CEO Booked A Fishing Trip To Unwind. He Never Expected To Fall For The Woman Running The
A Collision of Two Worlds
Ferris Langston was two seconds from canceling the trip when his assistant reminded him the yacht was already paid for in full and non-refundable. “Just go,” she’d said. “You’ve been working 14-hour days for three months straight; you’re one headline away from a full-blown coronary.”
Now he stood at the edge of a small harbor in coastal Maine in loafers completely unsuited for the fish guts and saltwater smell hitting his face. He pulled off his sunglasses and squinted at the boat he’d been instructed to look for, the Blue Ren.
It was a modest 35-footer, not the luxury vessel he’d imagined when he requested something comfortable. He was expecting champagne and a hired crew. What he got was a single woman climbing barefoot onto the deck, tightening a rope with strong arms.
A long braid swung down her back as she turned, and their eyes locked.
“Langston?” she called, raising an eyebrow.
He blinked. “Yeah, Ferris Langston.”
The woman walked toward him, wiping her hands on the thighs of her cut-off jeans.
“Brier. Captain Brier Gentry.”
She stuck out a hand and he hesitated. She wasn’t what he expected: no uniform, no deck hand, no polished customer service smile. Just sun-kissed skin, a firm handshake, and no-nonsense confidence that made him feel like the overdressed city boy he was.
“You’re the captain?” he asked, trying not to sound as thrown as he felt.
“That’s what the license says,” she said, climbing back aboard. “You coming or just sightseeing from the dock?”
He followed her, dragging his sleek leather duffel across the gangplank. The inside of the boat was simple, clean but practical. No marble finishes, no chilled wine waiting; just a cooler, a few rods, and the faint scent of citrus cleaner.
“I thought there’d be crew,” he said.
“You thought wrong,” Brier replied, pulling the engine to life. “It’s just me and now, unfortunately, you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You always this charming to paying clients?”
Brier glanced at him, then shrugged. “Only the ones who show up in Gucci shoes.”
The boat pulled away from the dock with a rumble, and Ferris sat down, adjusting his blazer. She caught the movement and shook her head.
“You’re going to ruin that thing out here.”
“I didn’t exactly pack for this.”
“This?” she echoed, steering them into open water.
“This,” he said, gesturing to the choppy waves, the barebones boat, and the fact that she was steering it like she owned the ocean. “I signed up to unwind, not get tossed around like a rag doll.”
“You want a floating spa, you booked the wrong trip,” she threw a look over her shoulder. “Out here you fish, you sweat, and if you’re lucky, you catch something.”
He leaned back, baffled by her. Ferris Langston, CEO of Langston and Vale and Fortune magazine darling, was being bossed around by a boat captain in denim shorts. He negotiated eight-figure corporate mergers without blinking, and for some reason, he didn’t mind it.
