Chapter 8 Emma
I’m wearing denim shorts, an oversized white button-up, huge round sunglasses, and a floppy white hat to a party I really couldn’t say no to.
Why couldn’t I?
Well… First, because the second Mr. Eyre left the room, my team screamed like we had just been invited to the Oscars.
Second, because I caught the flicker in Luca’s eyes when he heard the invitation, that dark little twitch of his reminded me just how possessive he used to be in high school.
Which, of course, came with memories. Hot, breathy, naked memories.
Nope. Stop. Not the time.
So yeah—maybe spending the day on a yacht with my team is worth it if it means watching Luca stew in his own jealousy, especially after a week of emotional whiplash so intense I started seeing him in my paintings. Literally.
“Hey! Boss!” I hear behind me.
I turn and see Sam waving as he walks up to the marina gate where Mr. Eyre told us to meet.
“I’m not the boss today,” I say, hugging him.
We chat while everyone else trickles in.
The team’s got great chemistry. The only one who feels a little off is Karen.
She’s not mean, just… different. A little extra.
She always shows up overdressed, heels clicking like she’s on a runway, sunglasses perched on her head even indoors.
Her laugh carries across the room, big and unfiltered, and she has this way of turning every conversation back to herself.
Even a five-minute meeting feels like a full performance when Karen’s in it.
When we reach the dock, Mr. Eyre greets us with open arms. His daughter’s here too—a jewelry designer I worked with on a campaign last year—and we dive right into catching up about her company’s growth.
Around noon, we set sail. And honestly? Everyone’s having a blast.
There’s something about boats that brings out people’s true selves. The wind slaps my cheeks as I hold my hat down, gazing out at the deep blue water and Miami’s skyline in the distance.
The yacht’s got a big open deck up front with plush seats, trays of food, and endless drinks, mostly alcoholic. The kind of luxe setup that makes people swoon. It’s fun. But would I own a boat? Nah.
Mr. Eyre mingles with us for a while before disappearing to charm his other guests. There must be thirty people on board. The music is loud—electronic or techno or whatever the kids call it these days—and the energy is just... good.
“I need the bathroom,” Amanda whispers, her face a pale shade of green. “Can you… help me?”
“Of course,” I say, already steadying her.
She’s not drunk. I know she doesn’t drink. It’s the motion of the boat—it’s wrecking her.
Inside the yacht, I get her to the bathroom just in time. She throws up everything, and I hold her hair, whispering soothing things even though I know nothing makes puking less awful.
Once it’s over, I ask, “Feeling better?”
She rinses her mouth and nods weakly. “Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll survive much more of this. I knew it was a bad idea.”
“I can ask Mr. Eyre if there’s a way to get you back.”
“No! I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll just stay close to the railing... just in case.”
“Smart. Let’s go.”
We sit far from the music and laughter. She leans against the rail, glaring at the ocean. I rub her back and tell her ridiculous stories to keep her distracted.
“Hey… isn’t that Mr. Walker?” she interrupts.
I squint toward the horizon. A sleek sailboat is cruising alongside us. A man’s at the helm.
And yep—there he is. Luca. White shirt unbuttoned at the chest, sleeves rolled, sunglasses on. Looking disgustingly perfect.
My stomach flips. “I think so,” I whisper, swallowing hard.
Luca turns toward us. I lift my hand in a wave. He nods—cool, unsurprised. He moves across the deck like he was born on that boat, handling ropes and doing a bunch of nautical things I absolutely don’t understand. He stays close, trailing us from a distance.
Then Eyre anchors near the coast. And of course—of course—Luca does the same.
“Walker!” Mr. Eyre calls. “Come over!”
No. No, no, no.
Luca throws down a massive buoy and brings his boat close to jump across.
Hell.
He boards, greets Eyre, and starts making his rounds like he owns the damn place.
Karen makes a beeline for him, all perfume and determination, her heels clicking on the deck.
She giggles, tilts her head just so, and flips her glossy hair over one shoulder before laying a manicured hand on his arm like she’s known him forever.
Don’t do this, Luca. Anything but this.
I try to focus on Amanda, still curled near the railing. “Sorry you’re going through this,” I murmur.
“Oh, don’t. My dad used to force us on boats growing up. I spent half my childhood just like this.”
