Page 30 of Bad Love

I should remind him of the last time we dove a wrecktogether.

But that’s buried as deep as the ships off the coast, and I’m not about to bring that up to thedaylight.

“I don’t get the appeal,” I say instead. “Even if you find something on a dive, it’s all old shit. New is more interesting." I nod at theiPhone.

Monty stares at me a minute, then shakes his head and ducks into the cabin, claiming the passengerseat.

I draw up the anchor before returning to the cabin, grabbing the captain’shat.

“Don Giovanniwas incredible,” he comments as I drop into the captain’s seat and start theboat.

“Knew it would be.” I’m glad he took the time out. Especially because today I need to talk to him aboutsomething.

“You talk to Deaconyet?”

I wince. “I’m getting to it. Been a busy fewdays.”

I get the paranoia. Monty comes from nothing; he knows what it’s like not to have enough. It’s like he needs to be twice as good as the next guy in the room just to prove he belongsthere.

My parents are wealthy and generous. They never made my trust fund conditional upon performance. All they wanted was for me to behappy.

And I was. Traveling the world for modeling not only helped me see some incredible places, it gave me spending cash on top of my trust fund—which I’m proud to say sits untouched in the bank, where it’s grown thanks to investments I monitorregularly.

Though lately, it's starting to feel as though something's missing. Objectively, nothing has changed. I'm getting the same invitations. Have the same friends. Maybe I've been in New York for too long, but the outside world doesn't have as much pull as it usedto.

"I’ll smooth it over with him,” I say at last, navigating the familiar waters without help from theGPS.

"Or you can tell your grandmother everything. Make the marketing director a real job with actual recognition." I wince because that’s a terrible idea. "There's a third option,” Monty says. “You could actually do the fuckingjob."

“Did you get bubbles in yourtank?”

"Hunter, you have a business degree. Don't tell me you're afraid of hard work. You put in sixteen-hour days on the fishing boats and at the docks for fun in high school when they were shorthanded during the summer. You’ve managed two hundred people at one of your family's parties without breaking asweat."

"We've had this conversation," I say tightly. "It's not myspeed."

I know what I’m capable of, and I stick to that. If I ventured into uncharted territory, spreadsheets and HR and all that bullshit, I'd fuck it up, and then where would we be? Far worse than the little white lie with Deacon would be me falling short and not only disappointing my family but actually fucking over the company my grandmother spent her lifetimebuilding.

The bottom line is every time I’m on the hook for being responsible, I fuck itup.

In elementary school, I lost the familydog.

In high school, in an effort to impress people, I signed up as treasurer of student council, and we promptly wentbankrupt.

In college, I nearly lost my best friend on account of my ownrecklessness.

That was when I decided old-fashioned responsibility wasn’t my thing. It was when I suggested to my grandmother that Monty might be groomed to take the reins of Hunter’s Cross instead of me. I called my agent and said I’d look for international modeling opportunities. With me out of the picture, it made everythingsimpler.

"You going to poker tomorrow?" I askMonty.

“I might squeeze itin.”

I nod. “I need to tell you something. You should sitdown."

“I am sittingdown.”

I blow out a rough breath. "I wagered my stake in Hunter’s Cross withNellie."

His face doesn't change. "Youwhat?"

---