Page 29 of Not Safe for Work

The “boat” turns out to be a four-hundred-foot yacht large enough to accommodate all of us, including WMC’s executives, who are here to “mingle.”

So far, the only mingling they’re doing is from the top deck perched over us like stone gargoyles. With their sunglasses shielding their faces, it’s hard to tell if they’re watching or actually sleeping. I’m caught between wanting to hunt down Diane to explain the scene she witnessed earlier and hoping that if I never bring it up, she’ll forget it ever happened. I’m a mess viewed from every angle, proven by the fact that I also can’t stop wondering about Rafe.

Lan and I lounge on one of a dozen deep white sofas that line the polished wooden decks, sipping on drinks and munching on canapes. When I see how much money WMC is spending on this, I realize I should definitely have held out for that raise. When I get home, I’ll go straight to David and demand it. Clearly, they can afford it.

Andy finds us shortly after the boat sets sail, accompanied by a man named Frank, also from Sacramento. They settle on either side of us, Andy on my left and Frank on Lan’s right.

Andy’s light brown hair is messy from the breeze, and he’s wearing a blue-and-white striped T-shirt along with a pair of navy shorts. He’s handsome in a nonthreatening way, and with him, I never want for smiles. He offers them freely, showering them on me like confetti as I luxuriate in the sunlit glow of a generously given grin.

As I sip my wine, I scan the deck, definitely not looking for Rafe. He probably stayed behind to chalk pentagrams on the floor of our suite and summon his closest friends from the ninth circle of hell.

“Having fun?” Andy asks. “How was your session this morning?”

My nose flares at the memory of Rafe and me firing verbal crossbows like mercenaries with nothing left to lose.

“It was fine,” I say, summoning a tight smile.

His eyes tilt over me in an obvious attempt to check me out, and my stomach dips. I feel good in my favorite swimsuit—the bright red material perfectly contrasts with my skin and hair. I don’t usually burn, but I’ve layered on sunscreen in a war against time and skin damage.

Andy’s friend Frank is chuckling about something with Lan, whose expression suggests she’s been dipped in acid. I scoot closer to rescue her from his unwanted attention.

“And I said we should implement a short skirt Friday in our office,” Frank says.

My lip curls as Lan and I stare at him, unblinking. Did he really just say that? Oblivious to our horror, he goes on snickering to himself.

“Maybe we should do that here,” he adds as if this is an idea worthy of the Nobel committee.

“Sure,” I say, giving him a bland smile. “You go first.”

His face crumples into a glare. “Ha. Ha.”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously, what is wrong with you?”

“Stop it, Frank,” Andy adds, perhaps a moment too late.

“I think I’ll go for a walk,” Lan says, pushing herself up.

I catch her hand. “Do you want me to come?”

“No, you stay here. Have fun.” She winks before turning to Frank and waving in a shooing motion. “You go away. Bother someone else and think before you open your big dumb mouth next time.”

Frank’s bottom lip droops into an undignified pout, but he does as he’s told, slinking off with his tail tucked into his shorts. Lan flips me a wave and bounds off through the crowd.

“Sorry about him,” Andy says, stretching his arms along the back of the sofa and crossing an ankle over his knee. “He’s harmless but isn’t house-trained yet.”

“Yeah, we have a few of those in our office, too,” I say, thinking of Rory. “Sometimes it’s amazing how numbed to all this bullshit you’re forced to become.”

“Not all men are like that. On behalf of the entire gender of male pigs, I apologize.”

He gives me a crooked smile, and I try to pretend he didn’t just “not all men” me.

Despite that, Andy’s smile is charming, and my stomach swoops again.

We chat for a while as the boat cuts over the water. It’s a perfect day with the sun high and the breeze tosses my hair. As we keep talking, Andy is definitely getting cuter. He moves closer, his hip brushing my thigh, and I lean into it.

This is nice. This is easy.

I’m conscious of the need to release my fears and stop letting the past define the potential of my future. If I don’t want to die alone, I have to get over myself.