The wind had picked up again, crisp and salty as the sun poured golden light over the open deck. Glasses clinked. Laughter echoed from one corner of the yacht. The executives mingled in loose circles, drinks in hand, pretending they weren’t still technically on the clock.
Damien and Ashcroft had rejoined the group a few moments ago—Ashcroft relaxed as ever, Damien crisp in a clean shirt that somehow made him look even more untouchable.
From the far end of the deck, Maya spotted them.
Well—spotted him.
He stood beside James now, speaking in low tones to Trina and the HR representative—Mary, if Maya remembered correctly. His expression was unreadable, all cold angles and executive control.
Harper followed Maya’s gaze, then elbowed her with a grin.
“Hey! What do you think they’re talkin
