You look like you're trying to calculate the ROI on looking at me, and honestly, the math isn't checking out.
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[DM: July 12, 10:14 PM]
Chloe: You’re standing on the aft deck looking like a brochure for a wealth management firm. It’s nauseating.
Leo: And you’re hiding behind a Kindle in a caftan that costs more than my first car. Why are we doing this?
Chloe: Julian’s birthday. We are here to celebrate Julian. We are not here to acknowledge that we spent three months in 2019 ruining each other’s professional reputations and my favorite pair of silk sheets.
Leo: I remember the sheets. I don’t remember the reputation part. I’m pretty sure your firm won that account.
Chloe: Only because you forgot how to pitch the moment I touched your leg under the conference table. Put your drink down and go to bed, Leo. You’re tilting.
Leo: The boat is tilting, Chloe. It’s called a swell. And I’m not going anywhere until you look up from that screen and actually admit you’ve been watching me since we weighed anchor in Salerno.
***
[EMAIL: November 14, 2019]
From: Chloe Miller (chloe.miller@strat-edge.co.uk)
To: Leo Thorne (l.thorne@vanguard-creative.com)
Subject: Re: The Q4 Deliverables (and your questionable taste in ties)
Leo,
If you honestly think a bold stripe conveys ‘stability’ to a legacy banking client, you’ve been in London too long. It looks like you’re trying to sell them a circus.
Also, your umbrella is still at my flat. It’s leaning against the radiator. It looks lonely, or perhaps it’s just embarrassed by its owner’s lack of follow-through. I have a 9:00 AM at the Shard tomorrow. If you want it back, you’ll have to meet me at that dive bar in Southwark at 10:00 PM. Don't wear the stripe.
Best,
Chloe
***
[DM: July 13, 02:22 AM]
Leo: You’re still awake. I can see the light under your cabin door.
Chloe: It’s the Mediterranean, Leo. The sun doesn't really set, it just negotiates. Also, the air conditioning in 4B sounds like a dying alternator. I’m writing a very stern Yelp review in my head.
Leo: Come up to the flybridge. Julian and the others are passed out in the salon. It’s just the crew and the stars. And me.
Chloe: I have a policy about flybridges and ex-rivals. It usually ends with someone’s hair getting ruined.
Leo: Your hair is already a mess. I saw you swimming earlier. You looked like a very expensive drowned rat.
Chloe: Fuck you. I’m coming up. If you have any of that overpriced scotch left, pour me a double.
***
[NOTES APP ENTRY: November 15, 2019]
He showed up. He wasn't wearing the tie. He was wearing that navy cashmere sweater that makes his eyes look like a storm surge. We didn't talk about the umbrella for forty-five minutes. We talked about the market share of neo-banks and why his creative director is a hack.
Then he put his hand on the back of my neck.
It wasn't a gentle thing. It was a ‘I’ve been thinking about this since the board meeting’ thing. His thumb brushed the hinge of my jaw, and I forgot every single point I’d prepared for the morning. I hate him. I want him to push me against the brick wall of the alleyway and see if his hands are as steady as his spreadsheets.
Update: They are.
***
[DM: July 13, 03:45 AM]
Chloe: You’re a terrible influence.
Leo: You didn’t complain when we were halfway up the coast.
Chloe: My knees are literally vibrating. That wasn't a ‘catch up’ conversation, Leo. That was an ambush.
Leo: You were the one who sat on the table. I was just trying to keep you from falling off.
Chloe: By holding my hips? Very altruistic of you. My skin still feels like it’s humming. Every time the boat hits a wave, I feel that specific spot where you gripped me. You have very calloused hands for someone who spends all day at a standing desk.
Leo: It’s the rowing. And the fact that I haven't been able to stop thinking about the way you taste since that night in Southwark. Five years, Chloe. Five years and you still taste like Gin and bad intentions.
***
[UNSENT DRAFT: January 20, 2020]
To: Leo Thorne
Subject: (No Subject)
I’m moving back to New York. The promotion came through. I should tell you, but I know how this ends. You’ll make a joke about the exchange rate and then we’ll end up in bed, and I’ll miss my flight. Or worse, I won’t miss it, and I’ll spend six hours over the Atlantic wondering why I’m leaving the only person in this city who actually challenges me.
You’re too competitive for a long-distance thing. I’m too ambitious to stay. Let’s just let the umbrella stay by the radiator.
***
[DM: July 13, 11:15 AM]
Leo: Julian wants to go to the Blue Grotto. I told him we’d rather stay on the boat and ‘work.’
Chloe: ‘Work’? Is that what we’re calling it now? I have three pitch decks to review and a client who thinks emojis are a substitute for a strategy.
Leo: I’m in the shaded area by the lounge chairs. I have a bottle of chilled Vermentino and a very clear memory of how you look when you’re frustrated. Bring your laptop. I’ll bring my lack of shame.
Chloe: If you touch me while I’m on a Zoom call, I will drown you.
