenaline rush of wind and speed and the thin line between control and chaos.
The same Daniel who died six weeks later when a freak squall caught his boat in the Mediterranean.
"Mr. West?" Claire appears in my doorway, tablet in hand. "I heard something crash. Are you—" She stops, taking in the coffee disaster. "Everything alright?"
"When exactly did we discuss the sailing race component of the PR strategy?"
Her eyebrows raise slightly. "It was in Tuesday's briefing. Item seven under 'Promotional Activities.' I also mentioned it yesterday during the—"
"Tuesday." I run a hand through my hair. "Right. Tuesday."
Tuesday, when I'd spent the entire briefing thinking about the way Mia had looked at me over dinner. Wednesday, when I'd nodded along to Claire's updates while mentally replaying every sound she'd made on that terrace.
"You did seem... distracted during the briefings," Claire hedges. "Is there something else going on?"
Yes. Your temporary nanny has completely scrambled my brain and I can't go five minutes without remembering how she felt under my hands.
"No," I lie. "Just focused on the big picture."
"Mm-hmm." Claire's expression suggests she's not buying it. "And this sudden aversion to sailing? Because last I checked, you were practically born on a boat."
"Things change."
"Daniel's accident was—“ She exhales. “You can't avoid the water forever."
"I'm not avoiding anything. I'm prioritizing safety and—"
A loud crash from the deck above cuts me off, followed by Isla's delighted shriek and Captain Feathers' triumphant squawk.
"CAPTAIN FEATHERS WINS! CAPTAIN FEATHERS CHAMPION!"
Claire and I look at each other.
"Should I ask?" she says.
"Probably not." I stand, stepping carefully around the coffee puddle. "But I should probably check that my niece hasn't turned my yacht into a maritime obstacle course."
I find them on the sun deck—Mia, Isla, and the bird—in the middle of what appears to be a feather-based dance competition. Mia's hair is coming loose from its ponytail, there are small feathers stuck to her sundress, and she's laughing so hard she can barely stand upright.
"Uncle Roarke!" Isla spots me immediately. "Look! Captain Feathers taught Mia how to tango!"
"TANGO! TANGO! PASSION!" the bird squawks, executing what might generously be called a pirouette.
Mia turns to me, cheeks flushed with laughter, and something in my chest does that dangerous fluttering thing again.
"I should probably explain," she says, gesturing at the feathers scattered across the deck. "We were practicing dance moves for the talent show Isla wants to organize, and Captain Feathers got very... invested."
"The talent show that's happening when, exactly?"
"Tonight!" Isla bounces. "After dinner! You have to participate, Uncle Roarke. Mia says you probably have hidden talents."
I look at Mia, who's trying very hard not to meet my eyes. "Does she now?"
"Everyone has hidden talents," Mia says innocently. "Some people just hide them better than others."
The double meaning isn't lost on me, and based on the slight flush creeping up her neck, it isn't lost on her either.
This is exactly what I can't afford. This distraction. This... whatever this is between us.
"Unfortunately," I say, stepping back into CEO mode, "I have calls to make. The charter division launches in two and a half weeks, and there are still details to finalize."
Something flickers across Mia's face—disappointment, maybe, or hurt—but she covers it quickly.
"Of course," she says. "Come on, Isla. Let's clean up these feathers before lunch."
As they start gathering the scattered plumage, I retreat to my office, determined to focus on what I'm actually good at.
Being responsible. Being in control.
Being the man who doesn't let personal feelings interfere with business.
Even if that man is starting to feel like a stranger.