Page 2

With an annoyed sigh, I whipped the gun from where it was tucked into the back of my pants and pointed the barrel at her chest. Pale, almost translucent lips popped open; blue eyes widened with fear as her scream cracked through the midday air, only to be covered by the boom of the gun firing.

Lowering the weapon to my side, I stared at her still form, debating if I had time to start the fun now or later. A quick glance at my watch had me cursing under my breath. There wasn’t enough time to playandget her secured before my shift at work.

I had to get the area cleaned up so no one would suspect a woman lost her freedom here, then head into town to pretend to be the one thing I absolutely wasn’t.

A good guy.

1

ASPEN

This could quite possibly be the biggest mistake of my life.

Or my best idea ever.

My already nauseous stomach rolled, bile creeping up the back of my throat with every wave that slammed against the small boat. Wait. Was something this size considered a boat or a ship? What was the difference between the two?

Fuck if I knew or cared about the floating vessel’s classification at the moment. My focus was split between not throwing up and berating myself for forgoing that preventive Dramamine or emergency Xanax before boarding, despite debating the need for either or both. When booking this rash, totally unplanned, somewhat extremely careless adventure, I had three options. A tiny seaplane—no, thank you—the ancient charter bus from the airport to Anchor Bay, which would take over three hours—hard pass—or boat. This was a more direct route, aside from the plane, and I assumed the boat trip would be more fun, making it an exciting way to start the trip.

I chose wrong.

Seemed to be a running theme in my life as of late.

With both palms pressed against my stomach to help quell the sloshing, I twisted around on the hard plastic seat and eyed the man behind the massive chrome wheel. But if he noticed my pleading stare for him to slow down, he didn’t give a flying fuck, because his gaze stayed locked out front, actively ignoring me.

Fine.

Blowing out a calming breath, I swiveled back around to face the front, port side?—I should really have done a little more research on watercrafts to keep from spewing the cheap white wine I downed on the turbulent flight here. This trip was supposed to be relaxing, helping me to forget about the asshole and the horrible job I left behind in Seattle. A break from my lonely reality in the peaceful serenity of Mother Nature.

Peaceful, my ass.

“How much longer?” I shouted to be heard over the roar of the motor and the slam of the waves against the hull. I mentally raised my fist, super proud of myself for knowing that one.

“Soon enough,” grumbled the guy as he shifted his stance to turn his body away from where I sat.

Rude.

It was fine. I was fine.

Everything was fucking fine.

If I said it a few more times, maybe my rattled nerves and racing heart would believe me. Though I couldn’t blame all my tension on the boat ride, the somewhat-hot asshole, or the bumpy flight. Yesterday, I’d essentially up and walked away from the little life I’d built in Seattle over the last five years. A great life, I guess, from the outside looking in.

Which, even from the inside, wasn’t that bad.

I had a stable, highly sought-after job as an adventure photographer with an acclaimed outdoor magazine, even though it had turned into less of what I loved and more into following James Peoples around, making sure he had the perfect shots and pictures as he demanded and knew I could provide.

The man himself wasn’t rude or mean and didn’t do anything I didn’t want to happen, even though when things did turn physical between us, it was because he needed something from me, or I had threatened to leave because I was over helping him chase his dream instead of my own. The man I fell into infatuation with and then slowly fell out of it over the years wasn’t a narcissist who made me walk on eggshells or physically hurt me. We were the power duo everyone in the outdoor-loving world watched from the sidelines, thinking we had it all. The duo I hated being a part of a little more every day that I saw him shift from extreme outdoor adventurer to… whatever the hell he had become with his rise of fame.

James also never promised me a relationship, though he liked to lead me on or flirt so I’d do his bidding and ensure his photos were perfect. We had this toxic thing between us that I couldn’t seem to find my way out of… until yesterday morning.

When I walked in on him eating out our editor on the conference room table.

Full on, him on his knees with his face between her thighs and her legs wrapped around his head. That had been a shock, considering one, he hated going down on women—or so he said in the past—and two, because, well, I was suddenly smacked in the face with the fact that I wasn’t the only one he was leading on or keeping in the wings for when he “needed” me. There was something about hearing another woman moan the name of the man who you had given up so much for and followed around the world for three years that made you reconsider things.

Between blinks, I realized following him around and documenting his career madehimhappy, not me.

Helping him from the sidelines to become a household name madehimhappy, not me.