Leo: Challenge accepted.
***
[TEXT THREAD: July 13, 01:30 PM]
Chloe: Stop.
Leo: Stop what?
Chloe: Looking at my legs. I can feel your eyes through my sarong. It’s distracting.
Leo: I’m looking at the horizon. Very interesting horizon today. Lots of… curves.
Chloe: You’re an idiot.
Leo: Your camera is off, Chloe. The client can’t see that your breathing is getting heavy. But I can see the way your chest is rising. That little hollow at the base of your throat is pulsing. Is the strategy that exciting?
Chloe: My boss is talking about ‘synergy.’ It makes me want to scream.
Leo: I can think of a better reason for you to scream.
Chloe: Leo. Don’t.
Leo: My foot is under the table, Chloe. Just like London. Except this time, I’m not wearing shoes. My toes are brushing the inside of your ankle. Now your calf. You’re shivering in ninety-degree heat. That’s a very interesting data point.
Chloe: I have to go. I just told the VP of Marketing that we need to ‘deep dive into the back end.’
Leo: Best thing you’ve said all day.
***
[NOTES APP ENTRY: July 13, 02:45 PM]
He didn’t wait for me to finish the call. The second I clicked ‘Leave Meeting,’ he was behind me. He didn’t say a word, just pulled my chair back and lifted me up. My laptop slid onto the deck, probably dented, but I didn't care.
He tasted like salt and wine. His mouth was aggressive, a five-year-old hunger finally getting fed. He backed me into the rail of the yacht, the sun beating down on my shoulders while his hands worked the knot of my bikini top.
“You always talked too much,” he whispered against my ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. “Always trying to lead the room.”
He dropped to his knees. The wood of the deck was hot, but the shade of the awning kept us hidden from the crew on the bridge. He didn't hesitate. He pulled my bikini bottoms down, just enough to expose me to the salt air and his steady, blue gaze.
He looked at me for a long beat, his fingers parting me, slicking the moisture he’d already teased out of me over my clit. I groaned, my head hitting the mahogany rail. The boat rocked—a gentle, rhythmic pitch that matched the movement of his tongue.
He was methodical. He’s always been methodical. He found the exact rhythm that makes my toes curl into the deck. I was clutching the railing so hard my knuckles were white, looking out at the Amalfi cliffs, watching a distant ferry while Leo Thorne ate me like I was the last meal he’d ever have.
He didn't stop when I came. He kept going through the first wave, his fingers inside me, stretching me, mimicking the slide of what I really wanted. When he finally stood up, his eyes were dark, almost black.
“My turn to pitch,” he said.
***
[DM: July 13, 05:12 PM]
Leo: I think I left my sunglasses in your cabin.
Chloe: You didn't. You just want an excuse to come back down.
Leo: Is it working?
Chloe: My hair is a disaster and I have a bruise on my hip from the railing. You’re a liability, Leo. A high-risk asset.
Leo: But the returns are incredible. Admit it.
Chloe: The returns are… significant.
Leo: Julian wants us all at dinner in Positano. Dress up. I want to see you in that black dress. The one with the back that ends right where my patience does.
***
[EMAIL: December 10, 2019]
From: Leo Thorne
To: Chloe Miller
Subject: The Aftermath
Chloe,
That was a mistake. Not the sex. The sex was… well, I don’t have the vocabulary for it and I’m a creative director. But doing it in the stairwell of the agency was a mistake. I’m pretty sure the CCTV picked up your heels against the fire door.
I can’t do ‘casual’ with you. You’re too loud in my head. I’m looking at a spreadsheet right now and all I see is the way you looked when you realized I wasn’t going to let you go.
Are we rivals, Chloe? Or are we just two people who are too scared to admit we’ve found the only person who can actually keep up?
***
[DM: July 14, 01:10 AM]
Chloe: Dinner was a mistake. Seeing you in a linen suit should be illegal. I couldn't even focus on the pasta.
Leo: I noticed. You spent the whole time drinking Nero d’Avola and looking at my mouth. Julian asked if we were fighting again.
Chloe: I told him we were debating the merits of a hostile takeover.
Leo: Accurate. I’m outside your door.
Chloe: The door is locked, Leo.
Leo: No, it isn't. I can hear you breathing on the other side.
***
[NOTES APP ENTRY: July 14, 04:00 AM]
There is something different about him now. In London, it was all friction and competition. Now, on this boat, under the weight of five years of silence, it’s heavy.
He pushed me into the door the second he entered. No preamble. No witty remarks. He just took my face in his hands and kissed me until I couldn't remember my own name. He tasted like the red wine and the sea.
I helped him out of the suit. The linen was crisp, but his skin was burning. I ran my hands over his shoulders—he’s broader than he was. Harder. He lifted me, my legs locking around his waist, and carried me to the small bed. It felt like we were in a golden cage, the moonlight reflecting off the water outside the porthole, casting ripples across his back.
