She probably lay there for hours, and then drifted off.
Vanessa’s phone rang at 8:00 a.m. She knew, because the jarring sound caused her to bolt up, and she saw the time immediately. She fumbled to retrieve it from the stand next to the bed and answered breathlessly.
“Yes?”
“Vanessa?”
She felt as if her heart stood still for a moment. The voice sounded like that of Sean O’Hara.
“Yes?”
“Are you awake? Sorry if I woke you.”
He wasn’t one bit sorry, she thought.
“I was awake,” she said. So she was lying. She wasn’t sure what she had said or done exactly that had seemed to raise a barrier of hostility within him—other than that she did want him to take his project and turn it to her purpose.
“Ready to let me see your stuff?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
“Diving, filming,” he said. Was there a touch of mockery in his tone? Was he amused that she might have thought that he meant something else?
“Of course. Anytime. Does this mean that—”
“It means I want to see if you’re as good as your credentials,” he said flatly.
“Of course. Where do you want me, when, and with what equipment?”
“I have equipment. You probably want your own regulator and mask.”
“Of course. What about cameras?”
“Mine are excellent quality.”
“So are mine.”
“Let’s see if you know my equipment, and my methods,” he said. “And if I hire you, it’s going to be as my assistant, remember? Hauling, toting. But…it won’t hurt to see what you can do with a camera. You never know when you may need some backup.”
“All right.”
“Meet me at the dock in half an hour. My dive boat is the Conch Fritter. I’ll be setting her up.”
“I’ll be there,” she promised.
For a moment she couldn’t afford to waste, she just sat there, staring at her phone. He hadn’t agreed.
But he hadn’t said no.
And in the water, she could prove herself.
She blinked, then shot out of bed. She had thirty minutes to shower, find a suit and run down the seven or so blocks to the boat docks.
And there had to be a cup of coffee somewhere along the way.
Vanessa Loren was all business when she arrived at the dock precisely on time. She was wearing a huge tank-type T-shirt over a bathing suit and carried a dive bag in one hand, a large paper cup of coffee in the other. Her hair was swept back in a band at her nape and she was wearing large dark sunglasses.
“Hand over the bag,” he said politely.
“I can manage,” she told him.
She could. Without needing a handhold of any kind for balance, she made the short leap from the dock to the deck with amazing dexterity, never in danger of losing so much as a drop of coffee—not that the company didn’t serve its coffee with A-one lids.
He shrugged as she landed. “Suit yourself. Want to grab that line aft?”
“Sure.”
Bartholomew leaned casually against the rail, arms crossed over his chest. “She’s got quite the physical prowess, and yet she’s light and sleek as a cat. I say, hire her on! Trust me, the women of my day were seldom adept at working on any ship. Ah, this is but a boat. There you go.”
Sean wanted to tell Bartholomew that there had been a number of famous and infamous women working upon pirate ships, but since Bartholomew was indignant at the term pirate, he’d deny it. And he knew that Bartholomew was going to goad him all afternoon.
He refrained from replying.
He went to the fore to release the front line and she scurried to release the one aft. He didn’t speak to her as he guided the Conch Fritter out of the harbor.
Bartholomew, however, kept up a running conversation.
“Ah, what a lovely day. Truly lovely day! Calm seas, a beautiful sky and just the tiniest kiss of autumn in the air. I do remember this reef—we forced a few Spaniards into her sharp tentacles, we did. Glorious sailing! Oh, and by the way—you do know that this is the area where Mad Miller supposedly attacked the Santa Geneva and kidnapped Dona Isabella. Alas, the ship upon which she sailed sank to the bottom of the sea with the nasty, evil creatures upon the pirate ship, Mad Miller’s flagship, slicing up many a man as he begged for mercy, cast into the water, drowning!”
Slicing them might have been a mercy, if they were drowning, Sean thought, but he kept silent.
As he cleared the channel, Vanessa came and took the companion seat by the helm.