“Lovely parenting,” I say with a dry laugh.
I hear a deep, resonating voice behind me. “Hey.”
I whip around. “Luca. Wow. What a surprise.”
He steps closer, scanning my face with his bare eyes, sunglasses now hooked into the collar of his shirt. His jaw ticks, the muscle shifting like he’s holding back something sharp. His gaze lingers, heavy, as if daring me to look away first.
“I thought it was you. Forgot there was a party today,” he says, lifting both eyebrows while his eyes cut past me toward the deck.
Liar. Luca always raises both when he lies.
“Yeah, Eyre was kind enough to give the team a fun day. Too bad Amanda’s not enjoying it.”
She doubles over and throws up again, shoulders shaking. I crouch beside her, steadying her with one hand on her back and the other gripping the railing.
“She’s not built for the sea,” he says, but his eyes are locked on me, not Amanda.
“Nope.”
“I can take you back,” he offers, straightening to his full height. His chest expands, chin lifting, his hand flexing at his side like he’s itching to take control.
Amanda perks up, watery eyes hopeful when I tell her.
“All three of us,” he corrects, tone clipped, voice edged with steel. His jaw hardens as his gaze drops to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes.
“Oh… yeah, of course. I wouldn’t leave her alone,” I scramble, waving my hand a little too fast.
His lips curve, but it’s not a smile, its possession sharpened into expression. He steps closer, close enough that the heat radiating off him presses against me. “Sure, Em. Let me help.”
Em. I haven’t been Emma in five minutes. I’m Em again.
We help Amanda onto his sailboat. I thank Mr. Eyre, and then Luca reaches up to steady me. His hands on my waist are fire. I try not to flinch—or melt.
He sets Amanda down gently, hands her a bottle of water, then heads to the helm.
I turn back toward the group clustered on the dock. “Hey, guys—we’re taking Amanda home. She’s not doing well.”
The team nods, offering quick waves and sympathetic smiles. Sam gives me a thumbs-up. Amanda manages a weak grin of thanks.
But Karen? She folds her arms tight across her chest, her sunglasses slipping down her nose as she shoots me a look that could curdle milk. “Shame. The party’s just getting started,” she says, voice a little too sharp to pass as casual.
I force a polite smile, ignoring the way my chest tightens. “She needs rest.”
Karen flicks her hair over one shoulder, lips pressed in a thin line, like I’ve just stolen her front-row seat to the show.
I glance back. Mr. Eyre is sipping champagne, watching us with a knowing little smirk.
Luca steers us toward shore. I comfort Amanda, whispering about comfy beds and cool sheets until she dozes off. Then I make my way to him.
“Thanks. Amanda was really struggling.”
Luca nods, eyes locked on the horizon.
“So… you have a boat now.”
I glance around, taking it in. The sailboat screams money—sleek lines, spotless fiberglass so white it almost glows, teak deck polished within an inch of its life.
Stainless steel fittings shine like jewelry, and the cushions on the benches are stitched in navy leather that looks untouched.
Even the cabin door is glossy, tinted windows gleaming like they belong on a sports car.
It’s the kind of boat people buy to show they can, a floating luxury toy.
He looks at me with his ocean-blue eyes. “You really want to talk about boats?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He sighs. “I bought it when I moved here. Took the course. Got my license. I use it sometimes.”
“Must be nice. Getting to escape out here.”
“I don’t need to escape. My house is remote enough.”
“Of course it is.” I laugh, shaking my head. “You’ve always liked being above it all. Like a gargoyle on a cathedral.”
His lips twitch—almost a smile—but his eyes stay steady on me. “Where are you living?” he asks.
“Doral. Apartment complex.”
He frowns, forehead creasing, mouth tightening. “After what Great Ideas charges, I expected Miami Beach.”
“I can’t afford Miami Beach.” I check on Amanda—still asleep, her head tilted against the cushion, breath even—then return.
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got at least forty minutes.” He leans back against the helm, arms crossed, watching me like he’s not letting me off the hook. “Try me.”
I sigh, twisting a strand of hair around my finger before letting it drop. “My mom has a chronic heart condition. Insurance doesn’t cover her meds. I left New York to take this job because it pays better. I needed to save.”