He stripped me with an efficiency that made me ache. When he finally pushed into me, it wasn't a question. It was a statement. He filled me so completely that I felt the breath leave my lungs. I was reaching for him, my nails digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting every inch of the history we’d ignored.
“You went back to New York,” he groaned, his forehead pressed against mine as he thrust. The rhythm was slow, agonizingly deep. “You didn't even say goodbye.”
“I was scared,” I whispered, and for once, the marketing executive had no spin. I was just a woman under a man I’d never been able to forget.
He didn't answer with words. He sped up, his hands sliding under my ass to lift me, meeting every one of his lunges with a desperate force. I could feel the tension building, that tight, electric coil in my gut. I watched his face—the way his jaw tightened, the vein in his neck pulsing. He looked like he was breaking.
I broke first. My body tightened around him, a series of long, shuddering pulses that made me cry out into the quiet of the cabin. He followed me seconds later, his body rigid, coming into me with a low, guttural sound that felt like it came from his chest.
He didn't pull away after. He stayed there, heavy and warm, while the boat rocked us. For the first time in five years, there was no pitch to prepare for. No rivalry to maintain.
***
[TEXT THREAD: July 14, 10:30 AM]
Leo: I’m at the breakfast buffet. Julian is asking why you’re not up yet.
Chloe: Tell him I’m reviewing the Q3 projections.
Leo: I told him you were exhausted from all the… internal restructuring.
Chloe: You’re the worst.
Leo: I’m coming back down with a plate of pastries and some very strong espresso. Don’t put your clothes on.
Chloe: Is that a directive, Mr. Thorne?
Leo: It’s a core requirement for the merger.
Chloe: I think I can work with those terms.
***
[EMAIL: July 15, 09:00 AM]
From: Chloe Miller
To: Leo Thorne
Subject: Re: The Yacht Trip / Future Ventures
Leo,
I’ve analyzed the situation. The Amalfi Coast provided a very high engagement rate, but I’m concerned about the sustainability of this model once we return to our respective cities.
However, I’ve looked at the flight schedules. New York to London is only six hours. It’s basically a long commute. If we can agree on a shared strategy—and perhaps a better umbrella—I think we should move forward with the acquisition.
Also, stop texting me from the other side of the sun deck. I can see you smiling at your phone and it’s ruining your ‘brooding architect’ brand.
Best,
Chloe
***
[DM: July 15, 11:45 PM]
Leo: The boat docks tomorrow.
Chloe: I know.
Leo: I’m not letting you go this time, Chloe. I don’t care about the exchange rate. I don’t care about the firms. I just want to know if you’re actually in.
Chloe: I’m in, Leo. But if you try to pitch for the Laurent account in October, I will still destroy you.
Leo: Wouldn’t expect anything less. See you in the cabin in five minutes?
Chloe: Make it three. I’ve already started the onboarding process.
***
[NOTES APP ENTRY: July 16, 06:00 AM]
We’re pulling into Capri. The light is that soft, bruised purple that only happens at dawn. Leo is asleep next to me, one arm thrown over my waist like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
He looks younger when he’s sleeping. Less like the man who tries to out-maneuver me in every conversation and more like the person who stayed in a dive bar in Southwark just because I asked him to.
I used to think my life was about the win. The account, the title, the corner office. But lying here, listening to the water lap against the hull and feeling the weight of him, I realize that some things aren't about the ROI. Some things are just about the heat.
And God, the heat with him is the only thing that’s ever made sense.
I’m going to go back to New York and I’m going to tell my boss I need more flexibility for ‘international business.’ Then I’m going to wake Leo up and see if we can break the bed one last time before we hit the pier.
Strategy: Success.
Execution: Flawless.
Next Steps: Don't let go.
***
[DM: July 16, 09:15 AM]
Leo: You’re looking at the luggage on the dock with a very specific expression.
Chloe: I’m just thinking about the logistics. It’s a lot of moving parts.
Leo: We’re good at moving parts, Chloe. It’s our job.
Chloe: You’re right.
Leo: Also, you left your Kindle on the flybridge. I’ll bring it to you.
Chloe: Keep it. It has a lot of things on it you’d find interesting.
Leo: Like what?
Chloe: Like a very detailed list of all the things I want to do to you in a hotel room in London next month.
Leo: …I’ll book the hotel.
Chloe: Make sure it has good A/C. I’m done with dying alternators.
Leo: Done.
***
[FINAL EMAIL: July 20, 10:00 AM]
From: Chloe Miller (chloe.vance.ny@gmail.com)
To: Leo Thorne (l.thorne@vanguard-creative.com)
Subject: Missing you (and the Vermentino)
Leo,
I’m back at my desk. The view of 5th Avenue is significantly less inspiring than the Amalfi Coast. My assistant asked why I’m glowing. I told her I had a very successful brand activation.
I’m looking at the calendar. August 12th. I’m coming to London for the tech summit. Tell your agency you’re busy.
And Leo? Wear the striped tie. I want something to pull on when I get you alone.
Yours,
Chloe
