Boardroom rules

Chapter eleven

Maya

We disappeared.

No press release. No itinerary.

One jet. Two tickets. Damien's name on the manifest. Mine as "+1."

Maldives. Overwater villa. No Wi-Fi. No TV.

He took my phone at the airport.

"Damien—"

"No board. No Vance. No Forbes." He pocketed it. "Seven days, Maya. That's all I'm asking."

I should have fought him.

I didn't.

Because for the first time in a month, I was exhausted.

Day 1.

We didn't touch.

We slept.

12 hours. On a bed that faced the ocean. No alarms. No emails.

He held me.

Like I might break.

Day 2.

We swam.

He taught me to snorkel. I hated it. I swallowed salt water and came up choking and laughing.

He kissed me right there in the water.

Salt on our lips.

"Mrs. Hale," he said.

"I'm going to throw up if you say that again."

"Good." He bit my shoulder. "Means it's working."

Day 3.

We fought.

About what? I don't remember.

About the company. About the future. About who was CEO and who was Chairman and who was supposed to be on vacation.

He left. Walked down the beach.

I followed him.

"Damien Hale, you don't get to storm off in paradise—"

He turned. Pulled me into him.

"Kiss me or fight me," he said. "But don't walk away."

I kissed him.

Hard.

Sand in my hair. Ocean in my ears.

Day 4.

No clothes.

Not all day.

Just us. In the villa. In the water. On the deck at night under stars that didn't exist in Manhattan.

He took his time.

No tie. No desk. No clock.

He asked. Every time.

"Here?"

"Like this?"

"Maya, tell me."

And I did.

Because I could.

Because no one was listening.

Day 5.

He told me about the scar at his hairline.

"Skateboarding. Age 12. Tried to impress a girl."

"Did it work?"

"No." His thumb on it. "She married my business partner."

I laughed. "Karma."

"Karma married me," he said. "You."

My chest hurt.

Day 6.

We talked.

Really talked.

About my dad. About his mother. About why he built walls and why I tore them down.

"I don't know who I am without a fight," he said.

"Then stop fighting," I said. "Start choosing."

He looked at me like I'd solved him.

Day 7. Last Night.

He set the table outside.

Candles. Fish we didn't catch. Wine we didn't deserve.

No suit. White shirt. Bare feet.

I wore the black dress again. The one from the wedding.

"Why this?" he asked.

"Because it's the only thing I own that's ours."

He stood. Pulled me up.

No music.

He danced with me anyway.

On the deck. Over the water.

"Damien—"

"Shh." His forehead to mine. "Don't talk. Don't think."

"Then what?"

"Be mine."

I was.

We didn't make it to the bed.

The floor. The railing. The shower after.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Husband. Wife.

No roles. No board. No mask.

When it was over, he carried me to bed.

"Don't go back," he whispered.

"Where?"

"To who we were." His hand on my stomach. "Stay here."

I turned in his arms.

"I can't," I said. "The company—"

"I know." He kissed my temple. "Then we go back together. But we take this with us."

He meant us.

Soft.

Real.

Unbreakable.

Day 8. Morning.

The jet was waiting.

He gave me my phone back.

300 emails. 40 missed calls.

I deleted them all.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No," I said. "But I'm with you."

"Good enough."

We flew home.

Hand in hand.

No tie.

No fight.

Just us.

Rule #11 of the boardroom: Never leave the game.

We did.

For seven days.

And when we came back, we weren't players anymore.

We were partners.

In everything.