He stares at me, stunned, lips parting but no sound coming out. His jaw softens. “I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine.”
We sit in silence, the ocean rocking us gently, sails snapping above. His gaze drifts to the water, shoulders curving slightly forward, thoughtful.
“You like Miami?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s the opposite of New York.”
“That’s why I moved here.” His eyes flicker back to mine, sharp again.
“I figured you’d stay in New York. It fits you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, smiling faintly. “You always felt more… academic. Philosophical. Miami isn’t exactly filled with people who want to debate Plato.”
He snorts, lips quirking. “Don’t forget—men always have opinions.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “True. Still… I’m glad you like it here.”
“I hope you do too.” His voice drops, quieter. “It’s a unique city.” A pause, heavy. “You came alone?”
Oh. Here we go.
“Yeah. Couldn’t convince Lauren to move with me. I just don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone.”
His gaze sharpens, jaw tight. “You always saw her as your responsibility,” he mutters. “It’s time she lived her life.”
“Maybe…”
His tone shifts, rougher. “Eyre was very… friendly with you.”
I blink, arms crossing instinctively. “He’s just like that.”
“Did you two ever…?” His brows pull together, chest rising with the words.
Seriously? “No, Luca. I don’t sleep with every man who’s kind to me.”
His hands flex on the wheel, eyes narrowing. “That’s not what I meant—”
“Yes, it is. You’re still jealous. Still possessive. And you hate me.”
He freezes, his lips parting but no answer coming. The silence stretches.
“Why do you think I hate you?” he finally says, voice low, almost wounded.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way you look at me in the office. Or how you fight every idea I pitch. If you can’t stand to be around me, why the hell did you hire us?”
Silence again. His eyes flash, unreadable. And that says everything.
We dock fifteen minutes later. I help Amanda up. Luca doesn’t even ask—he just decides he’s driving us.
The man has an Audi. Sleek. Sexy. Completely unnecessary.
He basically ushers me into the front seat, his hand warm against the small of my back, guiding more than asking. Amanda rambles the whole way home, thanking him, praising me. I stare out the window, skin prickling under the weight of his gaze on the back of my neck.
At Amanda’s place, I walk her to the door. She thanks me, and I hug her, whispering that she should relax for the rest of the day.
Back in the car, I rattle off my address. The ride is awkward—loud city, quiet car.
My hand is already on the door handle when we pull up. “Well, thank—”
He bolts out, strides around, and opens my door before I can finish. His hand reaches for mine, firm, insistent.
I take it. His touch burns.
“You didn’t have to.”
He doesn’t answer—just walks me to my building, his body close enough that I feel his heat. “Come on, Em. I’m walking you up.”
Upstairs, I hear his steps behind me, steady, deliberate, his cologne a reminder I don’t need. At my door, the crooked number six mocks me again. “I told them twice to fix this,” I mutter, shoving at it uselessly.
“Let me.” He leans in, fingers deft, fixing it in one smooth move.
“Thanks.”
I dig through my bag, groaning. Of course, I can’t find my keys. Dropping to the floor, I dump everything out—receipts, gum, a paintbrush, tampons, sunglasses. Finally, the keys.
I glance up. He’s watching, one brow raised, mouth twitching. Of course.
“What?” I snap, sweeping everything back in.
“Hard to forget how messy you were.” He crouches beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he helps.
I stand too fast, flustered, furious, confused. My pulse stutters. I can’t breathe with him this close. I unlock the door and step inside.
He’s still watching. His eyes soften—sad, almost tender.
Just close the door, Em. Close it.
“Thanks—” I start, pushing it shut.
But he stops me, his palm against the wood, voice low. “I don’t hate you. I wanted to, but I can’t.”
I stare at the floor, arms crossed tight, throat burning. A single tear slips free. “There’s nothing I can do to change the past,” I whisper.
“I know.” He tilts my chin up gently, thumb brushing away the tear.
The touch is familiar. Timeless.
“I should go,” I murmur. “Goodby—”
But then he kisses me. His hands cup my face, desperate, devouring, pulling me into the storm of him. And I don’t stop. My arms are already around him—I didn’t even notice when I pulled him in.
The only sound in the room is our breathing. Then the door clicks shut behind us, soft but final.
Locking us in.