Page 27 of Close Your Eyes and Count to 10

She could feel him drifting from their group, and it scared her. Because a lot of times he was her only ally, the only one who seemed to get that there was more to running a company than just following whatever idiotic impulse you might have.

“Anyway,” Mav had concluded, his tone final, “Cody’s already on his way. Adele Crane and Malinka Nicqui are on-site.Andwe got Scotty G, the gamer kid who won the contest. Man, he’s got mad followers. More than I do.”

“Kid?” asked Angeline.

“You know, like nineteen or something.”

“Legal? You’re sure?”

“Of course,” he said. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Don’t make me answer that.”

“Damn,” said Hector, pulling out the syllable, mock-serious.

None of this was unfamiliar, the tension before every event, the tug of war between Angeline and Mav, the barely controlled chaos of each situation. Sometimes, right before a challenge, she got an eye twitch. Or her jaw might start to ache from unconscious clenching. This time it was both. Also, she’d bitten her nails to the quick. The cuticle of her right index finger was raw and bloody.

But maybe they all thrived on it a bit, even Angeline, little as she cared to admit it.

* * *

Maverick, bare-chested, now snored loud and rumbling beside her. He had a deviated septum, one of the many injuries from stunts gone bad.Face, meet concrete, he liked to say.

The reels of Mav’s many fails got far more views than any of his successful stunts. Itwasfunny when he wiped out, only because he was one of those people whose natural athleticism was so astounding. There was no game that he could not play, no sport at which he didn’t excel. To watch him on skis or a snowboard was mesmerizing, not only because of his grace and strength but because of his daring. And to see that powerful,six-foot frame go toppling when it met with forces beyond its control was undeniably amusing, even when it was terrifying.

And he was good at laughing at himself, one of the things Angeline had first loved about him. How he got up with that sheepish smile, dusted himself off and was at it again right away. Except that he was really tearing himself up, and it was starting to take a toll on his body: a badly healed broken foot, a knee that gave out, his back, headaches. Which worried Angeline. He’d had three concussions since she’d known him, and last time the doctor had been stern.

Life is not a video game, Mav. You don’t get another body when your luck runs out. And it will.

He’d laughed then, too. But she thought that maybe the words had resonated. He got that look, that kind of sad crinkle around the eyes he sometimes had. It was the look that told her there was more to him than his Extreme Maverick persona. The adventure hound, the thrill-seeker, the adrenaline junkie. Laugh too loud. Play too hard. Hurt himself for a laugh.

After that doctor’s visit, in the limo on the way back to their place in Hudson Yard, he’d been contemplative.

Maybe it’s time to slow down, Ange. What do you think?

But then the next week Mav took off to Argentina for heli-skiing, leaving Angeline behind to run the company. Which was fine: she was no daredevil. And someone had to do payroll, manage the social media team, and deal with the lawyers. The lawsuits—currently there were three. The conversation with the doctor was forgotten as soon as he was feeling better. It was almost as if hecouldn’tslow down.

Angeline rose from the bed now, heavy fatigue clinging to her eyes, her stomach queasy. She pulled on a robe over her tank top and undies. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more tired.

After this,Mav had promised,we take a vacation. Just you andme—rest, relax, restore. Pick your spa, anywhere in the world. It will be all detox, yoga, and meditation. Couple time.

She didn’t believe him, not at all. But she wanted to. Because there was a guy she got to see when they were alone, when the cameras were off and the entourage had fallen away. Someone tender and kind, someone who gave with his whole heart—to her, to causes, to his friends, to his followers. He gave away millions of dollars a year, had a staff member solely devoted to answering personal pleas for money:my mom needs surgery;my car broke down and I can’t get to work;my brother has cancer and he’s never seen the ocean.

That was the guy Angeline wanted Petra to see. Though why Angeline should care what the supposed town elder thought about her and Mav, she didn’t even know. Anton, slim and smarmy with a pencil mustache and heavily-lidded gaze, obviously had all the power. He wanted what Extreme brought to their little island. Eyes. Tourist dollars. Mav had obviously been right about that. Might didn’t make right. Money did.

She pushed from the bedroom into the large living room suite.

“Ange.”

She issued a startled cry. In the corner, a form hunched in the dark. A light flipped on. Alex.

“Jesus,” she said, releasing a breath, nerve endings tingling. “Why are you sitting there in the dark like a weirdo?”

“We have to talk.”

Something about his expression, a mingling of anger and sadness, struck at her center. He was slim and boyish, with big glasses and a wide mouth, every bit the nerdy CFO. He wore what was basically a uniform for him: gray zip-up hoodie over a graphic T-shirt, baggy jeans. Alex looked as exhausted as Angeline felt.

“What’s going on?” she asked. She didn’t have the bandwidth for more problems.

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